Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lookin’ good!” Wrecker whistled. He turned around in a circle, hands on his hips. “Not the color I would’ve chosen, but it looks good!” 

Hunter rolled his eyes, brushing his paint-stained hands against his work pants. “The grey you liked at the store would’ve been too dark.” 

Wrecker made a noncommittal noise, then did what he was up in the attic to do, gathering the short ladder and paint buckets up in his arms. He clanged and clattered down the stairs, Hunter shouting after him to watch out for the corners. Wrecker called back an affirmative, then the distinct noise of metal meeting drywall reached Hunter’s ears. 

“I’ll fix it!” Wrecker’s voice was distant and faint. Hunter shook his head. Wrecker was a welder and electrician, technically speaking, but like basically anyone who worked for Cid, he was handy enough for the little things, drywall, plumbing, painting and the like. It certainly helped that now, as adults, Wrecker and Hunter could fix the dings and nicks that tended to follow him around. 

And, it also helped that between the two of them, they could completely revamp their modest house’s little attic into a bedroom for Crosshair. 

Just weeks earlier, the attic loft had been piled high with boxes and the detrii of life, spider’s webs so thick Wrecker had threatened to sleep in the truck, unnerved at the hordes of spiders he imagined must be waiting under the floorboards. The walls (when visible through the debris) were raw exposed slats with visible tufts of insulation. Just a mess. Now, the drywall was smooth and even, the sloping ceiling clean and clear, all painted an ashen shade of grey just pale enough to not dispel what little light came in naturally through the high circular window. With the paint job now done, all that remained was Crosshair moving his furniture in. 

That would have to wait, however. Both for the paint to fully cure, and because the rest of their afternoon was on lock. Hunter followed Wrecker down the stairs, stepping into the cramped room he had the dubious pleasure to share with Wrecker and Crosshair on the house’s narrow second floor.

The man himself was barely visible under a pile of blankets. 

Hunter divested himself of his work clothes and dug through the dresser. Even the noise of him rustling through old clothes, looking for a pair of jeans and a shirt was too much for Crosshair, who pinned Hunter with a bleary, half-asleep glare. 

“I know, I know,” Hunter muttered, averting his gaze. He got dressed. Anything else he might want to say he bit back; the ultimate decision to fix up the attic into a separate room was because of the now weekly arguments that sleeping three to a room begot. It had seemed like a good idea, at the time. 

When they first got the house, Crosshair had been the one dissenting vote, the one voice raised to shout, and he’d been the one name not co-signing on the lease. He’d gone off on his own for a month, rarely answering his phone and never giving an inch. Then, he’d shown up late one night on the porch, hadn’t elaborated, and they’d never asked, respecting his chilly silence. He got a job, night-shift, and it’d all felt like a puzzle piece falling into place, a band-aid soothed over a cut. Like they were back in the field, Hunter bunked on the old rickety twin-sized bed overnight, then handed it off to Crosshair during the day. Those first few weeks were like a breath of fresh air after so many storms. 

It was the overlap that made problems; the days Hunter had off, or was sick, the house all thrown into disarray not even Echo’s mediating presence could abate. 

“I don’t know why I ever thought this was a good idea,” Crosshair had growled one morning around the kitchen table, “maybe I should just go.” 

While his stomach felt like the ground was opening up under him, Hunter had stood with far more iron in his spine than he expected. “You’re not going anywhere, Crosshair,” he said. “We made a promise.” They had. A childish promise, perhaps, but after fighting so long to try and get some kind of normal life together for him and his brothers, Hunter wasn’t about to let a scheduling problem in a small house shatter it all, not so soon after the first time. 

Later that day, Hunter started the teeth-dragging process of getting the proper forms and evaluations done by the county assayer to get the approval for the renovation, turning the attic into a serviceable room for Crosshair. Wrecker had oh-so-subtly (so he thought) implied that so long as no one told, they didn’t need the forms, per se, but he was outvoted. Crosshair had sided with Hunter, which was expected as it was supposed to be his room, but it still felt nice.

Finally dressed, Hunter abandoned the room, leaving Crosshair to his sleep. 

Downstairs, Wrecker was idling around instead of fixing any holes in the drywall, checking out his false eye in the hall mirror. Hunter caught him squeezing one eye shut, and then the other, looking thunderstruck with surprise as winking his good eye got him nothing but unexpected blindness for a moment. One year out of the hospital, and the only one of them not used to Wrecker’s new scars and eye was the man himself. 

“Ready to go?” Hunter asked, ducking his head as if checking his pockets, so Wrecker would think he hadn’t seen. 

“Been waiting,” Wrecker chirped, like nothing was wrong. “Come on, Echo’s been blowing up my phone.” 

“Could have driven yourself this morning,” Hunter said, but lightly. He wasn’t on the hook to volunteer at the charity fair, per se, but he’d gotten Wrecker’s hints well enough. 

Wrecker went ahead of him out of the house towards the parked work truck, and pretended that he hadn’t heard. Feeling only a little perturbed, Hunter booted himself up into the cab and drove them both towards the old field grounds. Sometimes used as soccer fields for tournaments, the county fair, or other big events, half of the dead-grass acres were overtaken by ramshackle carnival stalls, the parking lot full of sensible cars. Hunter and Wrecker pulled over into the volunteer lane, getting waved through by faces Hunter recognized from the homeless shelter’s regular crew of volunteers and workers. 

They trundled along a dirt road to the back of the charity carnival, a familiar face popping up and waving. 

“Over here, boys!” Gregor shouted, waving them into a free spot like they were piloting a taxiing jet. Hunter cut the engine and took his time climbing down. Not slowly enough to make Gregor wander away; he latched on for a big, full-bodied hug that nearly lifted Hunter’s toes off of the dirt. “Good to see ya!” 

Once released, Hunter wheezed for breath while Gregor and Wrecker tussled, tipping wildly from side to side as they laughed. 

Their cousin released Wrecker with half of a shove. “Go get yourself signed in, Wolffe’s around here somewhere.” With a backward wave for Hunter, Wrecker ambled off. Hunter watched him go with a critical eye; Wrecker was so big that it was difficult to gauge whether his hunch was defensive or simple courtesy for the shorter volunteers and workers all gathered around the ops tent. 

He jumped when Gregor clapped a big hand down on his shoulder, arm across his back. “Ah, Hunter,” Gregor sighed contentedly. “How’s the house coming along? Echo says you were doing an addition.” 

“Renovation,” Hunter corrected gently.

Gregor took it in stride, giggling in the way he usually did to cover for a lapse of memory. Hell of a man, Gregor, for all the scrambling an IED had done to his grey matter during his last days in the army. “Renovation, yeah. Attic or loft or something?”

Hunter outlined the project, for once not feeling the polite urge to downplay how much labor had been involved in the process. Gregor, like Wrecker, had been trained as an electrician and bomb diffusal expert in the corps, and while his TBI had gotten in the way of him joining them on the job site, he knew his stuff. 

For knowing his stuff, he also wasn’t the most effusive of men, for all his giggling. His only reply once Hunter had finished was a smile, a nod, and a firm “Good.”

Then, after a moment of stiff silence Hunter was sure Gregor wasn’t aware was there, he continued: “The hot-bunk thing you had going on with Crosshair was kind of weird. Like, weird enough that you guys still share bedrooms, but sharing a bed like you’re on off submarine shifts is just out there. Like, of all places to be, a submarine? Insane, brother.” 

“Submarines, huh,” Hunter echoed, dryly. 

“Lots of ways to die on a submarine,” Gregor added, nodding.

“Love these chats, Gregor.” 

“Likewise. Hey, Wolffe!” Waving one hand over his head, Gregor dove back into the fairgrounds, leaving Hunter feeling as off-footed as he usually did after a conversation with his cousin. He took his time, shuffling around. He really hadn’t intended to come and help out, long past calloused against Echo’s beseeching and wheedling. He helped out plenty already, donating labor hours to help with fundraisers and other repairs around the homeless shelter.

Today, while still a fundraiser, was out of Hunter’s wheelhouse. A couple of other organizations, the charity wing of the hospital, some private-corps VA therapeutic businesses, and so on had all pooled their resources together for an out-of-season fair, the afternoons aimed towards families with kids. The fairground was teeming with running, happily squealing kids either loosed in packs or tugging on parents’ hands. Feeling stiff and out of place, he dodged some kids beelining towards a big inflatable slide and trailed up towards the ops tent. 

Most of the volunteers for the next shift were now scattered to their various jobs. It was easy to spot Wrecker, off in the distance, towering above the crowd as he probably followed Wolffe. Hunter didn’t see Echo, as easy as he usually was to spot, but he recalled him mentioning something about helping to run craft services. 

For a moment, Hunter considered forgoing ops entirely and just going to help Echo, but his hesitation did nothing but catch the attention of Nema. 

Hunter didn’t know Nema, per se, but she knew Echo, and so she knew of him. In turn, the best he could do was keep her name and face pinned together in his brain. She was soft and nice-looking (nice-looking , Crosshair’s voice rolled sarcastically through Hunter’s brain, unbidden, admit it, she’s a slice) but had the iron-spined upright gait of a professional ballerina. Or a head RN. Which she was. Hence, her presence at the organizer’s booth, in scrubs and a nametag and holding a clipboard. 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, waving him over with a sharp gesture that brokered no disagreement. “Hunter! It’s been forever.” 

He never knew what to do with his goddamn hands around her. He kept them stuck in his jacket pockets and she took the snub in stride, turning to scribble on her clipboard. “How’re your brothers doing? Echo says the new house is nice.” 

“It is,” Hunter said. He had expected the constant comments on the house to get annoying, but a few months in he still felt a surge of pride. Yes, they had gotten a house of their own . Putting a roof over their own heads. It boggled the mind. “Getting some last minute fixes done, but it hasn’t fallen down yet.” 

“Good to hear,” she chuckled, and peeled what he realized too late was a name tag off of the clipboard. Hanging onto her finger by a sticky corner, the thing lit a fuse in him. Hunter dodged left, then right, then flinched as she tried to stick the nametag to his face, giving her an opening to drop her hand and jab it right over his sternum, hard enough to make him force out a breath. 

Scowling, he peeled it off and secured it to the bottom corner of his jacket. Magnanimous as ever, she smiled graciously at him. “It’s nice of you to come and help out,” she said.

“Yeah,” he growled, wishing he had put his foot down with Wrecker and made him drive himself. He had to practice if he was ever going to get comfortable driving one-eyed like Wolffe. “Look, I dunno what Echo told you…”

“He said you’d probably rather be at Home Depot, looking at baseboards.” Her tone was clipped but without much heat. If he wasn’t wrong, there might even be a damn twinkle in one eye. 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Whatever needs doing,” he replied, clipped and cowed. 

“Well, luckily we had a good turnout of volunteers today. If you like, you can just walk around and observe. If you see anything that needs helping, you can come back here and help us delegate.” Again, if he wasn’t fucked in the head, there was a glitter in her eye. “Echo said you were a sergeant, yes?”

“That was a long time ago,” Hunter lied, cutting his eyes away. He cut her off as she started to backtrack, losing her little touch of mirth under his stiffness. “Walk around, look around, got it.” 

Thus freed, he made his escape, plunging into the fray. The better part of an hour passed without much of anything happening that he could see. He passed by the food alley and got a wave from Echo, hunkered down with Gregor inside a food truck. Wrecker, sticking out as much as he usually did despite his efforts to appear nondescript, was haunting the booth where Wolffe stood guard over towers of cans. Hunter let him have his space. 

Just as he was considering sneaking away— would he really be missed? — there was a tug on the back of his jacket. 

Fighting back the urge to jump and get into a defensive position, he turned and looked down on a skinny, wan-faced girl with short-cropped pale hair. Big brown eyes looked moonishly up at him, and Hunter glanced around. No visible hovering parent that he could see. 

“What is it, kid?” he asked, leaning a bit into a gruff tone. 

The girl swallowed, and something like a smile flickered on her mouth. “You’re Hunter,” she stated. 

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. Nema and her goddamn nametag. “Where’s your parents, kid? Need help finding them?” 

The kid blinked and looked up at him in confusion. “My parents?” she echoed. 

Hunter frowned. He wasn’t good with kids, anyway, but this was decidedly stranger than any other awkward interaction he’d had with them before. With a sigh, he lowered himself down onto one knee so he could look her in the eye. Something trickled down the back of his neck. 

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked, to try and find another pathway back to sanity. 

“I’m Omega,” she supplied, easily. The smile deepened into a true grin. “I didn’t think you would be here! Are the others here, too?!” Her head swiveled around, scanning the crowd in excitement. “I know all about you, I read her files and everything!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid, what are you talking about?”

Her answer, if she had one, was cut off by Nema’s voice, calling out “Hunter! Hey, Hunter!” 

He lifted his head and craned it, trying to see Nema’s form through the ever-moving crowd of bodies. “Listen, kid,” he said, not looking at her, “if you need help finding your folks, I can bring you over to the management tent—” he turned to face her, and blinked when he found the space in front of him vacant. Standing, he tried to spot her, but the crush of people was making his shoulders hike up, senses too overloaded to be of much use to him. 

When there was a touch at his elbow, light as it was, he jumped. 

“Sorry,” Nema said, quickly, “didn’t mean to startle you. What are you looking for?”

“There was this kid,” he said, drawing the word out. How to explain? His brain turned the interaction over and over in his mind, feeling like he was missing one final piece of information that would resolve the uncanny interaction back into something like reality. 

“Hunter?” at Nema’s verbal prod, he blinked and focused on her.

“Sorry, sorry. What’s up? I heard you calling my name.”

“We have a missing-child alert,” she said, face pinched. “The mother is threatening to call the PD if we can’t locate her.” They looked over the sea of screaming, running kids darting in between tables and stalls. Hunter sighed. 

“Alright. Mom give you a description?”

“She did, but it was like pulling teeth.” Knowing Nema’s endless patience, that was saying something. “Eleven-year-old female, short blonde hair, brown eyes. Answers to ‘Omega Se.’”

All of Hunter went very, very cold. 

Nema peered into his face, frowning. “Hunter? What’s wrong?”

“Omega… Se?” he repeated, oh so carefully.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Nema’s eyes drew together. “What’s wrong? You know her?”

Hunter didn’t answer; he elbowed past her into the crowd, know her, know her, echoing through his head. If Nema tried to call after him, he didn’t hear, eyes scanning the crowd. He had recognized her; recognized her eyes from his brothers, from the mirror, she had known his name—Hunter booted himself up onto the concrete skirt of a lamppost, giving him another two feet of clearance above the crowd to scan for her pale hair. Heads turned to look at him in surprise, shock, all of them unfamiliar masks. A headache was swelling up right behind his ears, right where the electrodes used to go when he was in the pod—wait—there— 

He jumped down from the lamppost and cut through the crowd at top speed. He had to get to her. Quickly . 

Before their mother found her. 

“Alright,” Wolffe announced, turning to Wrecker, “your turn.” 

Wrecker, standing to the side of Wolffe’s carnival table (he had made sure to point the unscarred side of his face towards the flow of traffic), blinked owlishly. Before he could come up with something to say, Wolffe swung one leg over the side and popped out beside him, leaving the knock-em-down game unattended, towers of silver cans gleaming. 

“I-I shouldn’t,” Wrecker said, quickly. He could feel his shoulders climbing higher and higher, but shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets did little to lessen his tension. “I can stick to the back, stack the cans for you or somethin.” 

“Wrecker.” More and more each day Wrecker was sure that Wolffe kept the stock eye they gave you when your surgery was all done and healed because it made his glare more intimidating. One off-white orb and one dark brown eye pinned Wrecker squirming in place. “We talked about this.” 

“Well, I don’t remember,” he muttered, only half a lie. He’d honestly been so excited by the word carnival that he’d agreed before digesting that it’d been attached to a request for help volunteering. Part of him had hoped that Wolffe likewise would forget that bit. The other part of him knew that was one hell of a pipe dream.

“You need to get used to putting yourself out there,” Wolffe insisted.

“I put myself out there all the time!” he protested. “Work, and the bar, and the shelter, and, uh… Home Depot,” he finished, lamely. 

Wolffe was unmoved, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s time for my break, and someone needs to man the booth.” 

“I’ll go get Echo—”

“Wrecker.” He snapped to attention, then shook it off with a glare of his own, more petulant than anything. Wolffe dropped his voice down to a tone of stern persuasion. He jabbed one finger as he talked to mark his point. “ You want to get more comfortable being in front of crowds. You want to support the shelter. You are going to stand here and man this booth while I go have a fucking smoke.” 

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Noted.”

“I’ll scare the kids off. We won’t make any money.”

“We make the money at the gate.”

“I might break it.”

“You can fix it.”

Wrecker worked his jaw, swiveling his eye around before remembering that too many fast micromovements could knock the false one out of alignment. He clenched his fists to keep from nervously reaching up to touch it— an attempt to make sure it was still pointed in the right direction that always ended up making it wonkier, if anything. 

With a sigh, Wolffe stepped forward and reached up to put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “Wrecker,” he said, with as much fondness as the old captain could muster, “I know you can do this. If you think you can’t, well…” he sighed. “I’ll be very disappointed.”

Groaning, Wrecker batted his hand away. “Get out of here.”

“Going.” In a flash, Wolffe had a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his hand, backing away towards the end-barriers that marked the edge of the fairground. 

“You really shouldn’t smoke!” Wrecker called out after him. 

Wolffe’s response was a pointed, face-mashing sneer, unruffled as he swung his legs over the barrier without looking backwards. Spinning on his heel, he was off and gone. Wrecker sighed. He liked Wolffe, he really did, owed him a lot, but his insides were feeling more squiggly than when he was elbows-deep in an IED. After taking in a few breaths, Wrecker managed to fumble his way into the booth without knocking it over and setting the whole fair on fire. Once there, he lurked with his back against striped vinyl, head bowed, hoping that Wolffe inhaled his cigarette and got back quickly. 

Either not seeing him or choosing mercifully to let him sulk alone, no one approached the booth. After a few minutes, Wrecker felt foolish and lowered his hood, running his palm across the bristly stubble sprouting over the back of his head, interrupted by silk-smooth furrows of scar tissue. 

It wasn’t that bad, sitting there, actually; but it not feeling that bad made him feel twisted-up and stupid instead, eliciting a sigh he would have made fun of his brothers for making. When Wolffe got back and let him go, Wrecker decided, he was going to go get some funnel cake and waste a bunch of cash on the basketball-shooting game he’d passed on his way in. Crosshair would throw a fit if Wrecker brought him another big plush toy they didn’t have room for. The thought made Wrecker smile down at his feet.

Smiling, focused on nothing, he was certain at first that the distant “Hello,” wasn’t directed at him. Only when the voice continued, “Uh, hello? Wrecker?” did his head snap up. A washed-out, skinny looking kid with brittle blonde hair stood in front of the booth. Everything flashed by in minute, tiny frames: Wrecker looking up at the sound of his name, confused when he didn’t recognize the kid, his bubbling panic, anticipating the kid’s reaction when given a full gander of his face, only for the kid to stop his heart in its tracks by offering up a big, guileless smile, like his ugly mug was exactly what she’d walked over to come and see— and not even in the mean way Wrecker was never able to deal with from some preteens and fucked up enough adults. 

The kid stood there and smiled at him. Wrecker stood there and stared.

“Uh,” he said, cleverly. 

“Hello,” the kid repeated, waving her hand. “I’m Omega.” 

“Uh,” he said again, “H-hi, Omega. I’m, uh,” he searched around for his jacket, the nametag stuck on the lapel. “Wrecker.” He pointed the nametag towards her. “Uh, but I guess you already saw that.” Probably craned her head around to look at the booth while he was off in la-la land. 

She tilted her head to one side, not frowning but obviously confused. Crap, here he was with a kid not fazed by his face and he was still mucking it up. He coughed and gestured with his arms, “So! Do you want to play?”

Her face crumpled a bit, looking down at the ground and then flickering behind her, as if expecting someone to appear out of the crowd. All the other kids and adults kept the stream of movement going. Compared to the rest of the other kids, Omega was dressed, well, for something nicer than a charity fair— beige and pale clothes that were too plain to not cost a pretty penny. It made her stand out like a cloud against a sky of fireworks. “I, uh, don’t have any tickets,” she admitted, head hanging. 

“Well, hey,” Wrecker said, making her look back up. Another little grin of appreciation, not a single flicker of fear or unease on her features. “I have some tickets you can have.” His big hand groped around the underside of the table, finding the bin where Wolffe had been tossing the spent tickets during the day.

“Really?” she perked up, getting closer. Nodding, Wrecker slapped a handful of tickets down on the table and pushed them towards her. 

“There ya go, right here,” he said, and she scooped up the pile with both hands, looking like he’d just given her a bunch of hundred dollar bills. “Go ahead, put ‘em in your pocket.” Again, she did as he urged, scrunching them up and looking like the cat that got the canary. He expected that to be that, the kid got a good reward for staying cool and collected when staring down his face and she could run off, but still she remained. 

She was left with one handful of tickets. “How, uh, how many tickets does it take to play the game?” she asked, the words sounding strange in her mouth, like she didn’t know if she was using the right vocabulary.

“Uh,” Wrecker drew out, “Two? Three? How many’ve you got there?” 

She gave him back some tickets and he rolled up three big softballs onto the counter. Watching her pick up one heavy softball in both hands, Wrecker felt a twinge of anticipatory sympathy. The kid really did look skinny, a bit pale— he wondered if she might be one of the kids from the long-term care ward over at the hospital, it wouldn’t surprise him if she was— and it was clear before she even released the ball that her throw wouldn’t be enough. The ball lobbed just over the top of the table and thumped against the ground well ahead of the tower of cans. 

“Here, try again,” he said, picking up the ball and handing it back over. “As hard as you can.”

She looked skeptical, but screwed her mouth up in concentration, arm hauled all the way back. The ball went a little bit further, but still arced a good few inches short of the platform the cans were on. 

Wrecker bashed into the tower of cans with an elbow, sending them flying. 

“Oh!” he cheered, “Look at that! Winner!” 

When she giggled, she held both hands up over her mouth, skinny shoulders shaking with it. He suggested she try the next one underhand, and she managed to knock one of the bottom cans loose, half-tumbling it down. Wrecker helped the rest join their brothers on the floor. The third one, Wrecker caught the ball before it could go wide, then bowled it point-blank into the center of the tower. By then, the girl had dropped her hands, her smile big and white and gleeful. 

“Well, kid,” Wrecker sighed, leaning his elbows on the table, “you cleared me out. What prize d’you want?” He held up one hand to his mouth, and mock-whispered, “The penguin says he likes you.” He hooked a conspiratorial thumb towards one of the big plushies hanging from the eaves of the booth’s awning.

To his surprise, the smile shuttered off of her face real quick. “I shouldn’t,” she said, quickly taking a step back. “Mother wouldn’t like it…”

Wrecker frowned. “Your mother?” he echoed, something awful and cold landing in his gut. His one good eye scanned the kid over, quickly. She looked kind of sickly, sure, but there were no bruises and she was clean. “I’m sure she won’t mind…”

Omega blinked, twice, head tilted up to peer into his face. She seemed confused, eyebrows drawing together. Her confusion only made him more confused in turn, mirroring the tilt of her head. He didn’t have much experience with strange kids (Cut’s kids didn’t count), and wondered what was an appropriate question to ask. 

He only got so far as a careful “Hey, kid…” 

Judging by the quick turn to her head, her name was called from the empty void on Wrecker’s deaf side. She swallowed, eyes flickering back towards Wrecker with uncertainty that snapped into action as she rushed forward, towards him. The table was too high, and too wide between them, but with his elbows leaning on it, she managed to latch onto his bicep for a quick squeeze. He only dimly realized it was meant to be a hug, stuttering something, big hands open and useless in surprise, as she dropped back another two steps.

“Thank you, Wrecker,” she said, and— was there a wobble in her voice? — “It was nice to meet you, finally.” Before he could get his big dumb mouth open, she was off, darting on light little feet into the crowd. Craning his head, he tried to follow the bob of her pale hair, but lost her in a moment. 

Well, whatever the hell that was, Wrecker felt unmoored. He ran his hand along the back of his skull and wondered whether he ought to report this to someone. Wolffe? Maybe Nema, but Wrecker always felt like talking to her was an imposition she didn’t deserve… there was something about Omega that stuck in Wrecker’s teeth. Had she been around the shelter before? He would have remembered seeing her big brown eyes… huh…

Suddenly, there was a dark, leaning, gasping presence shoved up close to Wrecker’s side. He had one hand up and fisting in Hunter’s jacket before he knew what he was doing, and it took him a second to loosen his fingers. Hunter, panting, struggled to get his breath back, looking crazed.

“What the hell, Sarge?” Wrecker demanded. His brain sparked. “Hey, there was this kid just now…”

“Where is she?” Hunter gulped. When Wrecker wordlessly turned, meaning to point, Hunter grabbed him, actually grabbed him, and shook him. “Wrecker! Where’s Omega?”

Too many questions piled onto Wrecker’s brain at once, and he ended up pointing out towards the crowd. “She headed that way. Seemed like someone was calling her, I didn’t hear…”

Hunter released him and stumbled away from the booth, staggering. “Hunter, what—?”

“Call Echo!” Hunter ordered over his shoulder. “Call Tech!” 

“And tell them what?!” Wrecker shouted, but Hunter was already gone. 

By the time Hunter was through the crowd, at the edge of the fairgrounds, he still hadn’t come up with a plan. 

With every step, the still-upright part of his brain would demand of him, think of what you’re going to do, think of what you’re going to say, and with every step he failed to come up with an answer. For ten years he had never needed to consider what he might say to his mother if he ever saw her again, so sure in his bones that it was an impossibility. A blessed, blessed impossibility. 

He broke through the crowds, skidding to a stop on the edge of the gravel parking lot. 

Hunter’s mother, Dr. Nala Se, swanned pale and haughty up above Omega’s lean little form. Omega’s head was bowed, assenting to what looked like a stern tirade, Nala Se not even gesturing, just speaking with a low, pinched tone, promising acid and displeasure. Between his pants, gathering oxygen, he made out the words disobey, and privileges. 

He had to swallow, twice, to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak. “Omega!” 

Her head turned, and her mask of penitence melted away into a joyous smile. “Hunter!” she exclaimed, and Nala Se’s head turned, oh so slowly, to pin him with a look of shock. Just for a moment, until it dissolved into her usual aloof look of disdain. 

“Hunter,” she said, the familiar tone hitting him like a rail spike between the eyes. That voice, echoing down the hall, the only bit of stimulation in the isolation chamber, “What did you do to your face?” 

He stared at her.

“You ought to have it removed,” she sniffed, and reached down to lightly encircle Omega’s bicep with her hand. “Come, Omega. It’s time we went home. 

“But— can’t we stay a little longer?” Omega queried, tremulous. 

“No,” was their mother’s quick reply. “You should never have gotten so close to the crowd— your immune system may have reacted.”

“Not at the fair,” Omega replied. “Just, can’t we…” her eyes, so familiar, gazed up at Hunter in a way he could only describe as adoring. This kid he never knew existed. His sister. 

Nala Se’s grip on Omega’s arm increased. Hunter watched the loose sleeve bunch up, his brain toppling over into memories of bruises, finger-outlines in varying shades of blue, purple, yellow. “Do not talk to him,” she ordered downwards. 

Omega’s eyes darted between them, not caring or not noticing her arm. “But he—” Nala Se started to pull her towards the parking lot once more, Omega’s shoes kicking up little furrows of fine gravel, “But you said he was my…” 

Brother, Hunter’s mind supplied for her. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” It took Hunter a moment to recognize his own voice, sounding like it was very far away. Nala Se’s head swung to look at him with a blinding glare. “What are you doing to her?!” he demanded, although he already knew the answer, knew it in the stretch marks on the insides of his knees, in the way he and his brothers all couldn’t bear the gleam of needles, the consistent beeping of medical machines. In the way Omega looked far too young for her age. 

Hunter took one step forward, two. Nala Se, still grasping Omega’s arm, used her free hand to clutch the strap of her purse, and she called out in a voice very unlike her usual tone, “Excuse me, what do you think you are doing?!”

In his periphery, Hunter could see people milling, their attention pulled to the scene. He grit his teeth, knowing what it all must look like from afar. A woman and her daughter, a strange man with ink on his face. Hunter wanted desperately to go back in time and throttle himself the night he and Cross got drunk and decided that face tattoos were a good idea. 

He came to a stop. Nala Se smiled at him, smug. “Come along, Omega,” she said, like she was calling a dog, and Hunter remained rooted in place as Nala Se bundled Omega off, packing her up in the backseat of a nondescript sedan. Hunter stood there and watched, blood thrumming in his veins, as his mother took off down the aisle of the parking lot, towards the road.

Through the back window, Omega turned to watch him. Growing smaller and smaller in the distance, he watched as she lifted up one small hand and waved.

Feeling like he was dropping through the crust of the earth, Hunter lifted his hand and returned the gesture. 

They had to get her out of there.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure?” Echo demanded.

Hunter nodded his head, elbows propped up on his knees. A bottle of beer dangled, nearly forgotten, from one hand. Wrecker was quickly pacing a dent in the already half-dead lawn, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. The sun was a few hours away from kissing the horizon, the day bleeding by so slowly that Hunter felt like he’d aged years since the carnival. 

Wrecker came to a stop and turned on his heel, facing where Hunter and Echo sat on the steps of the front porch. “We gotta get her outta there. We should go now.” 

“If we knew where she went,” Hunter said, but mildly. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Wrecker’s sentiments; but he felt like he’d already run a marathon. “I doubt she’s still living in her old house.” 

“We’ll go check. You saw her car— you got the license plate, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hunter felt Echo rest his one hand on his shoulder. He’d used to be kind of embarrassed, as a skinned-kneed little preteen, whenever Echo and his twin Fives were made witness to their fucked up past. Half brothers or no, their very different upbringings— Fives and Echo raised by Ninety-nine nearly from birth, the quadruplets “raised” by Nala Se— sometimes made them feel like outsiders. That was far behind them, but Hunter felt a distant echo of that feeling arise, now. It’d been so long since he’d seen their mother. Since he had to think about her, what she might be doing. 

What she might be doing. Dinner was getting closer and closer. He could taste the chalky grit of a meal replacement drink on the back of his tongue. If Omega was even on the diet that got her an evening meal…

Growling, Wrecker started to kick at the grass, muttering curses under his breath. “We can’t just sit here!” 

“We’re not just sitting,” Echo spoke up. “We’re waiting. Tech will be back any minute.” They’d called him, but his work was in the middle of a server shutdown, and if he bounced for less than one of them being in the hospital, they could all say good-bye to his share of the house payment.

“We should wake Crosshair up,” Hunter said, not really feeling like it was a good idea. 

“Why?” came a drawl through the screen door. Still in his pajamas and holding a cup of coffee, Crosshair strolled out to join them on the porch. He eyed Wrecker’s agitated movements and lifted one eyebrow. The man himself, blind eye and deaf ear turned to the house, didn’t react. “What bit him?”

“Sit down, Cross,” Hunter sighed.

“That an order?” 

“You’ll want to be sitting.”

“Doubt it.” Crosshair picked up an abandoned flip-flop from the corner of the porch where they all kicked their shoes and lobbed it at Wrecker. Bulls-eye, it clipped him in the head, right above his deaf ear. He staggered to one side, turning, thunderously angry against Crosshair’s amused disinterest. “Did the other kids make fun of your teddy bear?” he crooned, leaning his elbows on the porch railing. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Wrecker started to march towards the porch, Crosshair grinning into his coffee mug. Echo stood up, cutting Wrecker off with his one hand pressed against Wrecker’s chest. “You think this is funny?!” 

“Very,” Crosshair said. 

“Shut it, Crosshair, listen for one second—” 

Crosshair ignored Hunter, frowning as Wrecker fought to get Echo out from in between them without hurting him. “I’ve hit you with worse things, Wrecker, grow up.” 

“Cross, listen to me—” Hunter stood up on the porch, facing his brother down. “I saw Nala Se today.”

Something dark flashed in Crosshair’s eyes, quickly smothered. Wrecker, realizing that Crosshair hadn’t known, settled down, rumbling apologies to Echo. 

“Did you spit on her for me?” Crosshair asked. He took another sip of his coffee, Hunter building and rebuilding his next sentence in his head. The silence grew a second too long and Crosshair glanced at Wrecker and Echo with one eyebrow raised. “What is it?” he hissed, suspicious. 

“She has another kid,” Hunter said, quickly. Crosshair froze, and Hunter took the plunge. “A daughter. Our sister. Her name is—”

Crosshair cut him off, aghast. “You’re not serious?”

“Would I joke about something like this, Crosshair?” he growled. 

“Maybe you’ve finally cracked. Lots of missed therapy appointments over at the VA.”

“Fuck you, Crosshair,” Hunter said, but lacking any heat. “I’m not lying, I’m not joking. Nala Se was there, at the fair, and Omega ran off from her—she ended up going to the organizers for a missing child alert. Daughter, eleven years old.” 

“Shit,” Crosshair drew the word out. With one eyebrow raised, he took a very deliberate sip of his coffee. “The kid’s screwed.”

“Crosshair.” 

“What?” he shrugged. “She has my sympathy.”

“You have sympathy?” Echo asked, voice dripping with disdain. 

Crosshair’s mouth twitched. He saluted Echo with his coffee cup. “Figure of speech.”

Tech chose that pristine moment to come roaring down the road, just shy of too fast, his brakes squealing as he pulled against the curb. 

“Someone order pizza?” Crosshair said. No one paid him any attention.

Tech loped up the drive and joined them at the porch. His tie was already loosened, top button undone, but other than that and the cooling clink of his car engine, he was completely calm and collected. 

“Well,” he said, briskly, adjusting his glasses, “what’s the plan?”

“Working on it,” Hunter said. 

“We’re going to go and get her,” Wrecker declared. With his chin raised, he eyed them all in turn, daring any of them to disagree with them. “We’re not leaving her with Nala Se.”

“And how,” Crosshair sighed, “are you planning on doing that, Wreck? Ski mask? Burlap sack?”

“We know where she lives—”

“Lived, if she’s moved in the last, I don’t know, decade—”

“We go there and we get her out.” His voice was thin with desperation. 

“And get arrested for breaking and entering? And kidnapping?” Tech’s eyes cut sharply through his glasses. “Unfortunately, we have no legal claim on Omega.”

“She’s our sister,” Wrecker and Hunter said at once.

“I’m not saying she’s not our sister, by blood,” Tech said, and stopped himself. He tilted his head. “Half sister?” 

Hunter shook his head. “She has our eyes,” he said, and swallowed. The four of them, and Echo, all had the same golden brown eyes, very different from Nala Se’s pale grey. They’d assumed, as kids, that they must have gotten them from their absent father, confirmed when they met Echo and Fives. 

“Fuckin' Jango,” Wrecker muttered, shaking his head. 

“A sentiment I agree with,” Tech said, crisp. “But cursing our wayward father, again, isn’t going to get anything done, for us or Omega. Dr. Se is no longer legally considered our mother, and so her child, legally, is not our sister.”

“Now hold on,” Echo cut in, “how are you so sure about that? She’s a minor, and we’re related by blood.”

“And none of us even knew she existed before today—” 

“You’re not saying we should leave her there?” Wrecker demanded. 

“I’m not saying that either!” Tech’s voice raised to an agitated pitch. “I’m just trying to think logically.”

“Everyone settle!” Hunter barked. Silence fell over their assembled group— silence that was shattered by Crosshair taking an obnoxiously loud slurp of coffee. 

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest, as all eyes landed on him. “Sounds like you all had quite the day.”

“If you’re not going to be helpful, Cross, go back inside,” Hunter hissed under his breath.

Crosshair’s eyes flashed. “Wrecker’s not exactly firing on all cylinders, either.” 

“Yeah, but at least I care.” 

“Too true,” Crosshair crooned, all acid. He turned towards the door. “Have fun, I’ll be eating breakfast.” 

Hunter immediately regretted his harsh words. “Cross—” Too late. The screen door clanged shut, and Crosshair’s shadowed form disappeared inside the bowels of the house. A headache started up in force, right behind Hunter’s eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Alright,” he managed to grind out through his teeth. “You’re both right. Wrecker, we do need to get her out of there as quickly as possible. But Tech is right, too— we’ll only muck this up more by messing around without any legal support.” 

He dropped his hand and lifted the bottle of beer up to his forehead. Fitting for the day he was having, it was no longer cold enough to be helpful. 

Tech looked deep in thought, hands resting on his hips, frowning at his toes. Wrecker, hands shoved in the pocket of his sweatshirt, looked miserable. Echo was the first to find his voice. 

“There’s always Ninety-nine,” he said, gently. “He’d probably know what to do.”

Something like fear jolted through Hunter’s system. “We shouldn’t bother Ninety-nine about this,” he said, too quickly. “He’s already…” Done too much, done enough, take your pick. The only reason all of them were here, standing and passably sane, was because of his generosity and influence. Hunter didn’t want to put any more weight on the old man than necessary. 

“He’s also not a lawyer,” Tech said, as kindly as he could say it. “That’s what we need right now.” 

“Then let’s get a lawyer!” Wrecker threw his hands into the air. Hunter winced, realizing that Wrecker wasn’t considering the reality of researching lawyers, their rates, their skillsets. They couldn’t just pick someone out of the yellow pages, lest that blow up in all their faces. “You’re all making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“We need a good lawyer. You will get arrested,” Tech stressed, “if you just go over there. How is that going to help Omega? Think for a minute.” 

Wrecker paced, two steps, then crouched low to the ground, his big hands over his face. His voice was strained when he spoke. “She looked scared,” he said, shuttered behind his fingers. “When she called her. I didn’t hear—but she looked—” 

“Hey,” Hunter muttered, “hey.” He set his beer down on the porch and walked over, crouching down beside his little brother. His big little brother, he had to angle his arm up to rest his hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get her out of there, Wreck. We are . We just need to be careful. We just need to find a lawyer, a good one…” 

An idea hit him, and at a glance, he watched Tech come to the same conclusion, whipping out his phone. 

Even at this distance, Hunter heard the phone ring once, twice. 

“Commander?” Tech said. Cody’s reply was tinny and muffled. “We need some recommendations.”

Cody was already at the location he’d texted Hunter, standing with one foot propped up on the ledge of a flower bed overflowing with agapanthus blooms. Like the landscaping, the building was cookie-cutter professional and nondescript, two squat stories of glass and flat cladding, basically indistinguishable from the other corporate malls that dominated this side of the city. The parking lot was basically deserted, only a few cars, Cody’s motorbike parked up front near him. The sun hung low and orange in the sky. Hunter parked farther away to give himself the walk over to compose himself. Futile effort as it probably was. 

As he got closer, Cody lifted up one hand in greeting. Hunter returned the gesture, face pinched. His older cousin looked serious, drawn, but seeing that look on Cody’s face was far more comforting than if he’d greeted him with open sympathy and a smile. Cody being serious meant things were going to be alright.

“Hey, Hunter,” he said. “You look awful.”

“Thanks, Commander. Wish I could say I felt better than I looked.” 

The call to Cody had taken the better part of half an hour, all of them clustered together on the porch and listening in on speakerphone. It’d taken Cody less than ten minutes after hanging up to confirm the location to Hunter, and about fifteen minutes after that for Hunter and the others to argue through who all needed to be there. Tech decided to stay and do some research on his own, Echo hadn’t seen Omega at the fair, bowing out, and Wrecker had ended up so agitated that even he had to concede that him going might just prolong the process overmuch. He stomped up the stairs to the second floor, and Hunter was a little guilty at feeling relieved that whatever confrontation that might happen between Wrecker and Crosshair in their shared room would be without him present.

Hunter eyed the dark front glass doors of the building. “What is this place?” 

“Officeshare,” Cody explained, pulling out his phone and shooting off a quick text. “My friend, his firm rents out the bottom floor.”

“His firm?” Hunter echoed. “You just said you knew a lawyer…”

“He is a lawyer; it’s his firm.” Cody clapped him on the shoulder, stowing his phone away. “He owes me one. You’re in good hands.” 

Before Hunter could get another question out, there was a shape behind the glass doors— a figure in a button-down, no tie, and trousers unlocked and opened the front doors. A few streaks of grey in the pale ginger hair and bright blue eyes. Hunter didn’t quite connect the figure to the owner of a law firm for a moment, but the familiar way Cody ambled over and shook his hand forced him to concede the point, following in his wake. 

“Obi-Wan, thanks for this,” Cody said. 

“Good evening, Commander,” this ‘Obi-Wan’ said, smiling, making Hunter do a double-take. Sure, he and all the rest of the boys liked to throw Cody’s rank around (highest ranked of them all that he was), but this was the first time in Hunter’s memory a civilian used it, and with fondness, too. The man turned his blue-eyed gaze on Hunter, crows feet crinkling just so with a smile. “And you must be his cousin.” 

“One of many,” Cody said. “Hunter, this is Obi-Wan. He’s an old friend.” 

“Not that old.”

“Getting older by the minute,” Cody quipped back. 

Obi-Wan laughed and let them inside. Hunter was doubly surprised to find the place deserted, the secretary’s desk cold and empty, half of the bank lights shuttered off. It looked like they were the only ones left in the building. 

Before Hunter could figure out a way to say that he hoped he wasn’t imposing, Obi-Wan gestured them through the propped-open door to what looked like the boss’s office, all glass walls, a big desk with comfortable plush leather chairs scattered in front of it. “Don’t mind the time,” Obi-Wan said as Hunter and Cody trooped past him. “I’m usually the last one here, anyway.” 

“Does Anakin know you’re still working through dinner?” Cody asked, easily sitting down in one of the chairs. Hunter joined him in the other. 

“What Anakin doesn’t know won’t hurt me,” Obi-Wan sniffed, and sat down in his desk chair, rolling it out from behind the desk so his knees angled in, completing a triangle between Cody and Hunter. “My little brother,” he explained, for Hunter’s benefit. “Having twins has turned him into a monster. He tried to buy me a gym membership.” From the look on his face, Hunter guessed that this was a grave change of the man in question’s character. 

Cody made a noise like he agreed with Anakin, and Obi-Wan curtly waved it away.

“You didn’t call me just to catch up,” he said, and his attention landed fully on Hunter, perched stiffly on the edge of the chair. “Cody said you might be in need of my help, Hunter.”

A humorless laugh escaped his lips. They’d meant only to ask Cody for a recommendation on where to find a good lawyer, but in typical Cody fashion, he’d done them one better, claiming he knew just the man they needed. “You could certainly say that.” 

“Well, I’m at your disposal. Attorney-client privilege, anything you tell me now never leaves my lips, so feel free to speak openly.”

Hunter felt distinctly light-headed. “We just need… we don’t know what to do. Me and my brothers, I mean,” he clarified. 

Obi-Wan nodded. “Cody mentioned that you and your brothers live together. Five of you?”

“Five counting me, yeah.” 

Thankfully, it seemed like Obi-Wan picked up on Hunter’s inability to find the start of the thread, agitated and overthinking how to begin. The man was a steady, unhurried presence. “Cody also mentioned that you recently learned that you have a younger sibling. A sister?”

“Yeah. Omega.” He could see her big brown eyes in the back of his mind, looking up at him like he was the one person she’d been hoping against hope to see. 

“Now,” Obi-Wan said, picking up an expensive looking pen and a pad of paper. “As I understand it, your mother has already lost primary custody of you and your brothers?”

“Nala Se,” Hunter corrected harshly, and bit his tongue. “Sorry.” Obi-Wan waved him forward with an understanding nod. “And… no. That’s not exactly what happened.” 

Cody frowned, eyes searching his face in honest confusion. Hunter felt like he owed him more of an explanation than the lawyer, so he turned his attention to his cousin, spread his hands palm-up on the top of his knees.

“She gave us over to Ninety-nine willingly.” As willingly as Nala Se ever did anything for them. “We were a little older than Omega is now, and we’d been joining up against her a few times. Refusing to submit to the tests. There were four of us and only one of her. She was getting frustrated. When we finally ran for it, we ended up finding Ninety-nine and he took us in. Fought for us. We wanted it done as quickly as possible, and she wanted to stay out of court.”

Hunter forced himself to exhale, rubbing his palms against his jeans. Cody pressed his lips together and gave him a steadying nod. Go on. Cody was a good man. He’d been the one to convince the lot of them to use their talents to help people, save people. Sure, Echo was their big brother, but Cody and Rex and Cut had all risen out of the woodwork more than willing to welcome them into the family. It had felt unreal at the time. Still kind of did. 

“You were twelve?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, instinctual. Then, a thought hit him and he cursed, colorfully, something awful flooding his core as he leaned over and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Hunter? You okay, mate?”

“She said she was eleven,” he breathed, horrified. “Eleven. Nala Se had her right after we left. Right after we left.” She might have been pregnant, even, at that last meeting where she signed them over. Nose in the air. Like losing them was nothing but an inconvenience. Hunter had always tumbled those last minutes over and over in his mind in his darkest moments. She must have known. She must have known that their replacement was waiting in the wings. Unable to keep a sliver of a smug little smile off of her lips as she placed the pen down on the table. 

“Hey, Hunter, talk to me.” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

The lawyer stood up and retrieved a wastebasket, placing it gently between Hunter’s feet. A few crumpled papers littered the bottom of the plastic liner. A lime-green post-it note with what looked like a childish doodle on the front. Saliva gathered in Hunter’s mouth but he focused on that post-it note, breathing in and out in even intervals. He was a member of one of the most decorated spec ops teams in the army. He’d survived so much. He wasn’t going to let his body betray him here, over memories he’d long let callous over. 

“I’m okay,” he said on a sigh, and swallowed, thickly. “I’m good.” 

“You don’t want to take a few minutes?” Obi-Wan prodded gently. 

“No.” He shook his head with intent, then finally lifted his eyes. “We need to get her out of there.” 

Obi-Wan kept his eyes on him, even and steady. “You said… you and your brothers refused to submit to the tests. What do you mean by that?”

Hunter’s mouth twisted into a wry grin that must have looked truly ghastly. To spare Cody at least, he ducked his head back down. “Medical abuse,” he heard himself say, faintly. “Not like the kind that gets on television. She didn’t make us sick. Not on purpose. She… experimented on us.” He didn’t dare look up from his hands to see what look must be on Cody’s face. Instead he kept his eyes on his hands and tried to keep the image of Omega in his mind, standing so pale and hollow-eyed. “She’d take blood tests almost every day. We slept with heart and brain monitors a lot. When she let us sleep. Restrictive diets, physical endurance tests… sensory deprivation.” 

Cody muttered “Fucking hell.”

“She doesn’t look healthy.” Hunter heard his own voice like it was echoing down a long hallway. Omega, looking up at him like she was half a ghost already. “She looks like we used to.” 

Suddenly, a bottle of something was being held out in Hunter’s field of view. He took it on instinct, mechanical, the damp-welling cold of the bottle a fresh shock to his system. Savoring it, he rolled it between his palms, glancing up to catch Obi-Wan settling back down into his seat. The man’s eyes were hard, serious, but his air remained affable and in control. Hunter suddenly understood why he and Cody got along so well.

The bottle was some kind of cold green tea; not Hunter’s usual, but it was just what the doctor ordered going down his throat, cool and refreshing, getting him back into his body. Obi-Wan waited until Hunter nodded, as close as he could let himself get to apologizing for drifting. It was the sign Obi-Wan was waiting for, evidently, as he started to speak.

“Neglect is one of the criteria for mandated reporting to CPS,” he said, like it was so simple. “The medical abuse you describe would certainly count, if not overtly as physical abuse if the procedures are painful. If you suspect that Nala Se is continuing her abuse with Omega, you can call it in to CPS. They’re required to begin an investigation twenty-four hours after receiving the report.” 

Hunter felt light-headed. “And then what? They’ll… she’ll go into care? Just like that?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan modified, shifting, “if they find that the harm can’t be reduced while keeping her in the home, and if there are no immediate family members who can take care of her, then yes, she will go into foster care. But if you and your brothers are willing…” 

Hunter blinked. “What?”

Obi-Wan echoed his earlier hand gesture. “You and your brothers are all adults, employed, and Cody was telling me that you recently bought a house in a good neighborhood. Your lack of familiarity with her should not be an issue so long as she herself does not express a desire to not go with you. All in all, I see no reason why family court wouldn’t award you or one of your brothers primary custody of Omega— if that is something you were interested in.” 

“If—of course I—what—” Hunter felt like he’d somehow missed a good chunk of conversation. “Just like that?” he ended up asking. 

“It wouldn’t be too immediate, unfortunately,” Obi-Wan said. “There are parental rights, even in cases like this. Only if CPS decided that a care plan was not feasible would out-of-home custody be decided. Considering what I’ve heard about your—I mean, Nala Se—thus far, family court would certainly be involved. I’m not overly familiar with that system myself, but I know some colleagues who could be of use. And I’m not a slow learner, if you’d prefer my friend and family rates.” While it was a poor excuse for a joke, and an even weaker excuse for a smile, Hunter found himself oddly comforted by the awkward look Obi-Wan gave him. 

“I appreciate it,” he managed to croak. It was difficult to swallow. “Do I… should I call CPS… now? Or—” 

“You could call them now, if you wish. It’s a twenty-four hour emergency hotline. Or, if you’d prefer to wait until you get home, have your support system there for you, that would be alright.”

The thought of having Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair there, breathing down his neck as he tried to keep his composure, made him feel distinctly unwell. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his brothers—he loved them enough to not make them listen to him do this.

Hunter finished the bottle of green tea and sat up straight. “I’ll call now.” 

It was not a short call. It wasn’t overly long, either—Hunter felt all time leave the room as he methodically answered the very crisp hotline operator’s questions, on and on and on. Name. Age. Relationship. Observations. When asked for a location, he gave their old address, surprised at how he still remembered it, but added that she may have moved. He gave her license plate number, Cody nodding in approval. When he had to eke out that no, there was no previous documentation of abuse, a heavy pit dropped in his stomach. The operator, if they noticed his unease, didn’t comment on it, or even ask why his alleged past abuse had not ever been noted by the authorities. Then, after reporting both his, Ninety-nine’s, and the rest of their numbers and addresses, that was that. The call ended, and Hunter was left sitting there holding his phone. 

He jumped when Cody gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Good man.” 

Hunter ducked his head. Obi-Wan finished writing something down, then clicked his pen with something like finality. “Very good. CPS should be in contact for interviews within the next twenty-four hours. The police may also be called in if they find enough grounds to press criminal charges. Considering all that you’ve told me, I’m confident that you’ll be called in for an emergency placement hearing before the weekend.” Hunter watched as Obi-Wan swiveled to his computer and started to type, fast and sure, not even looking at the keys. “I have a few friends in the Department of Human Services, emergency placement goes through them before landing in family court. When you receive a date and time, let me know, here’s my card…” 

One minute Hunter was there, in the office, nodding along, pocketing the card, dates pouring in one ear and out the other, and then he was standing out in front of the office doors, watching Obi-Wan walk to his car, a sensible eco-friendly little cube that puttered away with far less dignity than the man himself warranted. Leaving just him and Cody, standing there in the bluing dusk. 

“Want to grab a drink?” Cody asked. 

Hunter dragged one hand down his face. “I do.” He sighed. “But I gotta go talk to the boys.”

Cody released a breath. “Want me to come with?”

Hunter felt a surge of fondness for his cousin. Always the man you wanted next to you in a foxhole, old Cody. Hunter shook his head and suffered up a smile. “It’s alright, Commander. I can handle it.”

“Alright. But any of you boys need anything, you got my number.”

“Thanks.” Hunter shook his hand and they parted ways. They made it a few yards before Cody turned on his heel. 

“Hey Hunter! What’s the order on this with Ninety-nine?” He read the hesitation on Hunter’s face and shrugged, palms out. “I won’t tell him anything if you don’t want me to, but you know him, he can smell secrets over the phone.”

That headache was back. “I’ll tell him. Soon.”

“Okay. I’ll see you around.”

“See you.” Hunter stood and watched Cody go. Then he gave himself an indulgent minute to enjoy the silence of this part of town, all of the other corporate malls shuttered and empty. The trees framing the parking lot rustled together in a light breeze. The light pollution wasn’t even that bad. A few bright, stalwart stars stared down at him. 

Alright. Enough stalling. He got himself in the car and drove himself home. 

The lights on the ground floor were all on when he pulled up and cut the truck’s engine. 

Hunter clanged inside, and heard Wrecker immediately shout from the kitchen: “Hunter! We’re in here!” He toed out of his shoes, hung up his jacket, and steeled himself for the debrief. 

Sure enough, all of the house was gathered in the kitchen, a few half eaten pizzas tossed onto the kitchen table. Crosshair was standing and dressed for work, leaning his hips back against the edge of the sink, one hand cradling a coffee mug. The rest were sitting around the table, sitting up straight, facing Hunter with the looks of trained marines, awaiting the sitrep. 

Buying time, Hunter grabbed a piece of pizza. Wrecker only waited until it was halfway in his mouth. “So, what’d the lawyer say?! Will he help us?”

“‘Help us,’” Crosshair scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We all need professional help, just not from a lawyer.”

“Shut it, Crosshair,” Wrecker snapped back. 

“Make me, Wrecker.” 

The big man was half out of his chair when Hunter could finally speak. “Stand down,” he barked, the full force of his rank training coming through, just like it had when they were in the field. Some things never changed. Still glaring, his false eye gone a little crooked, Wrecker sank back down into his chair and grabbed two slices of pizza, rolling them up and shoving them in his mouth to keep himself busy. 

Hunter took in and released a breath. “The lawyer’s name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He passed Tech the business card. “He’s an old friend of Cody’s. He said he’d help us…” Another breath, in and out. “I called CPS and reported the abuse. He thinks… he said that he’s confident that we could get custody of Omega.” 

The silence that followed his declaration was hollow, each man around the table taking a moment to let it sink in. Wrecker slumped backwards, good eye glazed with relief. Tech nodded, his tablet propped in front of him, legal documents and forums pinned and filed. Echo, catching Hunter’s eye, gave him an approving nod.

Crosshair laughed. “Right,” he scoffed, turning to rinse out his coffee cup. “Perfect.” He dried his hands on the kitchen towel, balled it up, and slammed it into the sink. “Great call, Hunter.” 

“Something you’d like to say, Cross?” Hunter growled.

Crosshair scoffed. “Like you’d listen to me.” He elbowed past him. “I’ve got to go to work.” 

“Cross, let’s talk—” Crosshair grabbed his coat and shoes, slamming the front door without pausing. “Shit.” Hunter made like fire after him, gesturing behind him to everyone that he’d handle it. “Crosshair.” He stood in the doorway, watching as Crosshair sat on the porch steps and pulled on his shoes. “What the hell was that about?” 

“Nothing,” Crosshair said, tone light. He stood, didn’t turn around, but didn’t walk away, either. Hunter counted that as a minuscule victory. “Nothing at all. You’ve all made up your minds.”

“You wanna tell me what the hell is wrong with you?” Hunter growled. 

“What’s wrong with me?” Crosshair’s lip lifted in a sneer, aimed over his shoulder. “Am I the only person in this house living in reality? Wrong with me? Do you have any idea what the hell you’ve done?” He turned around fully, hands cutting through the air in agitation. 

“What about it don’t you understand, Cross? Omega needs us—”

“Needs us?! What she needs is for someone to put Nala Se out of all of our misery, but you weren’t volunteering to do that for her. No, instead you somehow got the bright idea to play house with her.”

Hunter felt anger rise quickly up his spine. “You want her to go into foster care, Crosshair? Would that make you happy, huh, us abandoning her?”

“We’ve done more for her already than anyone ever did for us at her age!” 

“We can’t just give her up, Crosshair!”

“Give her to Ninety-nine, for fuck’s sake, give her to Cut! Anybody!” 

“She doesn’t have anybody, Cross! Just us!” 

“No, we have us!” Crosshair drove his finger into Hunter’s chest. “We barely have us! You want another mouth to feed, another bed we don’t have room for, plus all the shit kids cost— do you have any idea what you’re signing all of us up for, like it’s nothing?”

“She’s our sister,” Hunter insisted, voice like iron, “that’s not nothing.”

Crosshair groaned, rolling his eyes with force. “Stop playing this like it’s about her, Hunter. That shit might fly with Wrecker and Tech but I know better.”

Hunter’s voice was low and dangerous. “Is that right?”

Crosshair shook his head. “Look at you. You want so badly to prove to Nala Se and everyone else that she didn’t fuck us up as much as she did, like doing this will make all the shit we went through just go away overnight.” 

“Cross—”

“But when you do fuck up, and you fucking will, you know what’s going to happen? Do you know what that’s going to do to Wrecker, to that kid? I’m looking out for us! ”

“That kid is our little sister—” 

“You’ve had one conversation with her! You know nothing about her! She’s a stranger!”

“She’s a child!”

“Not yours!” 

In the wake of Crosshair’s explosive shout, the silence was awful and heavy. Crosshair’s breathing was heavy, eyes wild. Hunter stared at him, numbly aghast.  

He was surprised at how subdued his tone was, when he could finally speak. “I know that, Crosshair.”

“Do you?” a dark laugh rumbled out of Crosshair’s chest. He turned to the side, hands finding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in his pockets. “That’s good, at least. You’re not totally delusional.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hunter asked, quietly. He watched Crosshair light up, the hard planes of his face illuminated by the flame. “Crosshair, what’s going on? Where is this coming from?” 

Crosshair exhaled, carefully, slowly. The silence stretched, but Hunter waited.

“She’s going to need a room of her own,” Crosshair said, tone clipped. 

Hunter blinked. “Is that what this is all about?” he demanded. “You and the attic? Seriously?” 

Crosshair’s mouth twisted. “I have to go to work.” He took the first few steps down the porch; Hunter followed, cutting ahead of him and standing in his way. 

“You say you know better,” Hunter growled, "Fine. But so do I. This isn’t just about the room, Crosshair, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me about it.”

“What is there to talk about, Hunter?” Crosshair drawled. He exhaled smoke carelessly, Hunter’s eyes stinging with it. “It’s done. You made the call.” He stepped to one side and Hunter didn’t stop him. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Throat tight, Hunter let him pass. He stood there in the darkness and watched as Crosshair drove away. 

Me, too, he thought, and went back inside with the others. 

Chapter Text

The investigative team came first thing in the morning. Tech called out of work for the occasion, eating up his backlog of unused PTO. Wrecker and Hunter had both begged off of the jobsite, something their boss, Cid, had been less than enthused by, going by the sheer volume of her caterwauling over the phone. Echo had held off on leaving for his volunteer shift at the homeless shelter, calm as the eye of a storm. The workers came, walked through the house, made notes on their clipboards, sat with each of them in the kitchen, and then left. Crosshair had even deigned, on getting back from work, to answer the worker’s questions, albeit with a hint of a sneer before disappearing into his bedroom.

Then the emergency call came in, just after lunch. They needed to appear at the department of human services, at the county courthouse, as soon as possible. Omega and Nala Se had been located (first surprise of the day: she had not moved, in all these years), interviewed, and an emergency removal order had been placed. If they consented, Omega would be placed in their care. Contingent to Nala Se’s parental rights being permanently revoked. 

Permanently revoked. For the first time in a long time, Tech allowed something akin to hope to work it’s way into his system. Heady thing. He forced it into a box and sealed it; he couldn’t risk any distractions right now. He volunteered to drive Hunter to the courthouse, dropping Echo off at the shelter on the way. The drive was quiet. Expectant. Echo promised that he’d find his own way back to the house, and with a serious slant to his mouth, he wished them good luck. 

Hunter was silent for the bulk of the short ride to the courthouse. Only once the big building was looming in the distance did he speak up. “Tech, speed check.” 

Tech forced himself to ease off of the gas. “Sorry.” 

“No problem,” Hunter said on an exhale. Then, he said “Fuck,” emphatically.

Tech hummed and remembered to use his turn signal. “A sentiment I agree with.” 

“What the hell are we gonna do, Tech?”

“We are going to get custody of our sister,” Tech said.

“Not in the mood for jokes right now, Tech,” Hunter growled, massaging his temples. 

“Hunter.” Tech dared to cut his eyes away from the road, pinning his older brother in place. He looked ghastly. “I’m not joking. The plan, as it currently stands, is to take custody of Omega. Evaluate what she needs. Provide it.” 

Hunter released a breath. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Oh, it is going to be difficult. Unimaginably difficult,” he replied, breezy.

“Tech.” 

“You said you weren’t in the mood for jokes.” 

Hunter surrendered, holding up both hands, palms out. But he looked a little less like he was on the verge of fainting. Not that Hunter was a fainter. Still. Tech mentally prepared for the possibility. 

“Besides,” he continued, focusing on the road, “even you can’t be a worse guardian than Nala Se.” 

“Shut up and drive, Tech,” Hunter said, but there was a grin in his voice.

With Tech, Echo, and Hunter gone, it was Wrecker and Crosshair left in the house for the foreseeable rest of the afternoon. Wrecker paced around in the living room, the kitchen, and ducked out of the way when he heard Crosshair stir, uncharacteristically early. Wrecker turned his good ear towards the stairs, holding his breath and waiting until it sounded like Crosshair had already drank one cup of coffee. For his plan to work, Crosshair had to be in the best mood possible.

Well. There was a limit to Crosshair’s “best,” mood, anyway, and Wrecker was racing against the clock, so at a certain point there was nothing left for him to do but stroll into the kitchen as nonchalantly as possible. Crosshair, sitting at the kitchen table, had his phone in his hands and a suspicious line to his brow. 

“Hey, Crosshair,” Wrecker drew out, carefully, “think you could give me a quick ride over to the store? Need to, uh, pick up some stuff.” 

Crosshair’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of stuff?”

“Aw, you know…” Wrecker made an exceptionally vague gesture with one hand. 

Crosshair turned back to his phone. “Echo hid the poptarts in the drawer with the clean towels.” 

Wrecker filed that away for later. “No, not the grocery store…”

Crosshair glanced up at him again, suspicious. “Spill.” 

“If I do that, you won’t go.”

“If you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to drive you?” Crosshair’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Am I supposed to drive blindfolded while you give the turn-by-turn?”

Now there was a scary thought. Only thing worse than Wrecker driving with one eye— Crosshair driving with none. He shook his head. “I was thinkin’, we could go to the big box store, get some stuff to make the kid’s room look nice.” He’d hunted-and-poked around on Echo’s computer, up in his and Tech’s room, and found that website he liked so much, pin-this or whatever. There’d been some nice pictures of different kid’s rooms; most of it Wrecker would need a few more two-by-fours and some paint pints to make happen, but they could at least string some curtains or lights up, get a cutesy quilt or something. Omega was around Shaeeah’s age, so he figured he was pretty safe aiming for something he thought she might like. 

In a flash, Crosshair’s drawn, guarded look was back. He broke eye contact and went back to doing fuckall on his phone, thumbs tapping aimlessly. “Pass.” 

“Come on,” Wrecker wheedled. “Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“I said no.”

Wrecker groaned, dragging himself over to plop down opposite Crosshair at the kitchen table. “C’mon, Cross. I was just gonna grab some stuff for the kid’s room. There’s nothing up there!”

“There’s a bed,” Crosshair said, dry as stone. “That’s all she needs.”

Crosshair always liked to talk so tough; the only thing surprising about it surfacing now was the subject matter. Usually anyone in the family was off-limits when Crosshair really got a thorn in. Wrecker scowled at him. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Wasn’t joking.”

“Pretty pretty please,” Wrecker pressed, “I’ll never ask you for anything else ever again, double-triple promise.” 

“I said no, Wrecker.” 

“Well why not?”

“I don’t want to. That’s reason enough.” 

“C’mon, Cross. Hunter said it could take them a coupla hours before they get back, plenty of time to get room looking nice for the kid.”

Crosshair’s eyes flashed. “What?”

Oh. Right. Wrecker’s face lit up. “The CPS people called! Hunter’n Tech are picking her up now. They’re gonna come back with her in a few hours, so…” he drew out the word, spreading his hands, hopeful. 

“If they come back with her,” Crosshair hissed.

Wrecker frowned, something awful squirming in his belly. “Hey, don’t say that. ‘Course they’re gonna get the kid. They got the emergency call…”

“So they’ll get her today,” Crosshair replied, terse. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll get to keep her long-term.”

Wrecker’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Don’t talk like that,” he growled. “It isn’t funny.” 

“I’m not joking,” Crosshair snapped in return. He pointed one finger at the table, tapping it hard to make his point. “I’m being realistic. There’s plenty of reasons why the court won’t just hand her over to Hunter permanently, and you need to be prepared for that possibility. Non-zero chance you can't keep her. What then?” 

“I’m tryin’ to be prepared for the possibility she comes back with Hunter and Tech,” Wrecker said, unmoved. “So are you gonna give me a ride to the store or not?”

Crosshair’s lip twisted into a scowl. “Hard pass,” he repeated, picking up his phone again. “You want to fool her into thinking this is a good idea, you’re on your own.”

Feeling hot frustration come rushing up his core, Wrecker shoved his chair away from the table and stood. “You know what, Crosshair?!” He loomed over his brother, face stormy, arms crossed. “Being a dick isn’t going to make this any easier, for any of us, but especially not for Omega. Whatever the hell crawled up your asshole, you better keep it to your fucking self around her, alright?!”

Crosshair, defiant, set his teeth on edge and met him glare for glare. “Or you’ll what?”

Wrecker’s voice lowered to a dangerous pitch. “I’m not Hunter, Cross. Don’t try me.” 

“Don’t worry,” he replied, oh so smooth, “I won’t.” 

With a disgusted snarl, Wrecker marched around Crosshair for the front door. Screw Crosshair, he didn’t need him anyway. It was almost like he wanted the kid to get stuck with Nala Se, a punishment Wrecker wouldn’t wish on anyone, his own flesh and blood especially. Fucking Crosshair, Wrecker groused to himself as he shoved his feet into shoes and grabbed his coat and the keys to the truck. He’d show him — he didn’t need Crosshair’s help, anyway, and when the kid was here Crosshair’d regret not helping to make her room look nice and welcoming. Still fuming, he slammed the front door shut behind him, hard enough to rattle the glass, and marched out to the truck. 

The adrenaline of anger cut out as the driver’s side door slammed, the silence of the truck’s cab suddenly deafening. Or was that the blood rushing in his ears? 

Wrecker swallowed and settled his hands on the wheel and took in a fortifying breath. He’d done this plenty of times, plenty of times. He used to love driving, when he could get hold of it, rock-paper-scissoring with Tech for the honor back when they only had the one car to their shared name, before they’d shipped out and he’d gotten his peripheral vision knocked back half the clock. 

He could do this. Key in the ignition. His left foot found the clutch, easy, but he peered down with his one good eye to map the location of the brake, the gas. Right foot ready to brake. He could do this. Done it a hundred times before. He turned the key, felt the car shift and rumble to life, hit the brake with perhaps a little too much force, the car lurching to a stop in their slanted driveway. His heart hammered away. He shifted into reverse, but held his foot on the brake. 

Wolffe made it look so easy. The first time Wrecker’d been in a car with him, hell, he’d been keyed up and panicked, clutching the door handle and waiting for the inevitable screech of metal, but the old vet had taken every turn at precision, hands at ten and two, single-eyed gaze unwavering. Before Wrecker could even swallow what he was seeing, they were at their destination. 

Okay. He could do this. Carefully, oh so carefully, he lifted his foot off of the brake, listened to the gears release as the lumberous weight of the truck began to roll backwards down the inclined driveway. In his good eye’s periphery, Wrecker could see the wall of green trees that lined the lawn, the blue sky, the rib-bone of sidewalk, black swamp of inky asphalt, blackness on his blind side, was that movement, was that a laugh, the kid next door, he couldn't hear couldn’t see— 

Feeling a ghostly stranglehold around his neck, Wrecker slammed onto the brake, the screeching brake pads sounding like a scream, the back wheels of the truck resting in the gutter. He threw the car back into park, ignoring the clutch gears grinding, and ripped the key out of the ignition. It jingled down into the bottom of the cab, numb fingers shaking, but he could barely hear it over his own clenched, wheezing breaths. His knee ached with how hard he was pressing the brake pedal down. He focused on the sensation. What was that thing Echo and Wolffe were always trying to show him? Three breaths in, four out? Or was it the other way around? Panicked and dizzy with numbers and oxygen, Wrecker squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the crown of the steering wheel. 

Unbidden, Crosshair’s voice came slithering through his grey matter. What then? 

He had, frankly, no idea. The chasm opening up at the end of that question terrified him.

No. The kid was coming back with them. She was gonna stay with them. Hunter and Tech had seemed pretty close to sure, and the lawyer guy had definitely looked and talked like it was a sure thing. And lawyers had to go to school about this sort of thing, right? If anyone could be sure, it would be him . Omega was coming home tonight and she wasn't ever going back. Crosshair didn’t know . 

He took in and released another breath. The attic room really did look little better than how their own rooms had looked back in Nala Se’s house. Uniform twin-sized cots. The crinkle of plastic under starchy, overbleached sheets. Walls so bare you had to hit ‘em just to get something else to look at. He had to get something to lighten it up. So long as she was with them, as far as Wrecker was concerned, she was never gonna have to live like that ever again. 

How to get to the store, though? He could sit on the bus and get stared at for hours, there and back… how Echo managed it without screaming, Wrecker had no idea. Sometimes, if there was something to distract him, Tech or Echo at his side, Wrecker could forget about everything, laugh and not care that people were looking at him funny. Being big and loud, people had always kind of looked at him funny, anyway. But ever since getting back home… it was different. 

Once his breathing was back to normal (or as close as he figured he was going to get it before nightfall), Wrecker got out of the car. No driving himself. No bus. He could call a rideshare, but the looks those drivers would give him, shoved in the back of their tiny cars, could be as bad as the bus. Wrecker steeled himself and went back inside the house. 

He listened in the entryway. There was a creaking from the kitchen— Crosshair must have stayed put at the kitchen table. Okay. Wrecker took in a breath, counted to four, and released it, reminding himself to ask Echo again how the exercise was supposed to go. He went to stand in the kitchen doorway. Crosshair’s back was to him. 

“Hey,” Wrecker said, and winced at the choked up tone of his voice. He couldn’t see Crosshair’s face, but he saw how still his shoulders fell, one ear turned towards him. Wrecker focused his eyes on the back of the kitchen chair and willed himself not to start blubbering. “I, uh…” Two words and he had to stop, swallowing, all thickness. Crosshair probably knew what he’d been out there doing. Failing to do. There was no way Crosshair, with his sharp hearing, couldn’t have heard the engine and the grinding gears and the screech of the brakes. 

A wave of exhaustion suddenly cascaded over him. Fuck, how long would he force his brothers to put up with him like this? Were all of them as tired of him as he was?

Whatever it was Wrecker was thinking of saying next, he never had to. 

Crosshair stood up, silent, and put his shoes on. Wrecker trailed after him, back to the truck, and got in the passenger seat while Crosshair sat behind the wheel and fished out the keys. He got them on the road, and without a single word getting exchanged they arrived at the store. Crosshair parked far out in the parking lot. Wrecker fidgeted, listening to the engine cool, delicate metallic clinks. 

When it was clear that Crosshair wasn’t planning on getting out first, Wrecker cleared his throat. “You gonna come in?” he asked. 

Crosshair, gaze locked forward, lifted and lowered his shoulders.

Wrecker nodded, slowly. “Okay,” he rumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh… is there anything you want me to get ya?” 

Crosshair shook his head. 

“Okay, I guess.” Wrecker mentally added some of those stick-candy things Crosshair liked to his shopping list. He hopped out of the cab and blindly swung his elbow to shut the door behind him. A thought hit him, however, and he turned on his heel, knocking loudly on the window to get Crosshair’s attention. That attention came as a lazy head-swing, a lifted eyebrow. “You’re gonna wait for me to get back before leaving, right?”

Crosshair looked insulted that Wrecker had to ask. “Of course,” he hissed, stung.

Wrecker just smiled back at him. “Okay. I’ll be quick! Thanks, Cross!” 

He turned around and made for the store so fast he didn’t even hear Crosshair’s muted you’re welcome or see the look on his face— like someone, somewhere, was walking over his grave. 

From first getting the call, to finally getting released from the DHS, only three hours had passed. Three hours, and Omega was theirs.

Well. Hunter’s specifically, which Tech understood as being the easiest route to take, him legally being the eldest of the lot and the first name on the mortgage. Even more specifically, she was Hunter’s on ‘emergency temporary placement.’ Forms were produced, signed, and submitted.

The social worker assigned to Omega’s case, a gently austere woman named Shaak Ti, made it very clear and transparent that when the investigative team had arrived at Nala Se’s house that morning what they found was severe enough to warrant Omega’s immediate removal from the house. Tech’s stomach did some complicated flips at that news, and then they were rushed off to another meeting, this one with Obi-Wan, to work out the minute contractual details about the change of guardianship. 

All of this was done without Omega present. Hunter had been, well, himself, demanding a little too strongly to know where she was, how she was, if she knew what was going on, but Tech was a little relieved at the temporary reprieve that came with the first hour and a half of litigation. Not that he was nervous to meet his little sister, no— that would be illogical. Whether she liked him or not would not be decided at their first meeting. 

In fact, Tech was glad that child services were being thorough in their work. He’d been annoyed when the interview in the morning turned out to be little more than a verbal checklist, confirming his version of Hunter’s reported past abuse, getting his testimony, and then quickly pivoting to confirm that he had a job, health insurance, no criminal convictions or open litigation. There was more, he was sure from what he’d found online, to being a good guardian than those few stark facts, and it was only the general feeling of anxiety that filled the house that made him bite his tongue. Now, as Hunter grew more agitated, he grew more satisfied. Yes, it was a good thing that they weren’t just handing Omega over to them— no matter how much Hunter’s blood pressure was rising by the hour. 

Finally, finally, they exited one boardroom filled with papers and release forms, to spy a blonde figure standing beside Shaak Ti at the end of the hallway. While the presence of Shaak Ti demanded a certain level of assumption, it was Hunter’s sucked-in breath of recognition that confirmed it in Tech’s mind: there was his sister. 

Tech’s mind took a step back and absorbed what he was seeing from a clinical, colorless angle. If she was eleven, as reported, then she was scrawny for her age, height stunted (if only just so), limbs long and hair dull. Her skin was wan, washed out— iron deficiency, perhaps, anemia, perhaps, vitamin D deficiency, most likely, kept inside, sunless. Long sleeves and pants, unusual for the season, shades of taupe and dove-grey. Unstimulating, uninteresting, unremarkable. 

Another part of his brain helpfully supplied that he, at her age, was much the same. Far too much the same. He shut that part of his brain down and shunted it aside to focus on the matter at hand.

He watched as Hunter approached, tentative, hesitating. An unusual mode for Hunter, or at least, an atypical mode. Hunter in the field was, naturally, in command, relentless, instinctual and unruffled. Hunter on the jobsite was likewise, Hunter in the home a bit more relaxed but still sure of himself, confident in his authority, his place in the family system. Now he crept along, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Shaak Ti or Omega to notice him. 

Shaak Ti marked his approach first. She glanced aside, donned an enigmatic smile, and laid her hand on Omega’s shoulder. The girl had been in the middle of saying something, but closed her mouth and turned towards them. 

Tech felt his knees lock, mid-step. Hunter was right. She did have their eyes. 

“Hunter!” she exclaimed, and met him halfway, launching herself at his legs. Hunter, knocked back on his heels, waited only a moment before sinking to one knee and wrapped his arms around her back. 

“Hey, kid,” he said, voice rough and wrecked. He got hands on her shoulders and pushed her back to peer into her face. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” Omega reported. She took in a big breath and launched into what sounded like a prepared speech. “I told the police everything, where to find all the files, and the spare keys to the medicine cabinet, and I promise I won’t be any trouble, I know how to clean and cook some things and—”

“Hey, hey,” Hunter quietly shushed her. Her mouth closed, eyes big and shining. “You don’t have to worry Omega, it’s alright. You’re going to come home with us tonight. That is…” Hunter’s attention wavered from Omega up towards the waiting Shaak Ti, then back to Omega. “If that’s what you want.”

“Of course I want to go with you!” she said. Some of the tension faded from Hunter’s shoulders; some, but not all. “If that’s… if you want…” She, likewise, turned to look at Shaak Ti before glancing back at Hunter, all apprehension.

Hunter got his voice together before Tech did. “Of course we want you to come home with us. We’ve got a room for you and everything.” Hunter stood, smiling, and Omega’s eyes tracked him full to standing— and then locked onto Tech, standing just far enough behind him that she hadn’t yet made note of him. 

Of course, Wrecker and Hunter had reported that she seemed to recognize them, or at least, connected their names to their faces, but Tech had prepared a short introduction for himself just in case. Wrecker and Hunter were, after all, very distinct physically, from Wrecker’s size to Hunter’s face tattoo. If Omega didn’t recognize him, that would be okay— really, he was expecting it.

Her eyes locked onto him. Not even the bland recognition of a name to a face, a picture to reality— her face brightened, brightened into an even wider smile and oh. Oh . 

“Tech!” Omega exclaimed. 

“Omega,” he replied, all instinct. Her smile, if anything, deepened. He stepped forward, feeling Hunter’s elbow brush against his arm. “It is nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she replied. She had to tilt her head far back to meet his eyes. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” 

“Six foot four,” he reported. 

“I’m three foot two!” Gleeful, she made a gesture like she was measuring off the top of her head out towards his trunk. “Halfway!” 

Halfway to his height— and undersized for her age. Tech floundered for a moment, looking down at her and wondering what he was supposed to say next. They were off script for his prepared introduction. Shaak Ti had pulled Hunter aside and was speaking to him, quietly. Tech was saved, or rather, interrupted in his silence by the arrival of a uniformed police officer. Obi-Wan had told them that they would accompany Omega to collect her things under police supervision. Tech deduced that this was their assigned monitor. 

“We’re gonna escort you to mom’s house,” the police officer said, mostly towards Omega, judging by his patronizing (and inappropriate, Tech felt) use of the appellative mom. “You can get all your clothes and toys. You don’t have to say anything to her if you don’t want to…” 

Tech felt his back stiffen. Automatic response— he bit his tongue to keep from informing the police officer outright that the reason they were here in court today was because their mother was not the kind of woman to allow her children toys of all things. Anything toylike they had to scrounge for themselves: a little green army figure dug out of the ground one rare time they were loosed into the backyard, magnetic linking blocks, used for engineering tests… Judging by Omega’s own reaction, shoulders sloping ever so slightly forward, Nala Se hadn’t changed her stance on that point in the past eleven years. 

“Thank you,” Tech said, tone clipped. The officer got the clue and left them alone. 

Tech intended to volunteer to stay behind and help finalize any remaining paperwork.  It seemed logical— shouldn’t Hunter, as primary guardian, use the time to bond one-on-one with Omega?-- but his brother’s shivering look of panic convinced him to bite his tongue. It was his car, anyway. He got behind the driver’s seat, Hunter in the passenger, and Omega sitting in the back, hesitating a moment before sliding into the center seat, so she could see them both easily. 

They pulled onto the road, the sheriff’s vehicle leading the way, although Tech could probably make the drive on instinct alone. He’d made sure, when they were a few months short of escaping for the final time, to memorize the cross-streets around Nala Se’s house, committing every scrap of map he could glimpse to memory. The maps had been difficult to come by— Nala Se had wanted their entire worlds to revolve around that house, the laboratory, their bedrooms. 

A thought stirred. “Omega,” Tech said, carefully, “how do you know all of our names? Did Nala Se tell you about us?”

“She told me I had brothers,” Omega reported, completely guileless, “but only after I asked and asked. And even then I had to access your files myself to read about you, what you were like.” 

“Our files, huh?” Hunter said. He had never gotten too curious about what the bulging medical files for all of them looked like, but Tech had gone digging through them more than once before Nala Se took to locking the file cabinet. He didn’t blame his brothers for not wanting to know. He had never been comforted by the things he read in them, psychosomatic nausea picking up at mealtimes for several days after the fact, his brain running and rerunning the text back in his head whenever he tried to sleep. It was a completely illogical desire, to know what was happening to them— they had no say in whether it was done or not, no way to avoid the procedures she outlined in her files. 

‘Ignorance is bliss,’ or so the saying went. Tech found the sentence ill-suited to their situation, and so he rejected it entirely. Ignorance did not make the muscle spasms go away, or the upset dreaming, the dry mouth and mental fatigue. Knowing why it was happening to them, the chemical compounds and their associated reactions, at least it put his mind at rest. The thing wrong with them, the things that kept them captive, they all had names and prescription labels— they came from the outside, not from within.

Omega nodded, all brightness, however. “The military reports were mostly redacted, but I knew that you were in special ops…”

Tech and Hunter shared a glance while Omega continued. So their mother hadn’t entirely forgotten about them. Now there was a thought that was going to fester. Hunter wiped at his mouth with one hand before quickly returning it to his lap. 

They arrived at Nala Se’s house. For a moment, Tech and Hunter looked at it through the passenger’s side window. She had not even changed the paint color. After all these years.

Their first escape was not, in Tech’s opinion, very worthy of the title. They’d been seven, on the cusp of eight, and Nala Se had left them alone in the house while she went to a conference one long weekend. Their first three-day stretch of time where there were no eyes, no monitoring presence clogging up the doorways and hallways.

They’d all still taken their medicine, morning and night. Recorded in clumsy-fingered script their weight, their heights. They’d all been in bed at their prescribed bedtime, Friday night, Saturday. Silent and wondering. 

Sunday night, with Nala Se slated to return the following afternoon, was different. Some bubble burst, spilling over. They didn’t take their medications at breakfast, made a mess of lunch, slid in their socks back and forth in the hallways, laughing. Come nightfall, Crosshair had proposed the idea, a dare, mean and far too much, but just as much as they feared it they all wanted to be brave enough to try. 

It had taken them fifteen minutes to chalk up enough courage to unlock the front door. Another ten to turn the handle. Wrecker had been the one to pull open the door, the night breeze a cool, bluey brush of air against their cheeks, their short-shorn hair. 

At that age, they’d only ever seen the exterior of the house in pieces, framing and distant. None of the screens could be removed in the upstairs windows, so they had to press their noses into the glass, mouths hotly fogging, in order to try and see a wedge of siding, a black arch of gutter. They knew what the street looked like from a distance, the lawn long and stretching. They lived in a cage, but had no idea what it really looked like, standing on the outside. 

Seventeen steps, right then left, from the front door to the curb. The great, yawning expanse of open air, the street as deep and open as a dragon’s throat. The curve of the night sky. Faint stars. They’d all stood together, on the very curb where Tech now cut the engine of his car, and looked up at their mother’s house. The farthest they’d even been outside of the cage. The realization of just how much of the world, endless and unbreaking, was being kept from them. 

Tech did not like to think of that night as their first escape because of one simple factor: after five minutes of gawping up at the front facade of the house, plain siding, grey roof, they had all, single file, gone back inside. Taken their medications. Cleaned the kitchen. Recorded their weights. And gone to bed.

It was late afternoon, now, not the breathy end of evening, but Tech stood on the curb and looked up at the house. Hunter at his side. Omega, so small, clinging as close to Hunter as she could without touching. 

 How long they stood there together, the officer standing at a respectful distance, Tech could not say. The thing that stirred them all back to the present was the front door, opening. Nala Se emerged, dressed in a prim, pressed pair of slacks and a pale sweater. Her dark hair smoothed perfectly back. She carried with her two silver suitcases, and set them down on the poured-cement porch. 

The officer sent them all a glance over his shoulder and then approached. Hunter pulled his shoulders back and did the same. Tech glanced down at Omega, who was looking at their mother and playing with the hem of her shirt. Tech found himself taking a few long steps forward, halfway up the front walk, and heard Omega trotting to keep pacing with him. 

“I’ve packed up Omega’s things,” Nala Se said, lordily. She placed one hand over the larger of the suitcases. “The clothing in here is dry clean only.” Her eyes pierced Hunter. “I trust that you will take care of her things properly?” 

As much as Tech disliked the manner of Nala Se’s declaration, a greater part of him appreciated that none of them needed to go inside the house itself. If she had not changed the exterior, he did not expect her to have done much to alleviate the alienating whiteness of the interior, either.

Tech watched his brother deliberately inhale and exhale. “We’ll handle it,” Hunter growled. It looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he worked his jaw and picked up the suitcases. He carried them off to the car, the police officer stepping forward.

“All the same, ma’am, I’m going to do a walkthrough. The guys from CPS explained about comfort items?”

Nala Se had an excellent poker face. Always had. Tech watched as not a single glimmer of anything rippled the surface of her mask. “Of course. Omega’s room is upstairs on the left.” There were three rooms to the left of the stairs on the second floor. Each one ten by eleven feet. One window, sliding-door closets with the doors removed. Linoleum tiles, not wood or carpet. First room one hundred and twelve linoleum squares, second room one hundred and eleven and a half, third room— 

Tech gritted his teeth and pulled himself back into the present. He didn’t know what those rooms looked like, not anymore. The tiles he had so meticulously counted, the inches he’d walked, toe-to-heel, cataloging, might not even be there anymore. The CPS investigators had seen enough to warrant Omega’s removal. The picture that fact painted was clear enough in his mind.

The officer returned, looking impassively stoic. “Looks clear,” was all he said, and the heat just barely hidden in his eyes as he looked at Nala Se improved his standing in Tech’s mind, if only just so. 

Thus satisfied, Tech started to turn away, and noticed Omega hanging back. She had her hands knotted together at her chest, eyes studying the face of the house. Lip between her teeth, the way Crosshair usually chewed when he didn’t have a toothpick or a cigarette to take the place of skin. 

“What is it, Omega?” he prodded. 

After a little bit more lip-chewing, she turned to him, peering intently up into his face. “AZI isn’t a toy,” she said in a rush, “but he’s mine, and if I leave him here…” The end of the sentence, knowing their mother and her proclivities, promised many awful things for whatever or whoever this ‘AZI’ was. 

“If you tell the officer what AZI looks like,” Tech told her, “he can go in and collect it for you. That’s what he’s here for.” That, and making sure that Nala Se didn’t try and abscond with Omega. And likewise to make sure that Tech and Hunter didn’t kill her for trying. 

The officer was called over and listened with a look of confusion as Omega outlined the specifications for AZI, claiming it was tucked away in the basement. Tech realized quickly that it was an android, or robot— whichever terminology applied, though he doubted the thing had enough of a gender presentation to be strictly an android by her own description. In his head, he spun the half-finished visualization, trying to justify the empty gaps with reasonable bridges. 

When the officer nodded and said he’d try his best, Tech knew that the man wasn’t going to try very hard, probably looking for a plastic-encased toy or other childish out-of-the-box thing he might expect in a very different kind of house. Still, he stood stiffly beside Omega and waited. Sure enough, the officer emerged empty-handed and with an apologetic look.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, kneeling in front of Omega, “I didn’t see…”

“But AZI has to be there!” Omega burst out. “He was still there this morning, and I hid him so she wouldn’t—” She cut herself short, biting her lip. 

The officer frowned. “Wouldn’t what, sweetheart?”

“I…” Tech could feel her agitation, watched as her eyes roved minutely over the windows of the house, avoiding the officer’s face. “I must have hidden him really well,” she said, stiffly, “I can…” she swallowed. It wasn’t difficult to deduce what the trouble was. She could find AZI perfectly well. But to that, she’d have to go inside the house. 

Nala Se stood, cool as could be, by the door. Watching them. After a brief moment, she turned and disappeared through the doorway. Leaving it open.

“It’s okay,” Omega said. “I-I don’t need anything else. Let’s just go.” She looked up at Tech. “Can we go?” 

One part of Tech wanted to indulge her in this one request. Where was the harm? She said she wanted to go— logically, he should let her go, take her back to their home and busy himself quizzing her on the wish list he’d begun online with toys appropriate to her age group. The other part of him, the part of him making him twist his upper lip up in displeasure, didn’t want to concede a single thing to Nala Se— didn’t want to help contribute in his complaisance to the wounded, bruised look in Omega’s eye. 

“If you tell me where you hid AZI, perhaps I can locate it,” he said. He glanced at the officer. “That would be allowed, yes?” The officer nodded. 

He turned back to Omega, and she had a hard set to her jaw, a little line between her brows. “You’ll go alone?” she asked. 

“Well, yes—”

“I’ll go with you,” she declared. 

“You’re sure you don’t want…” Tech was halfway turned around to point at Hunter when Omega grabbed his hand. He bit down on the instinct to snatch his hand back, uncomfortable with the clammy heat of her palm over his. She held on, surprisingly tight. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said, “We’ll go together.” 

Omega didn’t tug on his hand as he expected. Rather, they took matching, subdued steps into the house. Tech was very conscious of the skin-on-skin contact, something he normally avoided. Not that he and his brothers didn’t show affection, they just tended more in shoulder-clasps, elbow-checks, roughhousing and other methods. Handshakes were something to be borne, endured quickly in his line of work. He tried to hold Omega’s hand as loosely as possible. Her hold remained strong, unwavering. The interior of the house had been lonely enough with three brothers by his side. He couldn’t fathom how quiet it must have been with only Omega. The least he could do was swallow his discomfort, for a few more minutes, at least. 

No sign of Nala Se. With the officer on their heels, keeping a bit of distance, Omega led them down to the basement. Tech was surprised by the strength of his physical reaction to the smooth cement stairs. He was much taller now than he had been, the last time he’d been led down towards the in-house laboratory, looking at his feet. The first antechamber was cluttered with methodical madness; every available surface hosting a machine of some sort, or a cleanly labeled container of spare parts, instructional manuals, tools and viscera. 

“There he is!” Omega dropped his hand and darted forward. He took the opportunity to subtly wipe his palm off on his pants. To his surprise, Omega plucked up a ramshackle robot-looking device, all exposed wires and motherboards. Two lightbulbs, similar low-wattage, were screwed in over a small grill that could pass for a mouth, narrow and pert. “I started him as a project in my electronics module,” she chattered, inspecting the thing high and low. “But afterwards Mother let me keep him, and sometimes if there are leftover pieces from the repair kits for the machines in the lab…” She closed her mouth on the unfinished sentence, sending Tech an aside glance. 

Oh. He recognized this silence. Never from the outside; this was the kind of silence that sometimes landed around him when he had to stop himself from tipping down the sharp incline of a long, rambling explanation. 

“Go on,” he prompted, “what modifications have you made?” 

She brightened immediately, and started listing off all of the additions she’s made to the thing. Tech listened carefully, nodding and asking pointed questions as they trooped upstairs. One benefit of Omega cradling AZI in both arms was that Tech’s hands were left free. He deduced that Nala Se had not updated the ‘electronics module’ as she called that subject of training and education— but Omega showed a degree of creativity he couldn’t attribute to the cut-and-dry lessons alone.

“The batteries ran out a few months ago,” Omega said. “So I had to stop working on his code and tried to set him up for solar cells, see?” She tilted the little robot to show Tech where she had cleared a section of machine— a good place to affix a solar cell unit. 

Tech pointed to the top of what he thought might be the thing’s head. “Why not put it here? It would receive more direct light that way.”

Omega shot him a look. “It would look funny.” 

“Of course. My mistake.” 

He was quickly forgiven. They walked towards the front door, Omega’s attention returning to her toy. “I even had a solar cell, but before he could get a full charge I had to give it back.” 

That piqued Tech’s interest. “Give it back?” he prompted.

She wouldn’t look at his eyes. “I, uh… took it without permission,” she said. 

Ah. No, Nala Se had never taken well to Tech sourcing his own parts, either. Even things that were marked to be discarded were sacrosanct— if she intended for it to be thrown away, then it was going to be thrown away, and there was nothing a child could do about it. 

“I can get you another one,” Tech heard himself say. Omega’s eyes were big, looking up at him. “Order one, I mean. When you give me the specifications. Until then, I have plenty of rechargeable batteries you can re-install. What coding language were you using…?”

Nala Se stood by the doorway. “Tech,” she said. “Omega.” 

He straightened his shoulders. “Dr. Se,” Tech said. Omega made an unintelligible noise. 

Nala Se’s pale eyes drank in the sight of her daughter for a long, silent moment.

“I’m taking AZI with me,” Omega declared. A little bit of iron in her spine. Tech felt a surge of sudden, white-hot pride.

“Of course, Omega,” Nala Se said in a gentle tone. “If you want AZI, you may take it with you.” Tech had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping that she did not need Nala Se’s permission for this— something he was sure would make their lawyer’s blood pressure ratchet up further, as unsourced a declaration as it was. 

Tech didn’t lower his eyes to catch Omega’s facial expression. “Thank you,” she said, quiet. Iron all gone to rust.

“Yes,” Tech heard himself say, “thank you for letting her have the one indulgence you allowed.” 

Omega leaned closer to Tech’s leg. It was a totally natural gesture to turn his hand and rest it on the back of her shoulder. 

Nala Se’s face was impassive. “Omega is very mature for her age,” she said. “She reminds me of you in that regard.” 

Tech snorted. “Children do not need to be mature for their age to have value,” he replied. Nala Se opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “If there’s anything else you want to say, you may do so in the presence of our lawyer.” He applied some pressure to Omega’s shoulder, prompting her to take a step forward. “Come along, Omega.” 

She followed at his side, out of the house and into the sunlight. Hunter, mid-pace, stopped at their appearance. For a moment, hearing Nala Se following behind them, Tech was worried that he’d overstepped— wouldn’t Omega resent him taking her agency for granted, just as Nala Se had undoubtedly done, had done to all of them? He turned to look down at her, an apology on his tongue, but she cut him off.

“Thanks, Tech,” she said, so quietly he wouldn’t have been able to make out the words without watching the movement of her lips. Her hands were white-kuckled, holding AZI to her chest.

He nodded, chest doing those strange flips again. He held the door of the car open for her and she slid into the backseat, AZI cradled on her lap. She was looking intently at its little lightbulb-eyes, reaching out a finger and making sure that they were screwed stoutly in. 

Tech didn’t realize that he had frozen there, standing like a pillar of salt with his back to his childhood home, watching as Omega closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the little robot’s chassis. Eleven years, two months, and seventeen days since he had been in her place, leaving so much emptiness behind. He hadn’t had anything in his hands, then. Nothing that he could hold on to. 

A hand touched his shoulder and he shook off his reverie. Hunter was standing at his side, looking at him. 

“You good?” he asked. 

Tech checked over his shoulder. Nala Se had gone inside, the front door closed. 

“I’m good,” Tech heard himself say. Hunter squeezed his shoulder, then dropped his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Wrecker was sitting out on the porch when they finally pulled up to the house. 

The day was almost entirely gone; just on the other side of dusk, the golden light from the downstairs windows made the lawn look even more yellowed and dead than it was by daylight. After retrieving Omega’s effects from the house, they had to circle back to the courthouse for more waiting rooms, more aides and clerks, still more future scheduling.

The list was getting more daunting with every ironed-out obligation that appeared. Hunter’s evenings were squared away attending night classes to get himself registered as a foster parent. Omega had an appointment scheduled the next day with another court psychologist, and later in the week, a doctor’s appointment that Hunter knew was more for the criminal investigation than the custody case. Or at least, that’s what he inferred from Obi-Wan’s pressed-lip response to the court order being placed in his hand for signing. 

Their next court hearing was in four days, to hear Nala Se’s bid for visitation rights. If the criminal investigation hadn’t turned out an arrest warrant by then.

Omega’s leg was bouncing with excitement as Tech pulled up against the curb and cut the engine. Wrecker, standing on the porch, now, squinted and leaned forward, peering through Tech’s dark-tinted windows. Omega glanced at Hunter and Tech, one hand resting on the door handle.

Hunter gave her a smile and a nod. “Go on.” 

Beaming, she burst out of the car at a run. “Wrecker!” 

Wrecker’s face was ecstatic in glee. “Hey! There she is!” He met her halfway, sweeping her up into a big hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, legs dangling. AZI had been left behind on the car seat; Tech grabbed it, and Hunter got the rest of her bags. “It’s good to see ya, kid!” 

Rather than drop her, Wrecker settled her weight in the crook of one arm. As easy as breathing. Her hands knotted in the neck and shoulder of his sweatshirt, and not holding on out of fear of falling. Her head was craned, looking up at the front of the house, drinking in details. 

“How’d it go?” Wrecker rumbled to Hunter and Tech. His protective hold on Omega belied his unaffected tone. 

“Well enough,” Tech replied, tone clipped. “Let’s go inside.” 

Hunter led the way. Echo appeared in the doorway to the living room, tugging his knit beanie a little further down his forehead. Wrecker tried to find some way to fit through the front door with Omega still propped in his arms, but eventually had to admit defeat and let her walk into the house on her own two feet. 

Her eyes landed on Echo immediately, and her shoulders lifted up, stiffly. “Hi,” she said, waving one hand, “I’m Omega.”

“Hello, Omega,” Echo greeted her with a warm smile. He couldn’t kneel easily in his prosthetic legs— Hunter noted that he’d donned a pair of long pants, swapping out the shorts he’d left the house in— but it was clear from the shifting of his weight that he was thinking about dropping down to be level with her eyes. “I’m Echo. Your half-brother.” 

“Hi,” she repeated, and leaned forward on her toes for a moment, rocking back on her heels. A bubble of awkward silence arose, only to be broken when Echo made a small motion with his one hand and Omega took three big steps to hug him. Echo took a moment to look surprised before it melted away and he wrapped his one arm around her shoulders, ducked down towards her height. 

Omega dropped her arms and stepped backwards. “Sorry,” she said, quickly, “I— I didn’t ask—” 

“It’s okay,” Echo said, cutting her off. He winced, then forced a smile. “I met your brothers when they were about your age. You look a lot like them.” 

“You are only a year older,” Tech pointed out. “You also looked a lot like us.” 

“Really?” Omega lit up, glancing between them all. 

“I had a couple more limbs then,” Echo said, grinning, “but yeah, I guess I looked a lot like Hunter and Tech.” 

“I was bigger!” Wrecker added, helpfully. 

“Yeah, yeah, you still are,” Hunter said, playfully elbowing him in the side. “C’mon, we’re clogging the hall.” Tech, carrying AZI, slipped into the living room, and Hunter set Omega’s bags aside to take upstairs later— Echo opened his mouth to perhaps propose a tour, but Wrecker stole Omega’s attention by dropping to his knee by her side. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Wrecker told her, bright and eager. “Close your eyes!” 

Omega, smiling but looking a little apprehensive, closed her eyes and covered them with one hand. Wrecker took the other and led her to the base of the stairs, where he hesitated for a second before scooping her up in his arms and mounting the steps two at a time. 

“What are you doing?” Omega giggled. 

“Nothing,” Wrecker huffed, hoofing it up the narrow back stairs to the attic, Omega laughing and bumping in his arms like a sack of blind potatoes. The rest of them followed behind— Hunter shot the closed door to his bedroom a look. He hadn’t asked Echo outright whether Crosshair was still in, or whether he’d left for work already. The closed door told him that Crosshair hadn’t left yet, which didn’t bode well for all of the noise they were making. 

Wrecker deposited Omega down at the foot of the attic door.

“Alright, open ‘em,” he said, nearly vibrating with excitement. Omega peeled her hand away from her eyes, peered up at the half-closed door, then glanced with confusion towards Wrecker. He reached out one big hand and slowly pushed the door open. “Your own room!” he announced, and Omega slowly walked into the space. 

Hunter peeked in past Wrecker’s bulk, and felt his jaw drop. The room, passably liveable in an anonymous way when he left, was almost totally transformed. The dove-grey walls were softened by golden yellow light from a string of fairy lights, draped along the twin bed’s headboard, and the circular attic window was bracketed by knotty textured curtains in a shimmering red and orange stripe. The walls were dotted with little vinyl stickers, flowers and butterflies and stars. A felty white blanket had covered the faded sheets, but now a colorful quilt with matching pillow added plush bulk to the bed. 

Echo’s one hand closed around Wrecker’s elbow, getting the big man’s attention, though he had to really twist to get Echo with his good eye. “Good man,” Echo murmured, nodding with a gravitas all pride. Wrecker beamed, ducking his chin, bashful under the praise.

Omega wandered into the room, head on a swivel. Hunter heard the cat-footfall approach of Crosshair coming up the stairs behind them, peering through their crowded neck of stairway to see into the room, but he didn't turn his head to look, too enthralled by Omega's bright awe. Her mouth hung open, the fairy lights glimmering in her wide eyes. “This is… mine?” she asked. 

At the back of the pack, Crosshair silently turned and went back down the stairs. 

“All yours!” Wrecker announced, unaware of Crosshair’s exit. Hunter decided to let him go, although he could feel Tech shooting him a glance. “Do you like it?” Wrecker queried; Hunter thought the answer was clear in her bright eyes, the awe on her face, but still Wrecker’s voice betrayed his concern. 

“It’s perfect!” Omega exclaimed, and threw herself at his legs, holding on tight. “Thank you, Wrecker.” 

Omega looked so small and Wrecker so large as he bent over to return her hug without dropping to his knees. Something in Hunter’s chest twisted, and not just from Omega’s mumbled I’ve never had my own room before, but from the chilling sense of being on the edge of something. Looking in. It was a petty thought, and undeserved thought, but as dense as he could be on a good day Hunter couldn’t deny the sudden ripple of jealousy that curled up the back of his neck. Omega’s attention wasn’t a commodity; and he wasn’t sole owner of it. But, still. There it was. 

Things were crowded on the stairs. Omega turned back to her room, peeking into the closet, Tech edging past Wrecker and saying something about optimal furniture layouts. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Hunter excused himself back down the stairs. 

Some deity somewhere had it out for him, because Hunter’s feet hit the hallway carpet at the same moment his bedroom door closed, Crosshair emerging with his work overshirt slung over one shoulder, freshly fetched after he'd fled the attic stairs. If Hunter had hovered a bit more, Crosshair might have been able to sneak away without seeing anyone face to face. Hunter paused. Well, at least whatever was going to happen next wasn’t going to happen directly in front of Omega. 

For a moment, Hunter and Crosshair stared at each other. Waiting. After a minute, Crosshair mean-mugged him, pulling his lip into an exaggerated snarl. But, it was only a momentary flash, a silent exchange they’d had countless times before, always harmless. Hunter tried to match him sneer for glare, and Crosshair only rolled his eyes before disappearing down the stairs. Hunter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, anticipating something worse out of his brother. 

The rest of the party came down the stairs from the attic, Omega and Wrecker bubbly and ecstatic, words spilling over words. 

“Come on, come on,” Echo laughed, trying to herd them towards the stairs. “Let’s get dinner sorted.” 

“Alley-oop,” Wrecker said, scooping Omega up again. Hunter doubted he could pull the same maneuver without putting his back out. Wrecker loped down the stairs, Tech hot on his heels. Echo stalled in the hallway next to Hunter.

“You good, Sarge?” he asked. 

Hunter nodded, but judging by Echo’s creased smile, he didn’t do a very good job of hiding his feelings. 

“It’s good to see Omega settling in comfortably,” Echo said. Hunter understood his meaning. However it was he felt, adjusting to life with a kid in the house, their sister, her feelings mattered more. 

Hunter grunted in agreement, and Echo let the point drop. They both headed downstairs to the kitchen. Surprises of surprises, Crosshair was ambling about, getting the fixings together for coffee, while the trio of Wrecker, Tech, and Omega were nowhere to be seen, but it was evident from Wrecker’s loud verbal crashes against Tech that they were walking her through the downstairs, living room, entryway, back screen porch, laundry room.

Crosshair said nothing, getting the coffee going. 

Echo shot Hunter a look behind Crosshair’s back; he made a holding pattern gesture in reply. Whatever was going on with Crosshair, better not to disturb it. He took a moment to carry Omega’s bags upstairs, leaving them unpacked in her room. Wrecker did a good job, Hunter could readily admit, a really good job. He wondered how long it’d taken him to take the bus to the big box store. Shaking his head, proud of his brother’s heart, he went back downstairs to the kitchen.

The tour trio finished up and settled around the kitchen table. Omega watched Crosshair with big brown eyes while he leaned against the edge of the counter, eyes scrolling on his phone. There was no way Crosshair didn’t feel her eyes on him; he always had a sixth sense for things like that. Always the first to feel when they were being watched in the field, stealth measures all gone to shit like so much military-issued tissue paper. 

He didn’t look up, didn’t say anything. Omega’s attention was eventually snared by Tech and Echo, plotting dinner, but Hunter stayed quietly watching. Just in case. In case of what, he had no idea.  

They had a pretty strict rule, courtesy of Tech and his monthly household budgeting spreadsheet: they could only order food in twice a month, with exceptions for birthdays. They’d already burned through that allowance pretty early in the month, but a wordless agreement bloomed between them all to make an exception for Omega.

Echo sat with Omega at the kitchen table and fanned out their stack of order-in menus, going down each one and explaining what each place specialized in, what they all liked about each, what it might taste like. Much like Hunter and others at her age, she had been exposed to very little food aside from bland basics, functionally hospital food. 

The menu for their favorite pizza place— a little pricey for them, it delivered, unlike the cheaper carry-out place— enticed her the most, though she was lost when it came time to argue over toppings. It was to be expected, and Hunter might have tried to cut negotiations short, so she didn’t feel alienated, but she seemed to enjoy watching Wrecker and Echo hash out their usual disagreements. 

“The problem is that you’re picky,” Echo said.

“I’m not picky! I like everything.”

“Yeah, all at once.”

“Yeah, all at once!” Wrecker repeated with gusto. His one good eye took on a dreamy cast. “Pepperoni, mushrooms, sausage, green peppers, ham, pineapple…”

Omega’s nose wrinkled. “Pineapple? On pizza?”

“See, Omega has the right idea,” Echo said, gesturing with the menu as he swept the pile off of the table. Omega glowed a little under the praise.

“Contrasting sweet and salty flavors are considered delectable in most cuisines,” Tech pointed out. “And pineapple on pizza actually ranks quite high among consumers—”

“Hunter, help me out, here,” Echo appealed. 

Hunter grinned. “If Tech and Wrecker want to put pineapple on their pizza, I’m not going to stop them. They’ll just have to beg us for some of ours if they want a break with something normal.” 

“I resent that statement,” Tech sniffed, but with a smile. 

Echo rolled his eyes and dialed up the number. 

“I want to try it,” Omega declared, bravely. Over her head, Wrecker stuck his tongue out at Echo, who rolled his eyes skyward before getting his attention snared away by the phone, reeling off their usual order and address. 

Hunter was on his toes while they waited for the pizza delivery. On one hand, he had an ear turned to Omega, happily reeling off questions to Wrecker, Echo, and Tech. Asking what they did for work, how they spent their days. On the other hand, he kept an eye on Crosshair, who looped lazily from point to point in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee, checking his cell phone, shouldering into his overshirt and meticulously buttoning it up with his back half-turned towards them all. Just in time for a bit of strain to start clamping at Hunter’s grey matter, dinner arrived. 

When the boxes hit the kitchen table, Omega leaned over them and took in a big sniff. “I didn’t know things could smell this good,” she said, in awe, eyes drinking in the pizzas as Echo flipped the boxes open. One sausage and pepperoni, one with ham and pineapple. Their usual order. A common occurrence. 

The first time she’d ever seen pizza. Pizza. Hunter felt like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Judging his brothers’ expressions, it was a shared feeling. Even Crosshair loosened up enough to sit down at the table with them, though he kept his chin and eyes down the entire time.

Luckily, their aged concern went over Omega’s head as she took a big bite of ham and pineapple. A bite that she quickly had to spit out, hissing. “Hot! Hot!” 

“Give it a few minutes to cool down,” Echo said, a tad bit unnecessary as Omega panted to try and cool her mouth off. Hunter went and got a can of cold soda from the fridge, but realized halfway through pulling his hand back that Omega had probably never had one of these, either. Would it be overwhelming or welcome? Too much or too little?

There were eyes on him. Crosshair was watching, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Expression unimpressed. Hunter shook his head to try and clear some of the pressure there and knocked the door to the fridge shut with his hip. 

“Here, kid,” he said, sliding the can towards Omega. “Try a sip of this.” 

Omega fiddled with the pull tab; Wrecker cracked it for her. Her first sip had her snorting and giggling, followed by another sip, then a big gulp. By then the pizza had cooled off enough to eat, and she had two big slices of both. 

“But the pineapple is good, right?” Wrecker prodded.

“It’s different,” she said, grinning. 

“Good different,” he tried. 

“I like them both,” Omega declared, diplomatic. She watched as Hunter reached out and plucked off a single cup of pepperoni, then copied him, smile deepening as she chewed. “Do you eat this for dinner every night?” she asked. 

“I wish,” Wrecker scoffed. 

“Pizza, while calorically dense, is not nutritionally valuable,” Tech said. “Typically, we eat healthier.” 

“Like peanut butter toast?” Omega questioned. Tech was about to make a negative vote, but she tripped on, unwary. “I make that for dinner a lot. Made that a lot.” She looked down at her empty plate, frowning.

Made it a lot. In their mother’s house. The tension in the room rose as they all recognized the first real foray into that territory. Just yesterday, like every day of her life until today, Omega had been under Nala Se’s thumb. Following her rules. Performing her tests. And now she was here, sitting around their kitchen table, eating her first dinner with them. Omega continued to stare at her plate through the silence, looking perturbed. When she frowned, a line appeared between her brows, just like Echo. 

“You okay, Omega?” Echo asked, carefully. He lifted his one hand towards her but stopped just short of touching her. She didn’t seem to hear, swallowing once, twice. “Omega?”

“Uh…” Omega’s eyes were unfocused. 

“Kid?” Hunter fought down a wave of concern, turning towards her. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t…” She moved, slowly, pushing her chair back from the table. A light sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. 

Tech realized what was happening first. He stood up, one arm blindly reaching towards the stack of mixing bowls on the counter. “Hunter—”

Omega turned and vomited onto the floor. 

In a flash, before the second rush hit, Tech was crouched in front of her, on top of the mess, holding up one of Echo’s big metal mixing bowls. Hunter rubbed his hand in what he hoped was soothing motions, up and down her back, as she heaved and heaved before coming to a stop, hiccupping through choppy breaths. Besides her wet gasps, the kitchen was silent, all of them too shocked to speak. 

“I’m s— I’m—” Omega couldn’t even finish her sentence, gagging again. Wrecker, his shoulders hiked up, turned his back on the scene, from the look of it struggling with his own stomach. Better out than in was the way the saying went, but watching Omega’s body tremble, Hunter desperately wished it wasn’t true. She came to another stop, this time groaning and wrapping her arms around her middle, folding over so far her head was almost between her knees. “I’m sorry,” she managed to squeak out.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s my fault,” Tech said, quickly, “I should have known…” Hunter could feel the frustration radiating off of his brother. Omega made another choking noise, sniffing, and vomited one last time, little more than bile. She whimpered when she was finished, her back shaking under Hunter’s hand. 

“It’s okay, Omega. Here, spit.” 

She did as Tech instructed, spitting into the bowl. Another few heavy swallows had them all braced, but with nothing left in her stomach, the fit passed. “I’m s-sorry,” she whimpered again. “I-I’ll cl-clean it up…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Omega,” Tech repeated, with perhaps a little too much force. Hunter made a hand gesture behind Omega’s back, which Tech caught and acknowledged with an aborted reach towards his glasses— some of Omega’s sick had spattered onto his hands, the hazards of holding the bowl. He dropped his hand. “The fault is mine,” he continued. “I should have known that your stomach couldn’t handle heavy, solid foods this soon. I—”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Omega,” Echo cut in. Tech shut his mouth and stood, taking the mixing bowl over to the sink. Omega was steady, if a little wobbly, on her feet, and followed Echo out of the kitchen in a daze, headed for the downstairs bathroom. 

Hunter moved the chair Omega had been sitting in aside, and grabbed the mop from the hall closet. Tech ran the kitchen sink hot enough to visibly steam, scrubbing out the mixing bowl with his shoulders hiked up, spine straight as an arrow. Crosshair, mercifully, was silent, still sitting at the table, eyes staring at the wood grain just past his fingertips. 

“Wreck.” Echo poked his head into the kitchen. “Can you go upstairs and get some clean pajamas for Omega?” 

“Got it.” Obviously relieved to be released from the room, he booked it up the stairs. 

Echo leveled an even look at Hunter. “She’s washing up,” he said. “I think not making a big deal out of it is the best plan. She’s not used to having so many eyes on her at once.”

“Right.” Hunter felt a little cowed by how much relief came with Echo taking the lead on this one. “Good plan.” 

With a game nod, Echo disappeared from view, by the sound of it intercepting Wrecker on the stairs. “She isn’t gonna wear three sets of pajamas at once, Wrecker…” 

“Well I dunno which ones she likes most…”

That left Hunter, Crosshair, and Tech in the kitchen. 

“Stupid,” Tech was muttering to himself as he washed his hands up to the elbow in precise, long scoops of water. “Of course Nala Se had her on the meal replacement program, it’ll be weeks before she can work up to greasy foods…” 

“None of us thought of it, either,” Hunter gently pointed out.

“I should have,” Tech snapped, in a tone that brokered no argument. 

Crosshair finally shuddered out of his stupor. He slid his chair back from the table. “I need a smoke.”

Hunter decided to take it one battle at a time and bit his tongue. Crosshair went out to the front porch and Hunter helped Tech to clean the floor. After a minute or two, Hunter cleared his throat. “Good call, with the bowl.” 

Tech shot him a look that informed him that he knew exactly what Hunter was trying to do, and he wasn’t going to take the bait, content to wallow in self-blame. They finished up in silence, packing up the leftover food while they were at it, all appetite gone. 

Murmured voices in the hallway as Omega emerged from the bathroom. Tech’s face pinched and he took out his phone, tapping rapidly with his thumbs. Hunter paused in the kitchen doorway; in his periphery, Omega, drowning in one of Wrecker’s old sweatshirts, had been ushered into the living room and was giggling as Wrecker danced Lula around where AZI had been set up on the edge of the coffee table. She looked fine. Well. She looked like she did, still too thin, and Hunter wondered whether it would be worth it to go to the store and buy her some protein shakes, just so she could get her necessary calories tonight. 

He watched as Tech continued to stare at his phone. He ambled a little closer, spurring Tech to about-face, trying to aim his shoulder at Hunter. Meant to stall Hunter’s attempts at conversation, but it also gave him a glimpse of his screen— looking at a scrolling list of protein shakes, overnight order. 

“You gonna finish up in here soon?” he asked. Tech muttered something. With a sigh, Hunter walked over to him. “Tech.” 

Still keeping his eyes away from Hunter’s face, he at least locked his phone and dropped the hand holding it to his side. “What?” he asked, in an annoyed tone that told Hunter he knew exactly what he was going to say and he was already sick of hearing it. 

Instead of saying what he wanted to say, namely, pointing out that Omega surely wouldn’t hold a grudge against Tech for giving her pizza when she specifically asked for it, he nudged Tech with one elbow. “No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” he recited. It was Tech’s favorite rebuttal to anyone making a fuss when his plans inevitably went to shit in the field. 

Tech’s head whipped around, eyes glinting but mouth sternly amused. “I do not think that our little sister is the enemy in this situation.” 

Got him. “Then why are you hiding from her like she is?” 

Tech made a huffing noise, but didn’t put up any more of a fight. He circled around Hunter and only hesitated for a second before plunging into the living room. Omega called his name in delight. Hunter debated between joining them and going out to fetch or defuse Crosshair. He’d been doing okay so far, all things considered. Well, the previous night considered. Hell, he was doing far better than Hunter really expected. 

The decision got made for him as Crosshair came inside. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to him, and he didn’t acknowledge Hunter as he moved deeper into the kitchen. Hunter waited. Crosshair took a travel mug down from a cabinet and started to pack out the last of the coffee. 

Hunter opened his mouth. Crosshair spoke without looking at him. “I’m going to work.”

“You can’t stay a few extra minutes?” Hunter asked. He hooked his thumb towards the doorway. “Introduce yourself? For real, introduce yourself?”

Crosshair looked over his shoulder and cranked up one eyebrow. “She already knows all about us,” he said, sardonic. “What’s the point?” He spun the lid onto his mug. 

Okay. Tread lightly. Hunter edged a little closer. 

“It might make her feel a little better,” he said. “She’s in a new place, and she’s not used to us.”

“She looks comfortable to me.” Crosshair gestured at the kitchen, flippant. “Previous theatrics considered.”

“Theatrics,” Hunter echoed, tone dull. “Wanna reconsider your word choice,” he said, too even on the syllables to be a question. 

Crosshair shrugged. “Shit happens,” he drawled. 

Hunter glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door, and stepped closer. His voice moved down to a near-whisper. “Crosshair,” he said, “you wanna be a dick, fine. But avoiding Omega isn’t going to make her go away.” 

“Cozying up with her isn’t going to make her stay,” he hissed back. 

In the living room, Omega’s peal of laughter was bright and clear, Wrecker’s voice dissolving into laughter alongside. Tech made a sound of protest. 

Hunter took in and released a deliberate breath, but Crosshair beat him to it.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “for trying to be practical.” His eyes bored into Hunter’s, serious and dark. “You realize you could lose, right? That there’s a chance.” 

“I know, Crosshair.” Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m not taking this seriously, or pretending there isn’t a worse-case scenario. I know.”

“It doesn’t show.” 

“Sorry that I’m not being unnecessarily cruel to our sister, Cross. Must be quite a burden for you.” 

Crosshair sneered. “What’s cruel is what’s gonna happen to her when you lose.” 

“If,” Hunter spat, “If we lose.” 

Crosshair’s grin was all acid, his voice low and slithering. “You think Nala Se is saying if to her lawyer right now?” 

Hunter worked his jaw. Something dark and awful churned in his stomach. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Crosshair,” he said, stiffly. “If you don’t want to be her brother, I can’t change your mind.” 

Crosshair’s mouth twisted into an awful excuse for a grin. He shouldered past Hunter towards the door. “She has enough brothers,” he threw over his shoulder. “She doesn’t need another.” 

With that, Crosshair marched to the front door. Hunter winced at the clap of noise at the front door shutting— not a slam, or at least, he decided not to read it like a slam. For a moment, the low murmur of voices in the living room was cut off, then Wrecker said something, maybe Well anyways that’s how I broke my other arm — and the low level of chatter returned. Hunter massaged his temples. A familiar sharp spike was sliding into the space behind his eyes. 

After a minute, Hunter slipped into the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor bathroom. They should probably start keeping their meds somewhere Omega couldn’t accidentally get into them. Or at least he was sure he heard something about that. 

A thought arrived, unbidden: they were responsible for her, now. Responsible for her. And no one had ever bothered to tell them how to do it. 

He rattled through the little orange bottles in the medicine cabinet. Tech’s allergy stuff, Wrecker’s sleep stuff he never took… Cursing, Hunter shut the medicine cabinet and ducked into his room. A thundering stiffness was descending over the base of his neck. That wasn’t the worst kind, that wouldn’t be too bad, but he still searched frantically through his dresser looking for his migraine medication. 

A memory surfaced. He’d dumped the empty bottle when he’d finished the last rattling pill a little over a month prior. That migraine had been the first in a while, the result of forgetting his in-ear plugs that went under the over the ear mufflers on the jobsite when they were trimming rebar, ten grinder saws going at once for hours. He managed to drive himself home, white-knuckled and half blind. There was a moment, perhaps, after he’d chucked the bottle in the garbage bin and laid down with an ice pack over his eyes, where he told himself remember to get a refill, but here he was, a month later, empty-handed. 

“Shit,” he said to no one.

Downstairs, Omega’s voice lifted. “Hunter!” she called, searching. “Hunter?” 

“Be right there!” he called back. 

They were responsible for her now. Their little sister. 

He took in and released what he hoped would be a few cleansing breaths, plastered on a smile, and went downstairs to join the rest of his family in the living room. 

Chapter Text

Omega came out of the court psychologist’s office looking like she’d run a triathlon. Hunter tossed aside the magazine he hadn’t been reading anyway and met her halfway across the waiting room, first giving her a hug and then shifting to holding her hand firmly in his own. She hung on with both hands, leaning, exhausted, face turned into his side. 

The psychologist, a perfectly reasonable woman named Dorme, turned towards Hunter. Her smile was soft but her eyes were dark and serious. “Thank you for bringing her in,” she said. “I’m going to send you a list of therapists we make available here at DHS for children going through custody arrangements, free of charge for a year, and many of them are also in private practice if you want to continue past that.” 

“Sure,” Hunter said, giving Omega’s hands a squeeze. The instructional packet the courts had sent to him, as well as Obi-Wan’s careful notes, had informed him that while he was Omega’s guardian, until they moved from temporary emergency placement to permanent custody, he wasn’t permitted free access to her medical records. He could petition for Dorme’s notes, sure, but frankly the thought of reading whatever the hell Omega said to get her so drawn out made him feel a little sick. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. It was nice to meet you, Omega. Remember what we talked about, okay?”

“Okay,” Omega muttered. 

With that they were released, Hunter sharing Omega’s relieved breath once they were out of the court buildings and back in the mid morning sunlight. He could tell she was feeling a little better as she dropped one of her hands, trailing it idly along the bobbing flower-heads that sprouted up in front of the courthouse windows. She was a very tactile kid, he was learning, both with her affection and with things that interested her. A lot of things held points of interest for her, much of them heartbreakingly mundane. Hunter reflected that this was probably the first time she’d been close enough to a flower not growing beneath grow-lights, allowed to touch it without latex gloves.

The walk to the car was short, but still long enough for Hunter to fall into a brief mental spiral, wondering what he ought to say to her. If he ought to say anything to her. Obi-Wan’s notes, while thorough, hadn’t covered how to untangle the silence following a trip to a psychologist.

That morning had been quiet as well, but softer. Omega had gotten up bright and early, appearing at the top of the attic stairs just as Hunter had been mounting them to go wake her up for breakfast. Dressed in another vaguely off-white ensemble, she’d looked a little tired but no worse for wear. 

The chatter around the kitchen table had been muted, like it usually was in the morning, all of them eating bowls of bland oatmeal boiled nearly to mush. Tech had some kind of diet plan half worked up to introduce new foods into her system, slowly, giving her time to adjust. Tech, going by his owlish pre-coffee blinks, was surprised that they’d all passed by their own usual breakfast options to serve themselves the same as Omega. One blink, two, an adjustment of the glasses, and he joined them all in forcing down the gruel. Wrecker almost hadn’t been able to keep it down, a hearty thump on the back from Echo forcing him to swallow. They all gritted their teeth and endured it together for Omega’s sake; she didn’t even seem to notice, engrossed with the act of eating, steady, bite after bite. 

Crosshair hadn’t shown up by the time Hunter packed Omega up into the work truck and drove her to the courthouse for her scheduled meeting. He tried not to let that bother him too much.

Tech had volunteered to drive Wrecker to the job site, which he had accepted, but not without a muttered word or two for Hunter about how Cid had called again asking if Hunter was going to make it in for his shift, that she wanted to see him “show his fucked-up face.” Yet another task added to his endless list: work out how he was going to stay employed with his personal schedule gone haring off into the bushes. If it was even available for him to keep his job for the time being. 

They turned the corner towards the parking lot. Omega spoke up before he could. “Do I gotta come back here again?” she asked, timid in the way he now recognized betrayed her concern. 

“That depends,” Hunter said, aiming for honesty. That was supposed to be the best course, right? “If you want to come back, it sounds like you can talk to another doctor. If you wanted. I won’t force you if you really don’t want to.”

Omega said nothing, scuffing her shoes in the sidewalk. They made it to the side of the truck. Her silence rankled with him, and he only realized why as he unlocked the passenger side door: she was quiet with waiting, wondering what else he might say or ask. The silence of standing in a line, waiting for Nala Se to pick him out and demand answers.

Softening, he figured that she’d answered enough questions for the day. 

“If you want to talk about what you said to Dr. Dorme, you can,” he said, carefully slow. “And if you don’t want to… that’s okay, too.” 

He couldn’t read her expression, gazing up at him silently for a moment or two before nodding. 

“Okay?” he prompted, squeezing her hand. Her little responding smile and squeeze of Hunter’s fingers was a relief. “Good. Let’s get going, then.” He helped her up into the cab of the truck. Getting on the road, he couldn’t keep a little smile off of his lips as Omega softened up, relaxing back into the seat. She leaned forward, checked him silently from under her eyelashes, and started to fiddle with the radio. When he didn’t stop her, she got bold, swiping up and down the airwaves with abandon. Eventually, she settled on a calming slow-noise station, and settled back to watch the trees and shopfronts flash by. 

“Where are we going?” she spoke up, kicking her legs. 

“I’m taking you home,” he said, not missing the momentary flash of warmth in her eyes at the word home. “You and Echo can hang out until I get back.” 

A moment of contemplative silence. “You’re not staying?”

“Well,” he said, shifting his weight. “I have some people I’ve gotta go talk to. It’s a bit of a drive…” In his periphery, he watched as Omega’s face flickered through a few expressions, shuttering one after the other down the pipeline: curious, suspicious, apprehensive, then finally a look of distress just barely covered over by indifference. She didn’t say anything, sitting there, politely quiet, and something in Hunter crumbled. 

He hit his turn signal and carefully switched lanes. 

“So,” he prompted, “do you want to come with me, or do you want me to drop you back off?”

Her answer was so immediate that it hit him like a bullet. “I want to go with you!” she bounced in her seat, energetic with earnestness. “Where are we going?”

“Gotta go check in with my boss, first,” Hunter said, feeling a sudden pang of regret. Talking to Cid really wasn’t something he liked to do solo at all, but only slightly worse was having to expose Omega to her mouth. He’d maneuver across that bridge when they got to it in, oh, ten minutes. He still had yet to decide whether this talk would involve him begging to keep his job or graciously quitting. “Then I thought I’d take a drive to talk to my— our cousin Cut.” 

“Cut?”

Hunter nodded. “Cut Lawquane, his wife Suu, and their kids Shaeeah and Jek. You’re about Shaeeah’s age, actually.” He tried not to let the mental comparison jostle him too much; Shaeeah was eleven, too, but she was a sturdy little farm rat. Standing beside Omega in Hunter’s mind she looked about two years older. 

“I didn’t know we had any cousins,” Omega piped up, eyes wide. 

Of course Nala Se wasn’t concerned with the Jango side of her kids’ equations— the lot of them joking about his status as a glorified sperm donor didn’t make the sentiment any less true. When they were kids, it had been like a tidal wave of names and faces coming at them all at once from the wings. Cousins on cousins on cousins. When they called the Fett bloodline a clan they really meant it.

“We’ve got plenty,” Hunter said, and reeled off the basic, back-of-the-envelope version of the family tree for Omega’s benefit, eating up the rest of the drive. He finally ran out of cousins and second cousins by the time they pulled up to the curb outside Cid’s bar. 

It didn’t even register on Hunter’s radar that he should be a little wary of bringing Omega around Cid’s neighborhood. Sure, it was grungy, but that was just how downtown Ord Mantell worked— and Cid made sure that her place was safe as houses.

A long, narrow brownstone, Cid’s bar was as creatively named as any other business she ran, simply labeled BAR in narrow neon letters in the one front-facing window. OPEN, a smaller sign declared. Open before noon, that meant Cid was definitely in attendance. Better for him, both because tracking her down in the city would be too much of a hassle to bring Omega along, and because that meant he wouldn’t get dressed down in front of a pack of other workers. Hunter cut the engine, hopped out of the cab, and circled around to help Omega jump down. 

Her head was on a swivel, tilted up, moving back and forth as she drank in the dense city street, the jagged edges and raw colors. “You work here?” she asked, guileless and without apprehension. If anything, she sounded excited that he might say yes.

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m a construction worker, like Wrecker. My boss owns this place.” He hesitated with his hand on the push bar for the door. “She, uh. Is a bit rough around the edges. But she’s harmless.” Omega blinked up at him. At the very least, he figured he could bet on Cid not throwing anything heavy at him while a child was nearby. He held the door open for her, letting Omega proceed him into the dim interior of the bar.

“Whoa.” 

If the exterior texture of the bar was eye-grabbing, the interior was tenfold. Dark wood panelling made the low ceiling loom like a cave, golden-yellow lights strung between exposed wood beams, soft neon lights pouring from a wall of decorative figures and shapes, “rescued” neon from cities as far away as Mos Eisley. Winking red and white poker spreads, a cowboy in a bright pink shirt, a green pair of aliens poking bulbous heads out of a flying saucer. Glowing poker machines lined one wall, the mile-long bar dotted with virtual poker and blackjack consoles. It smelled like cigar smoke, hovering low, cut through with a sinus-tickling citrus cleaner Cid slopped over the floors once a week. 

There were three figures visible in the dim gloom— two familiar men hunched over a single felt-topped table in the corner, and a sturdy woman in a denim shirt with a short crop of wiry silver hair by the bar. Cid’s back was to the door, but as it chimed closed behind Hunter, she half-turned over her shoulder to shout. 

“We don’t serve brunch!” 

“Not hungry,” Hunter replied, strolling closer. Omega followed in his wake, trailing.

Cid’s shoulders tightened. “If I turn around,” she growled, one visible hand curling into a fist, “and you’re not in a hi-vis and holding a I’m sorry fruit basket, I’m gonna—” she turned around and came up short, face falling slack in surprise.

“Hi,” Omega piped up. “I’m Omega!” 

Cid’s eyes moved between Hunter and Omega while he struggled to come up with some way to explain, each sentence starting and then dying in his mouth. He knew the family resemblence was undeniable— and then all of his thoughts came crashing to a stop when Cid said, “Damn, Broody, how old were you when you skipped out on Mom?” 

“She’s my sister,” Hunter hissed, for lack of about a thousand curse words that might suit his temperment; he already dragged Omega into a bar, he didn’t want to start cursing in front of her until they were a few more years into the safe zone. 

“Sister, huh?” Cid queried, studying Omega with a critical eye. Hunter looked down towards her, afraid that Omega might be cowed by the attention, but instead Omega was waving her hand, smiling. Cid lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers before hooking them around Hunter’s bicep. “C’mon, let’s talk in my office.” 

“Can I stay out here?” Omega asked. She tried to get up onto one of the rotating barstools, then nearly tumbled to the ground as it spun freely under her weight. She clung to it, Hunter frozen with his hands up and out to catch her if she fell. “I got it,” she said, sheepishly grinning. Second time the charm, she managed to plant up on the barstool and put her palms down on the polished wood of the bar, rotating back and forth with the same fascinated air she’d borne the previous night, bouncing up and down on the edge of her new bed. The mundane made so heartbreakingly special by its novelty. 

Hunter left her behind with a quick order not to run off— Omega shot him a very interesting look— and followed Cid to the back room. Cid’s office was the HQ of a dozen different enterprises, from whole apartment blocks, contracting businesses, a handful of dry cleaners and laundromats. One wall was entirely consumed with file cabinets, and Cid’s big desk was more papers and files than desk. Vertical piles of rubber band-bound files lined the walls. Cid’s own green hardhat was hanging off one sharp corner of her chair.

It swung a little, but held on, as Cid slammed herself down into her chair. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing at the chair opposite her desk. Just the one chair— she hated meeting with duos, always liked to watch professional partners eye-wrestle over who was going to get to sit down and who would have to stand. He sat down. Cid didn’t look at him, rustling shit around on her desk. After a minute, he opened his mouth to speak, inhaling.

“Shut up,” Cid snapped. “I’m thinking.” She made him wait for another minute as she rolled her chair back and opened up a couple of file drawers. “I’m not gonna ask what’s up with the kid sister,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s none of my business, and besides I don’t care.” 

“We’re trying to get custody,” Hunter said, voice hard. Just because Cid didn’t care didn’t make it unimportant. “It was…” 

When he couldn’t find the end of a sentence for one beat, two, Cid turned, one eyebrow arched. 

“Sudden,” Hunter decided on. “You can demote me, fire me. I’ll take it.” 

“Sudden, huh,” Cid said, and nothing else. Hunter nodded, neck tight. Cid echoed the motion. “Right. Listen, Broody.” Here we go, Hunter thought. “You put me in a tough spot yesterday droppin’ out with no warning. You and the Big Guy, both. I run a business, not a charity.”

“I know,” Hunter said, when it was clear she was waiting for a reply. 

“Do you?” Cid demanded. “You’re not just some grunt-on-the-line, you’re a foreman. Without you the machine doesn’t go.” Hunter opened his mouth to point out that he was one of four, but Cid cut him off. “I don’t wanna hear it! I’ve already done too much for you and your brother. You showed up on my doorstep beggin’ for work and did I bat an eyelash?”

“Yes,” Hunter growled. Cid had laughed him and Wrecker right out of the bar only to call them up a week later and offer them the job. He was having a real hard time remembering why he’d come in here to talk to her, heat rising up the back of his neck. “Cid, I’m not going to apologize for yesterday. Fire me if you want. I shouldn’t have gone radio silent and I shouldn’t have ignored your calls. I’m not going to apologize for getting my sister.”

Cid’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “You know you could’ve just texted me you had an emergency. Numbskull.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I can’t promise to keep your foreman spot forever,” she pressed on, and Hunter felt blown over by just that sentence alone— leniency? From Cid? And then she just kept on talking. “I’ll try to spread your hours around the rest of the foremen, but no promises if Life Day rolls around. Gonna need four full-timers for that.” She eyed his no doubt slack face. “I can’t pay you foremen wages if you’re not on-site regularly. You get me?”

Hunter forced himself to swallow. “I get it. I just—”

“How’s your plumbing certs? Electric?”

“I’m licensed for general contracting,” he recited, with a bit of bite, since he had to get said certification precisely so Cid could promote him to foreman a little over a year ago.

Cid nodded. “Perfect, just checking you didn’t let it slip.”

“You said if I let it slip, you’d fire me,” he pointed out. 

“And it scared you into renewing, didn’t it?” She turned her back on him and started rustling through one of her big towering file cabinets again, this time with purpose, talking as she went. “I don’t run a babysitting service, Broody, I expect my guys to manage themselves. A little bit of fear never made keeping up with expectations more difficult.”

If he felt like it was worth the effort, he might disagree. It was Cid, however, so he bit his tongue and waited.

She found what she was looking for and whirled on him, brandishing a sheaf of papers. “Alright, I’m giving you the apartment block over in Old Ord Mantell City. It’s a bit of a drive but you’ll probably only top out on two or three calls a week, maybe four or five if the water heaters blow out.”

Hunter numbly took the papers, trying to piece together exactly what she was offering. Blueprints, some electric, some plumbing, invoices and contact lists for what read like low-income housing, subsidized, Cid’s management company, receipted paystubs. 

His mouth went dry. “You’re… giving me a new job?” he asked. 

“I’m not making you the building super, so don’t start tap-dancing,” she replied, harsh, arms crossed in the way she typically did when trying not to let her softer side show. “I’ve been trying to find somebody to be a dedicated handyman so I don’t have to sub out to some of the losers they stock in the yellow pages.” 

His thumbs flicked through the papers, mind refusing to find solid ground to land on. “I thought you might— why not just— I can work on the line,” he pointed out. “Put me back with Wrecker, you could use an extra hand in the restaurant refits by the—” 

“Because, numskull,” Cid cut him off, “didn’t you hear when I said what the workload is? You’re on-call, but it won’t top out more than twenty hours a week, counting fly-time. You got forty-eight hours to fix any non-emergency, so you can float ‘em however works out.” She waved one hand, dismissive. “Gives you plenty of time to do whatever needs getting done with the kid and the law. How long d’you think it’s gonna be? A month? Two months?”

“Lawyer says probably a month, month and a half,” Hunter heard himself say, distantly.

“Oh,” Cid said, suddenly stabbing some papers back into a drawer, “you already got a lawyer. Good. Hope she’s a good one. You cut her the second she’s late for anything, you hear me?” Cid pointed a finger at Hunter’s face. 

“Right,” he said. 

“Lawyers are like roofers,” Cid said, making a decisive hand gesture. “Give ‘em an inch and the next thing you know you’re livin’ under a sieve.”

“Sure,” he said. 

“Sure,” she echoed, mocking. “You talk like that in front of the judge?” Another decisive hand gesture. “You and the Big Guy are idiots, but then again so is everyone else. So long as you’re not a bigger idiot than your deadbeat dad or whoever you’re up against, you should be golden.” 

“Thanks,” he managed. “I think.” 

“You? Think?” Cid scoffed, but there was a grin on her mouth. “That’ll be the day. Keep the file, everything you need should be there. When the first complaints come in, I’ll call ya. And if you don’t answer, I’m gonna track you down and beat you with a two by four.” 

He gestured with the sheaf of papers and started to hedge towards the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, somehow he managed to survive this conversation. Wrecker would never believe him.

“Good luck with the kid,” Cid said as a farewell, and not like she usually said it— good luck coming from her usually meant get bent , but her dark eyes were serious, the curve of her shoulders genuine. 

“Thanks, Cid,” Hunter said, and meant it. 

“Augh,” she groaned, flapping her hands, face twisting up in distaste, “Get outta here! Fuck’s sake— and cut your hair!” she called after him as he made for the door. “Judges like ‘em high and tight! Just like your—” The door to her office closed behind him. 

Omega wasn’t at the bar. After a brief, very sharp pang of panic hit the center of Hunter’s chest, he located her pale hair hovering by Bolo and Ketch. He didn’t have anything against the two barflies personally, but he booked it across the room without much thought involved.

He arrived at their table while Omega was mid-explanation, tone even and instructional. “All of the face cards have already been played,” she was saying. “And it’s a two-deck shoe. So there’s four times the regular chance that you get a card under ten. And the dealer needs to hit since she only has a sixteen, but she can’t get higher than a five without busting, so she has half the chance of success as you do.” 

The two men were gaping at her, the middle of a game of two-man blackjack seemingly abandoned between them, ghost dealer. Omega looked like she was about to continue when she noticed Hunter’s appearance at her side; she immediately brightened up, and if she ever stopped doing that when seeing him, he’d throw himself into the river. “Hunter! Do you know how to play blackjack?”

“No,” Hunter lied, then, “Yes,” then, “Come on, let’s let them get back to their game.” 

“Okay,” she agreed, easily. “Bye,” she waved to Bolo and Ketch, “Good luck!”

“Wait,” Bolo tried to call after her, “so do I hit or not?!” 

“She said I should hit.”

“You have a fifteen, bullshit you should hit.”

“You weren’t listening!” 

Cid added her voice to the cacophony as Hunter and Omega made their way to the front door. She let out a bark of laughter, then called out to their backs: “My kinda girl. You ever want to bring her around for lunch, I won’t complain!”

“Did you hear that, Hunter?”

“I heard, kid.” He ushered her more firmly towards the door. “Where did you learn to count cards?” he dared to ask. 

“Statistical analysis training,” she parroted. It sounded like the kind of thing Nala Se might name one of her ‘educational modules.’ “I was just getting started on the three-deck shoe…” a bit of a faraway look descended over her face. “Is counting cards bad?” she asked, verbally pivoting. 

“It’s not… bad,” Hunter allowed. “It’s just not something a kid your age should be doing.”

“Oh.” 

“I mean…” he hesitated, with his hand on the doorhandle. She had deflated so softly, so readily, eyes downcast. “It’s smart,” he amended, “but there are laws about kids and gambling. So as long as you’re not doing it for money, it should be fine.” 

“Oh!” She pulled her shoulders back. “I won’t! I promise.” 

Smiling, Hunter let Omega out of the bar and into the sunlight. For a moment, his eyes adjusted, and someone knocked into his shoulder. His head turned, squinting, waiting for an apology or a rude jab, but all he got was a breezy, “Pardon me,” before the woman in black motorcycle leathers disappeared through the door they just vacated. No turn of the head, just the swing of a long, dark braid beneath a motorcycle helmet. 

He frowned. Something pricked the back of his neck— a sense he learned in the field never to ignore. He squinted through the tinted window, managed to catch the edge of the woman’s shape, removing her helmet, booting up onto the bar, Cid’s squat form circling around to serve her. It was nothing. He was just paranoid, one eye on Omega as she watched the cars move by on the street. With a sigh, he pushed it out of his mind. 

“Alright,” he said to Omega, “Ready to get going?”

“Yup!” She held his hand as he helped boost her up into the truck’s cab. He got behind the wheel and got them moving. When Omega started to talk, finally shedding the last of the shadows from her psychologist meeting, he carefully turned down the volume on the radio to listen. The streets striped away, passing beneath the wheels, the city finally opening up to the freeway, curving through increasingly bare countryside. 

Omega fell quiet, watching the grass fields and hills start to emerge from beneath the shadow of warehouses and sprawling neighborhoods. Hunter frowned, glancing at the back of her head, turned fully to stare out of the window. 

“You okay?” he prompted. 

She nodded, not turning around. “I’ve never been this far out of the city before,” she said, voice awed. “I didn’t know… there’s so much space.” Hunter nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. Without saying anything, he pulled as far over as he could on the freeway, easing off of the gas to roll along at the limit. Sure, it was a long enough drive to Cut’s anyway— but a few extra minutes in the golden afternoon sun never hurt anyone. 

Fennec Shand answered her phone as she exited the dive bar, helmet tucked against her hip. “Go.” 

“I’d like an update, Ms. Shand,” Lama Su drawled with disdain. The lawyer had used private detectives before, Shand knew, but he had the dull distaste that was usually wielded by those who thought themselves above resorting to such measures. 

“You’ll get an update at the arranged time,” Shand said, all smooth, even tones. She swung one leg over the seat of her bike, shifting her helmet to balance across the gas tank. “You can tell your client that her case is in good hands.”

“Hmm, yes, I’ll be sure,” Lama Su droned, nasally. “Remember, your focus should be on the two eldest.” Of course she knew; the big muscled one was next on her list, the location of his jobsite already locked away in Fennec’s mind. If only Lama Su would get off the phone with her, she’d be right on her way. 

“Of course, counselor. Thank you for reminding me,” she said. 

“Very well.” He hung up after that, no further discussion, and Fennec rolled her eyes, sliding her helmet back over her head. Lawyers and landlords. Always so fond of listening to themselves talk. Fennec preferred to do her work at a more productive pace.

Kicking her motorbike into gear, her camera carefully stored away in the saddlebags, she headed to her next target. 

Chapter Text

“Hunter!” Cut cried out, like he always did, “there you are!” Usually Hunter would roll his eyes, but today he didn’t have it in him. He and Cut had met pretty late on in life, first just before he and his brothers deployed out, then more in depth on their return, but they got on almost as well as they did with Rex and Cody. 

Cut’s house— Suu’s house, he liked to correct people— was a beautiful sprawling ranch sitting pretty on a neat ten-acre farm. When they’d first got back from their deployment, Cut was their first real employer, paying in cash and advice as they renovated a big part of the house. Hunter was as familiar with Cut’s front door as he was with their own, or Ninety-nine’s— but he’d never had to stand before it with Omega holding tight to his hand. 

He’d managed to shoot off a warning text to Cut, at least, though he’d initially planned to dump the whole long story out in person. So the man didn’t let a second’s pause ruffle his open, welcoming demeanor. He crouched down to be eye-to-eye with Omega. “And you must be Omega,” he said. 

“Hi.” She waved with her free hand, looking excited but bashful. 

“Nice to meet you, Omega.” Very seriously, he presented his hand for a shake. She took it, laughing when he noodle-armed it. He straightened up. “Well, come on in. Shaeeah and Jek are around here somewhere—” He led the way inside. 

Hunter stalled his pace to linger by Omega’s side as she took everything in. The walls of the house were dotted with pictures of the family, from a few plump-cheeked baby snapshots of the kids to a big portrait of Suu and Cut on their wedding day, the matting of the photograph covered in scrawled well-wishes from family members. 

“Ah-ha, here they come,” Cut announced before his two kids bowled into view. 

Introductions were made, Omega acting a little more shy with kids her own age. They all took it in stride, though, introducing themselves in long, rambling childish monologues about their hobbies and favorite games. Suu appeared, popping out of her office, dressed in lounging home clothes and a bright headscarf. Cut managed to herd everyone towards the kitchen, a big room with glowing terracotta tiles and a worn wooden table.

Omega’s attention, understandably, was snared by the sight offered through the sliding back door: the long green lines of Suu’s kitchen garden, nearly an acre itself, unfolded like something out of a dream, flowers and hanging vines and hedges. She drifted towards it, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Hunter, by this point, was fairly sure that she’d never seen anything like it. 

“Shaeeah, Jek,” Suu said, kindly, “why don’t you show Omega around the garden?”

“Okay, Mom!” Shaeeah hopped around, grabbing Omega’s hand and tugging her over towards the door. Jek, nimble, scrambled around them to tug open the door, allowing a warm gust of wind to stir up the kitchen. 

Rather than go easily, Omega dug her heels in and looked at Hunter, apprehensive. He tried to give her a reassuring smile and nod, and it seemed to go over as she softened, allowing Shaeeah and Jek to pull her out into the backyard.

“And stay out of the back run!” Suu called after them. Jek and Shaeeah shouted back an affirmative before closing the sliding door behind them. The three little figures all scampered across the lawn and into the rows of elevated planting boxes.

Hunter turned to Suu. “What’s in the back run?” He racked his brain, trying to remember what was growing or grazing out there last time he had gotten the full tour. Their towering cannabis plants weren’t out in the open, he recalled, but being hydroponic’d out of the old shuttered greenhouse.

“I found a rattlesnake out there yesterday,” Suu said, like it was nothing, while Hunter suddenly felt all of his body go cold, very cold. “It returned to a den, with four or so other snakes. We’ve already called critter control, they’re sending someone later today to help trap them out.” 

“Is it—” Hunter’s brain was flooded with images of the kids, so blindly tripping along while something sinister slithered through the grass— “the kids—” 

“Hunter.” Suu’s voice was warm and calm, her accent burring. “Look at me, hm?” He forced himself to focus on her face, kind but unwavering. “Shaeeah and Jek know not to go over there, and they know what to do if they see a snake.” If Hunter wasn’t losing his mind, one of Suu’s dimples appeared as she tried to hold onto her expression. “Farm kids, no?”

“Farm kids,” Hunter echoed. He swallowed. “Right.” 

His attention was snatched away as Cut loudly thunked a mug onto the table, sloshing coffee into it before sliding it towards Hunter. “Here, sit down. Exhale a little.” 

Screwing up his face so Cut didn’t win the argument they weren’t having, Hunter did as instructed. Suu said her brief goodbyes, waving one hand about a deadline, and returned to her office. Cut dumped a spoonful of sugar into Hunter’s coffee, and almost added cream before Hunter blocked his hand and hauled the cup in close to his chest.

“So,” Cut said, “a lot on the table, huh?”

“You could certainly call it that,” Hunter sighed. As briefly as he could, in short, crisp sentences, he outlined the basics: Omega at the fair, CPS, bringing her home, the pizza incident, future court meetings. It only took him a few minutes and left him feeling exhausted. He sighed and rubbed at his face. “It feels like the past three days have lasted a month at least.” 

Cut nodded, face creased in sympathy. “Good on you, though, stepping up,” he said. Hunter only shrugged. To him, from the moment Omega’s appearance at the fair connected in his head, there was never a question of doing something. Sure, that something was a bit of a surprise— still was— he’d been long at peace with it. Long. Three days long. He rubbed at his face again. “Anything me and Suu can do to help?” Cut asked. 

Hunter nodded, but found it difficult to Meet Cut’s eyes. “Yeah. About that. I was hoping for a favor, actually.”

Like he knew Cut would, the answer was easy and immediate. “Name it.” 

“Can you give Omega some placement tests? And…” Nothing like asking someone for help to make all of Hunter’s neural pathways shut down. “... take her on in your class? If there’s room,” he added, quickly. 

“Of course there’s room for her,” Cut replied, so quickly it made Hunter’s head spin. 

When Suu was still teaching renewable agriculture courses at the college, Cut had happily quit his job and stayed at home with the kids, homeschooling them both and taking care of the farm. As they got older, he had recognized that plenty of other families, isolated out in the countryside, were having trouble placing their kids at schools that could extend bus service to them. Coupling the long drive into Ord Mantell with the busy life of a farmer, most households were cobbling together homeschooling for themselves alone.

“Not to cheapen the social importance of parents being their kids’ teacher,” Cut had confided in Hunter, once, “but some of them are right shit at it.” 

Cut, armed with his degree and a true talent for working with kids, had founded a homeschool network for the surrounding farms. His class included twelve kids, all different ages, who were dropped off at the Lawquane house four days a week. 

“Thanks,” Hunter managed to say in something resembling an even tone. His next sentence was far more unsteady: “I haven’t been working these last few days, but I can get you some cash—”

“Try it and I’ll break your arm,” Cut interrupted. “You’re family. No money needed.”

Afraid of saying something stupid, or making a face, Hunter stood up from the table and went to go stand by the kitchen sink. The window above it had a deep sill, a field of succulents and small cacti, some quietly flowering in vibrant colors. Through the glass, Hunter spied the kids, Omega trailing along between Jek and Shaeeah. 

Ever the older sister, Shaeeah looked like she actually was pointing out the different plants and explaining them to Omega, while Jek was hopping around, stomping on crunchy leaves. They reached the end of a row of boxes and Jek waved his arms over his head, Omega tilting her head quizzically. Jek demonstrated skipping, back and forth, and Omega copied him, arms stiffly out to keep her balance. Shaeeah pointed to the far end of the garden, and all three kids took off running in a looping, meandering path. 

Behind him, Cut continued talking. “I can get some placement testing materials together in a couple of days,” he said. “Any idea what I should be aiming for? Grade-level wise, I mean.” A brief burst of quiet became tense. When Cut spoke up again, his tone was careful, gentle. “That is, I assume you have a general idea of the kind of stuff your mother was teaching her.” 

Hunter let Cut’s assumption slide off of him. “I really don’t.” When he and his brothers were kids, and it became clear that Tech and Crosshair got the bulk of the brains, they’d been separated into individual educational modules, self-taught on computers. He and Wrecker were left with glaring disapproval, continual re-testing. He watched as Omega paused in her running, hands braced on her knees as she caught her breath. “She’s probably pretty high in the sciences. Technology. Maybe math.” 

He felt Cut stand and come stand at his shoulder, watching the kids. Omega sprinted to catch up to Shaeeah and Jek, body at a hard slant as she let her body weight carry her forward. Cut made a soft sound. “Shit, mate. She looks like Crosshair.” Hunter couldn’t deny that; her hair, too short to curl, pale, and her long limbs made Omega an echo of Crosshair’s younger self. “How’s he doing?” Cut asked, tactfully light.

Hunter made a vague hand gesture. 

Cut chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

Hunter sighed, turning his back on the big window. “He’s been… less than positive about the whole thing.” 

Cut arched an eyebrow.

“He’s been a dick,” Hunter admitted. 

“Sounds like him,” Cut scoffed. “He’ll warm up to her. He just needs time. It has only been a few days.”

“I know.” Hunter frowned at the tiles on the floor. “He’s…” Another equally vague hand gesture.

“Being a dick, yes, you mentioned.” Cut nodded. “Have you tried talking to him?”

Hunter shot him one hell of a glare.

Cut held his hands up, palms out. “Okay, okay, Rambo, yeesh. I’m just asking.”

“He doesn’t want to talk,” Hunter grumbled. “He seems convinced that…” The words stuck in his throat, and under Cut’s concerned glance, he managed to gather enough moisture to swallow. “That we’re going to lose custody of her in court. Somehow. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s making sure he doesn’t get attached.” 

“Well,” Cut gestured back, “maybe that’s his reasoning.” 

“It’s not…” Hunter forced himself to take in and release a long, slow breath. “Crosshair’s never that simple.” 

“Ah, creating complexity where none exists.” Cut poked at Hunter’s chest. “That’s what being in the army does to you.” 

Hunter good-naturedly swatted his hand away. “Hippie.” 

“Your hair’s getting pretty long, too, kettle.” Cut’s smirk took on a more serious bent. “What’s your lawyer say about your chances?”

“Obi-Wan seems fairly confident that we’ll win.” Hunter snorted. “Not that I think he’d tell me if he wasn’t. But Omega’s social worker didn’t seem too nervous about handing her off to us. They checked out the house, weren’t bothered by the sleeping arrangements.”

“Gregor mentioned something about submarines.” 

Another eyeroll. Hunter picked at his nails.

“She might go to jail,” he heard himself say, oh so lightly. 

“Your mother?” 

Hunter nodded. “Child neglect, child abuse. Obi-Wan says a misdemeanor can get her up to a year. Felony, a few years.” 

“Shit, mate.” 

“Yeah.” 

Hunter stood in Cut’s kitchen. His lovely, wonderful kitchen. Food in the cupboards, sunlight streaming in through big windows. The laughter of the kids, distant but bright. If you’d asked him ten years ago where he thought he’d be, it wasn’t here — nowhere close. Back then, he hadn’t even been fully aware that this vein of living was open to him— that he could lean into it and it wouldn’t disappear like so much smoke trailing off of a dead match. A roof over their heads that didn’t demand obedience. Freedom to come and go. Family that smiled at him and said things like there you are! without a hint of sarcasm. His mother, facing consequences for her actions.

They’d been staying in Ninety-nine’s house for three days, nearly four, when Nala Se had finally tracked them down— surprisingly not with police but with a lawyer. Ninety-nine hadn’t let them listen to the meeting with the man, whose face was erased and blank in Hunter’s memory, but afterwards he’d banished Echo and Fives and sat the four of them down together in the parlor. He’d asked whether they wanted him to press charges or take her deal. She was offering them up to him, free of charge and free of claim, but even sweet old Ninety-nine could read the thinly veiled threat behind the offer. She’d let them go if they let her go. Quid pro quo. 

Hunter hadn’t needed much time to think about it— as a kid, of course, he didn’t have the long-term view that his adult self had, looking back through time. Fuck justice, he was sick of the constant threat of return. Let her go, let them all go. Ninety-nine had asked, Hunter had opened his mouth to say no with the full force of his twelve-year-old hatred, and Crosshair had gotten to his voice first.

“You’ll,” he said, swallowing, voice thick, “you’ll keep us? Just like that?” 

Ninety-nine had frowned, face creasing. “Of course I will,” he’d said, so easily. “I’d give anything for that— but it’s not me who’ll be giving anything up.” He’d opened his mouth to say more, but Crosshair slumped forward into him like strings somewhere had finally been cut, holding on for dear life. “There, son,” Ninety-nine had murmured, pulling his arms around Crosshair’s shoulders. “Course I will. Don’t you worry about that. Don’t you ever worry about that.”

Hunter’s hate and rage had gone out then, ground out like an ember under a bootheel, and in his memory they’d all gone in for a big huddle with Ninety-nine. Freedom had never hurt so much, acceptance had never been so raw. Well. It still was. He was just used to the feeling, now. 

A thought arose, unbidden, as Omega’s laughter cut through the haze of his memory. He looked over his shoulder to spot her and Shaeeah and Jek, having some sort of skipping contest down the row of planter boxes. She and Shaeeah were neck and neck. A healthy glow was illuminating her cheeks, and she seemed to spot Hunter watching through the window— pausing and letting Shaeeah take the lead to wave her arm over her head. Smiling, Hunter returned the gesture, and Omega’s attention was snapped away as Jek tried to grab his sister, picking sides and shouting Go Omega go! 

Sure, the immediate freedom of taking Nala Se’s deal had been one of the best moments in Hunter’s life. Watching her sign the transference of guardianship papers. The final click of the pen. Her enigmatic smile. She’d been pregnant then, must have been. Taking the easy way out had damned Omega to taking all their places. 

Cut cleared his throat, jolting Hunter back into the kitchen. Sitting again at the table and nursing his coffee, Cut lifted an eyebrow. Hunter just shook his head, shortly. Thankfully, Cut let his mental wanderings go with a little shrug, a loud slurp of coffee. 

“One thing I will say,” Cut said, “is that you’ve got your work cut out for you, raising a girl.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “You managed it.”

“I’m managing it, mainly with the help of my lovely partner.” He got a bit of a wistful look. “How many aunts are we at for her, now? I’ve got Suu, there’s Bly and Aayla, Fox has got Riyo—”

“Riyo’s got Fox,” Hunter corrected, just for fun. It was more entertaining when Fox was actually around and could turn a nice fire-truck shade of red, but Cut still chuckled. 

“Has she sent you a goodie box for Omega yet?” he asked, pivoting slightly. “I wouldn’t put it past her to overnight something from Coruscant.”

Hunter shifted his feet. His eye twitched, but he managed to hide it with a rub of his hand. “We, uh, haven’t told Fox and Riyo about it, yet.” 

“Huh. I’m surprised Ninety-nine hasn’t sent a clan-wide email about it all,” Cut commented. Hunter’s eye twitched again, only this time Cut definitely saw, frowning. “No,” he groaned, slumping back in his chair and giving Hunter an exasperated look. 

“No what,” Hunter tried. 

“Hunter, mate, please look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been avoiding telling Ninety-nine about this.” 

Hunter looked somewhere over Cut’s left shoulder. “I’m working on it.” 

Cut groaned again, louder and wordless.

“I said I’m working on it,” Hunter repeated, wincing at how many octaves his voice rose. “You said it yourself, things have been tight these past few days.” 

“Right, and even golden boy Echo couldn’t spare his dad a text about his new sister.” 

“No,” Hunter said, hoping that Cut’s powers didn’t extend to reading his mind, his conversation with Echo about the gag order rushing up to meet him from the back of his grey matter. Echo hadn’t looked like he liked the idea of waiting to tell their old caretaker about the situation, but Hunter had managed to somehow sway him. That, or Echo found his position adequately pitiable. Hunter wasn’t sure which option he disliked the least. “I was going to call him when things are more settled.” 

“Unbelievable,” Cut muttered. He took out his phone, thumbs tapping rapidly.

Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t—”

“Unclench, Sarge, I’m not breaking field silence,” Cut scoffed. “I’m extending my disappointment to dearly beloved Commander Cody. You borrow enough of his brain cells on a good day that he’s culpable for your decisions. How do you spell ‘imbecilic’?” 

Making a mental note to make up his aiding and abetting to Cody later, Hunter gave it his best shot. Cut nodded, sent off the text, and hit his phone down onto the table with finality. 

“You know what I’m going to say,” Cut said.

“Then why say it?” Hunter tried to edge towards the door. 

“Ninety-nine isn’t going to think less of you if you ask for his help, Hunter.”

“I’m not—” Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know that. It’s not— Ninety-nine can’t do much for me, here,” he muttered. “He can’t make the drive and besides, the house is full enough as it is. I’ll only worry him.” 

Cut’s soft, gentle look could be classified as torture. “Bet you five bucks he already worries about you. That’s how being a parent works.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter muttered, mulishly looking at the sugary dregs of his coffee cup, “sure.” 

“So,” Cut said, pointedly, “how’s therapy treating you?”

“Anyways, we’ll get out of your hair,” Hunter said, ducking to put his coffee mug in the sink. “Thanks again, Cut.”

To his relief, Cut laughed. “Alright, alright. I only make fun of you ‘cause I care.”

Something warm prickled at the back of Hunter’s neck. Sheepish, he tried to rub the feeling away. “I know—” 

“Mom! Dad!” Jek’s voice was reedy and clearly panicked. 

Hunter didn’t realize he was moving until he was already at the sliding glass door, yanking it open so hard it rattled. Cut was pressed close to one side, on his heels, and his son panted on the poured-concrete back porch. “Jek, take a breath, what—”

“It’s Omega,” Jek panted, pointing behind him. His eyes were wide. “We threw the ball and it went over into the back—”

Hunter didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Garden boxes passed him as he sprinted down the centerline, the low chicken-wire fence that marked out the old scratching grounds turned scrubland. Shaeeah was standing by the fence, one leg swung over, her head turned over her shoulder at the shocking burst of Hunter’s approach. And Omega. And Omega. 

She was standing still, her back turned towards him, one arm reached out in front of her for a large, brightly colored ball. His heartbeat is a single sound in his ears. The rushing of blood. His breathing, tightly controlled.

The death shiver of the rattlesnake’s rattle. 

Hunter didn’t even see the damn thing; it blended in with the hard-packed dirt ground, the dead clumps of yellow grass. It was loud enough that he knew it was close, way too close, survival instinct goosebumps breaking out along the back of his neck. Omega was still as stone, frozen in shock, had been, why hadn’t she moved, backed up, gotten away— 

One second he was standing at the fence. Then he was next to Omega, wrapping his arm around her chest, hauling her backwards. 

Briefly, traitorously, he was glad that she was so skinny. 

They landed on the other side of the chicken wire fence, and by then even Cut and Jek had arrived. Hunter’s body was all adrenaline, all go, a feeling he hadn’t had since the last time he had to run chicken for some sniper when they were pinned, Slot him for me, Crosshair, Sure thing, Sarge, a memory in his ears.

Omega was out of his arms. He wasn’t sure if he dropped her or she got free, but she looked up at him, guileless and open, arms held close to her chest, and he saw red. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he demanded, thundering, blind with fear. “Suu told you not to go back there! You could have been—”

A hand latched down hard on the space between his neck and shoulder, shocking him into silence. “Stand down, sergeant.” Cut hadn’t ever had a commission, but he could put on a rank voice when the moment called for it. It cut through the hot burn of Hunter’s panic, grounding him, and he shut his mouth with an audible snap. Cut maintained pressure, leveraging him back two steps. Giving Omega air. Giving him some air. Hunter reeled when Cut released him. His cousin knelt down in front of Omega, tone soothing. 

“Easy, Omega, easy, you’re okay. Are you hurt?” His hands ghosted over her shoulders to her elbows. It was clear that she wasn’t, but the question broke the floodgates open, and she sniffed, leaning onto Cut’s waiting arms, quivering. 

“I was just— I was just trying to get the ball— I didn’t know —” 

“There, now. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” 

Hunter felt sick. 

Cut scooped Omega up into his arms and stood with practiced ease. Shaeeah, eyes wide with worry, trailed along in her father’s wake. Hunter stood like a pillar. Cut looked over his shoulder, and for all the softness in his gaze Hunter felt like he was getting staked by a rail spike. 

“Go cool off,” Cut instructed, jerking his chin. Hunter stood and listened to the rush of blood in his ears as the adrenaline in his system broke down. Cut, Omega, and Shaeeah disappeared inside the house, and after a ten-count, Hunter forced himself to move, head swimming with guilt. All the way through the house. He wanted to hide, wanted to go carve out a foxhole and hunker down. 

He ended up slinking through the house, forcefully deaf to anything getting said in another room. He went out the front door, closing but not locking it behind him. The air out here, on the other side of the house, was just as thick and harsh as the air in the garden had become. 

Hunter let himself slump down onto the top step. He hadn’t thought— he hadn’t been thinking , but his subconscious had a hell of a mouth. The very edge of the idea of Omega in danger had unleashed something in him he hadn’t realized was even there. Still was there. When you were in the field, that instinct saved your life. It saved your team’s life. Hunter rubbed his hands, hard, against his face. He wasn’t in the field. He was home. They were all safe. Omega was safe. 

After what could have been as little as a few minutes or as long as an hour, the front door opened and closed with a jingle, Cut lowering himself down to sit next to Hunter and an indulgent huff.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her,” Hunter muttered, miserable.

“No,” Cut agreed cheerfully, “you shouldn’t’ve.” 

At his tone, Hunter’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed and suspicious. Cut was admiring the trees that lined the driveway, a grin on his face, like this was just a nice Saturday afternoon and there was nothing on the docket. 

“Glad to see you’re having a good day, at least,” Hunter growled. He massaged his temples, wishing his hands were cooler. 

He could feel Cut’s eyes on him, contemplative. “Headaches coming back?”

They never really left. He dropped his hands. “I’m fine.” 

“You sure? I can grab you some painkillers.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“A shot of whiskey, then. A joint?”

Hunter elbowed him, and not lightly.

“Alright, alright, tough guy, just don’t tell me I never offered.”

“Noted.” Dropping his head, Hunter rubbed this thumb against the knotty back of his neck. Maybe, if he was lucky, Cut would grant him some mercy and not say anything, and Hunter could just age away into dust on his front stoop.

No such luck.

“So,” Cut said, “that scene back there.”

“It’s a scene. Great.” 

“Figure of speech, mate.” Cut leaned in and bumped his shoulder against Hunter’s. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, Hunter. It won’t do you or her any good.” 

What Hunter wanted to say was I don’t think I can do this , but instead he heard himself say, “What if Crosshair’s right? What if…” 

“Crosshair is right,” Cut said, but kindly. “There is a worst-case scenario. That’s not untrue. You didn’t mention Crosshair saying anything about you being Omega’s guardian.”

“He said I’d fuck it up.” Hunter gestured. “And I did.”

“Hunter, mate, that wasn’t you fucking up. You made a mistake, sure, but honest mistakes and fucking up royally are two very different things.”

“She hates me, now,” he muttered. “Has to.” 

“Hunter,” Cut sighed in the way only he could really manage, “you yelling at her wouldn’t have shut her down so hard if she didn’t think the world of you.” 

A traitorous bit of hope unfurled in Hunter’s chest. “Yeah, and I just stepped on it.” He sighed again. “I don’t know how you do it,” he admitted.

Cut sounded amused. “Do what?”

“Be the perfect dad. I don’t— I never could.”  

“Hey, don’t talk like that, come on.” 

“It’s true.” 

“Hunter, if you think I’m perfect, you haven’t been paying attention.” 

“Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect marriage…” Hunter counted off on his fingers. “Forgive me for missing the memo.” 

He was surprised when Cut didn’t immediately hit back with another joke or jibe. He glanced to the side, taking in Cut’s face. He still leaned back on his hands, watching the trees, but the carefree smile was gone, replaced with something more contemplative. 

“I’m lucky, Hunter,” he said, not what Hunter was expecting to hear. “Very, very lucky. Lucky that I survived my tour, lucky that I beat my AWOL charge, lucky that Suu decided to keep me. We play the hands we’re dealt. Skill and empathy only get you so far.” 

Hunter counted out four beats, holding his breath, and exhaled for four. 

“You got dealt a rough hand,” Cut continued, quiet with sincerity. “You and your brothers and Omega. And I’m sorry for that. None of you deserve the shit you’ve had to survive. And it’s not your fault. All you can do now is your best.” He leaned in again, bumping shoulders. “And give yourself a little grace, besides.” 

Hunter focused on his breathing. On the rustle of the wind through the trees. The distant drone of flying bugs, the hum of late autumn air. 

Cut whistled an annoyingly merry tune.

“I hate when you’re right,” Hunter muttered. 

“That makes one of us,” Cut shot back, clicking his tongue. He stood and nudged Hunter with his knee. “They’re singing your song, Fearless Leader. Time to make good with your little sister.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunter sighed, scrubbing at his face. With a sigh and a groan, he dragged himself up to standing, scuffling his feet a little as he turned. He faced Cut, in the process of reaching for the doorknob, and hesitated. “Cut?”

His cousin turned back from the door, facing him. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Hunter prefaced. “I’m going to fight for her for as long and as hard as I need to. But… it would give me some peace of mind to know that there might be somewhere else for her to go. If. If it wasn’t enough. If they won’t let us keep her.” He swallowed and pressed on, quickly, “I know it’s not my place, that I shouldn’t ask, but—”

“Hey.” Cut’s hand came down onto his shoulder, solid and sure. “Shut up. Okay? You’re family. Omega’s family. I know that you’re going to win. But if it’ll cover your six, me and Suu’ll take care of her.” He squeezed his hand. “But only if you boys lose,” he added. 

Hunter tried his best to return his grin. “Right.” 

With that, Cut swung his arm across Hunter’s shoulders and steered him inside. 

The air in the house was a little stiff; Hunter kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Shaeeah and Jek, stomach curdling at the thought of their reactions to his outburst. Leave it up to him to ruin his relationship with not one but three children all at once. Must be a new record. 

He didn’t see them, and Cut steered him towards the hallway that led to all the house’s bedrooms. Giving him a shove in the right direction, Cut bowed out with what he probably thought was an encouraging salute. 

He could do this. He could do this. He’d faced down death in the field countless times, survived his childhood and more. He could do this. Feeling less and less convinced by himself, he crept along the hallway to the only room with a cracked door— Shaeeah’s, if the big foldout She-Ra poster Wrecker had picked out for her birthday taped to it was any indication. He picked up on some rustling inside, and gave himself a second to think and breathe. 

Okay. Enough stalling. He cleared his throat and knocked on the door, light enough to make noise without moving the door too much. “Omega?” 

She hiccuped. “I’m in here.” 

“Can I come in?” he asked. Sure, the door was open a crack, but he didn’t want to screw up by assuming. 

A loud sniff, some muffled steps. She pulled open the bedroom door, and the red haze of her cried-out eyes made him feel utterly wretched. Shaeeah wasn’t in the room with her, probably handing over the soft, safe haven of her room for Omega to clean up in. 

“Hey,” Hunter said, for a lack of any immediate, better idea. “D’you wanna sit down? We should… I have something I need to say.”

She nodded and silently left the doorway to go perch on Shaeeah’s twin bed. Hunter followed, leaving the door open a crack behind him. Omega sat on the bed, stiff as a board, face drawn and empty. Her little hands made fists in Shaeeah’s brightly patterned coverlet. After a second’s hesitation, Hunter shifted so he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, able to meet her eyes. She held eye contact for a second, gutted, and then fixed her eyes on her knees. He released a breath.

“Omega,” he started, and paused as she managed to somehow ratchet up into an even more upright, tense position. He reached out for her, then dropped his hand. He doubted she’d find much comfort in his touch right now. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you,” he pressed on. She blinked, eyebrows coming together. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong.”

“No,” she burst out, quickly, words tumbling one after other, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have run after the ball, and I shouldn’t’ve cried, and… and…” she looked like she was doing her best to bite down on her tears, and Hunter wanted to kick himself. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted. Her face moved further into confusion. “You didn’t know, that’s not your fault. I was just… there’s stuff I can’t protect you from,” he said, “and I was scared. That’s not an excuse, I just—” Shit, she really looked like he was losing her the more he talked. “I don’t have a lot of experience with kids,” he admitted. “Not like Cut. I have a lot to learn. But I’m gonna try.” He finally found a stopping point and shut his big mouth. Ball in her court. 

She still looked like he was speaking mando’a. “You mean… you’re not going to send me back?” she asked, and his heart broke. She looked away, rubbing at her eyes, and he reached out with careful hands, unsure what to do but damn if he wasn’t going to give it a good marine try. One hand landed on her shoulder, the other smoothing her bangs back off of her forehead. 

“Never,” he said, voice rough. He forced himself to swallow, throat tight. “Omega, look at me. I would never…” She was looking at him with a bruised, open look. He shook his head, fiercely. “There is nothing you could do that would make that happen. Nothing.” He tried for a smile. It was probably perfectly ghastly. “You’re stuck with me, kid.” An embarrassing bit of doubt crept in among his grey matter. “That is,” he stuttered, “if you… if you still want—”

She wordlessly threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. 

All of his breath left him in a rush. “Okay,” he managed to say, hugging his little sister tight. “Okay.” She was shaking a little, but he was, too. It’d be their secret. He managed to get standing without pulling something, Omega’s face tucked into the collar of his jacket. “Let’s go home,” he said, cradling her weight in one arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she muttered back, arms tightening. 

Hunter exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, a weight slipping from his shoulders as he carried her out. 

They were going to be okay. 

Chapter Text

Echo woke up and managed to shut his phone’s alarm down a minute before it started buzzing. For a second he lay there, scrolling through a few new emails. Across the room, Tech’s lofted bed still hosted an unstirring lump; by the time Echo yanked his prosthesis off and crashed last night, Tech was still up, running together a week-by-week meal plan to get Omega’s body accustomed to different food groups. One hell of a grocery run was in their future, and a couple of flat packs of meal replacement shakes (strawberry and chocolate flavored) were on their way from the warehouse. 

Eventually, Echo got tired of lazing around and pushed himself to sitting with his hand. Tech had designed Echo’s half of the room, from his low bed frame to the padding along the wall, and Echo leaned back to do his morning stretches. When he was first fresh to the raw, awful of existence of life without Fives, any reminder of his loss was torture. Now, the gentle stretches and body-weight reps for what remained of his legs was casual, normative. The scars healed, the phantom pains quit, and life went on. 

That done (and Tech still asleep), Echo considered his options. He wasn’t due at the shelter that day, nothing else on the docket. That usually meant tossing on some shorts and a shirt, long sleeved or no.

But. Omega was in the house. 

So far, for the three full days Omega was in their care, he had always gone around in a long-sleeved shirt and long pants, with his old hospital grippy socks over the molded plastic shape of his prosthetic feet. 

It wasn’t that he was trying to fool her into thinking he was up two more limbs than he was. Sure, a one-armed guy got some stares on the bus, but a guy with only one arm, titanium from thigh to floor, he made people uncomfortable. Omega had enough on her plate already, starting to get ready to start school full-time over in Saleucami. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to tiptoe around him whenever they were in the same room.

He grabbed a clean pair of gel liners and rolled them up his thighs. Then he moved himself on stumps and arms over to the stable four-legged chair by the foot of his bed, pulling himself up to sitting. The low bed meant it was safer for him to get in and out of it without his prosthetics, but that ironically made it harder to put his legs on while still in it. 

Both of his leg prosthetics were familiar, now. The right was a little dented from an accidental meeting with one of Wrecker’s steel-toed boots, and both sockets were peppered with stickers from friends and family. The newest one, not yet worn around the edges by cleaning, was a gift from Rex, the first mockup of the logo for his gym. The blue jaig eyes glared up at Echo as he locked himself in. A bar was installed into the wall by the chair, making it easy to pull up and get his knees locked. He tested the bounce, easing himself into the familiar sensation of elevated balance. 

When he and Fives were kids, before the others came to live with them, their favorite stupid thing to do was try and balance at the top of the wooden climbing wall Ninety-nine had installed in the backyard. Not even a full five feet tall, it felt miles high, and adrenaline would soak them to the bone when they windmilled their arms at the very peak. Nothing but air beneath toes and heel, the sway of the wind as solid as the ground. Echo smiled to himself as he worked his feet. He liked to imagine that Fives would be entertained by the comparison.

Tech, up in his bed, rolled over, snoring lightly. His glasses were still on, askew. Rolling his eyes, Echo strolled over and plucked them free. Then, because he could, he licked each lens and folded them up and put them on the one clear spot on Tech’s overloaded computer desk. In all likelihood, Tech wouldn’t be out for another half hour or so. Plenty of time for them to dry into a blurry, foggy mess.

Echo didn’t waste any more time, getting dressed in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, pulling a knit beanie over his head and ears. He headed downstairs, turned the corner for the kitchen, and jumped. An unmanly noise of surprise most decidedly did not come out of his mouth. 

“Hi,” Omega said, grinning a little. She was sitting at the kitchen table, chin propped on her linked hands, toes barely touching the floor.

Echo gave himself a little shake. “Morning,” he recovered. “You’re up early.”

She shrugged. She was dressed and ready for the day. “I just woke up,” she said, and traced a line of wood grain with her finger. 

His eyes narrowed. With her hair falling over her forehead, it was difficult to tell whether she was tired or not. She’d gone to bed pretty early the night before; or at least it felt early. Echo really ought to find out what time kids her age were supposed to go to bed. Didn’t they need more sleep than adults? 

More to the point, where was the one adult that was usually up this early?

“Is Crosshair around?” he asked. He’d had work the night before, and should have been in already if he didn’t dawdle.

Another shrug. “I haven’t seen him.” 

Still at work, then. Well. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Crosshair had made himself scarce since Omega’s first night in the house, taking his time getting home after his shifts and leaving earlier than usual, skipping dinner and going his own way. On one hand, him being so distant at least put a cap on the acidic comments and potential blowups between him and Hunter or Wrecker. On the other hand, it didn’t bode well for the future. Something had to give. Echo just hoped giving wouldn’t bring the roof down on all of them. 

First things first. “D’you want some breakfast?” he asked.

“Okay,” she perked up, watching as he moved through the kitchen. 

“How about some eggs? Toast?” 

“Peanut butter toast?” 

He chuckled. “Sure. Go ahead and toss some slices in the toaster, I’ll get started on the eggs.” 

She hopped to it, chucking two slices of bread into their battered old toaster. “Do you want some?” 

“Two, please.” 

Fully loaded, she sunk the toast and the device hummed. He got a pan on, heating up with a little bit of butter, and snaked his arm over her to grab the carton of eggs as she put the bread back in the fridge. 

“How do you like your eggs, kid?”

“Scrambled, please.” She remained at his elbow, watched as he took out a mixing bowl and fork. “With really big lumps!” 

“Scrambled with really big lumps coming right up.” He picked up an egg and cracked it one-handed. Omega gasped, almost making him drop the shells. 

“How did you do that?!” 

He chuckled. “Practice.” He moved aside so she could get a better look as he brought another egg sharply against the rim of the bowl and separated the shell with spread fingers. “Lots of practice. Your poor brothers had to eat a few pieces of shell before I got the hang of it.”

“Can I try?”

“Go for it. Here, like this.” He cracked a third egg, then a fourth, slowly, as her eyes tracked his movements. So there’d be a lot of scrambled eggs to go around. Wrecker and Hunter ate like hogs in the morning, anyway.

Omega grabbed an egg, whacked it against the bowl, then tried to split it open with her thumb and pinkie. As expected, shell and bits of phlegm went everywhere. “Sorry!” she exclaimed, left holding the hunks of shell and yolk in her palm, awkward and urgent. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “like I said, it took me a while to figure it out.” He directed her to the sink to clean her hands, then mopped up the mess on the counter with a dishrag. Moving, he ended up knocking the spatula down to the floor, skittering and bouncing along the linoleum. 

He looked down the long distance to the floor and hesitated. The knees of his prosthetics were weight-locked; in order to fold he had to take his weight off of the leg. Stooping and kneeling were no-goes, or at least a far too long process to go unnoticed. He could always bend from his waist and touch his toes, but he was so top-heavy that was its own kind of issue. 

Wordlessly Omega walked over and picked up the spatula, offering it. 

“Thanks.” He hesitated, holding it, aware of being caught. “Uh…” 

“Is it because of your legs?” she asked, completely innocent. 

“Yeah,” he answered, carefully. He rinsed off the spatula. How to explain?

“I know you have leg prosthetics,” Omega told him, reading him like a book. “I didn’t realize until I hugged you. That first night I was here. And then watching you go up the stairs.” Give Nala Se one thing, her daughter was observant. “Is it… supposed to be a secret?” she asked, voice rising. 

“No,” he assured her. “I just didn’t want to bother you with it.” He started to whip up the eggs, shoving the bowl back against the wall so the motion of the fork wouldn’t move it along the counter. 

Omega’s voice came from over by the toaster, where she waited for the slices to pop. “Why would it bother me?” 

He poured the eggs into the pan. They started to sizzle. He set to work one-handed, trying for the biggest lumps possible. “Adults can be weird about it,” he ended up saying. The toast popped and she fished them out onto a few plates, adding more in for the rest of the family without needing to be asked. “I just didn’t want you to feel out of place.”

“Why would your legs make me feel out of place?” she asked again, this time sounding honestly confused. 

He laughed, short. If Fives could see him now, tip-toeing on toes he didn’t have, for a problem that didn’t exist, he’d laugh his ass off. “No idea,” he admitted, and shot her a grin over his shoulder. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weirdo for a half-brother.”

“I don’t think you’re a weirdo,” she declared. “Do you want peanut butter on your toast?” 

“Sure, kiddo.” 

They ended up getting settled at the table, just the two of them, with peanut butter toast and scrambled eggs, plus fresh coffee for him and a tall glass of orange juice for her— watered down by half so the acid wouldn’t get at her stomach. “How’d I do with the lumps?”

“Good!” she tucked in, eager. “Really good!” 

He watched her eat for a tick, smiling into his coffee cup. 

“I didn’t know I had so many relatives,” she offered up, apropos of nothing. 

“We’re not kidding when we call it a clan,” Echo said. He hesitated— what was it about this kid that made him feel so worried about his words? He didn’t want to say anything that might hit wrong, sting or tug at wounds he knew probably weren’t fully closed yet. With her brothers, he’d been a shitty little kid, blithely unaware of where the line was. So what’s wrong with your mom? he’d asked, oh so tactful on night one of the quadruplets staying at Ninety-nine’s. Is she crazy or what? Now that was a scuffle to remember. 

He didn’t want to be like that with Omega. “Your mom told you about your brothers, though?”

“Just Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair,” she reported, sounding kind of sheepish, like it would be a blow to Echo’s pride. No need; if anything he felt nice and relieved that Nala Se considered him a non-entity. The feeling was mutual. “Mostly I just read her old files.”

“So I was a surprise,” he commented, wry. 

She kind of shrugged, dragging her fork through her scrambled eggs. “I know… that you  didn’t know about me, either,” she said, careful. His chest clenched, and she shot him a look.

He managed a smile for her. “Look at us,” he said, “two surprises.” 

She beamed at him, and the clench twisted. Their moment was interrupted as Tech came downstairs, dressed for work. Behind his glasses, his eyes glared daggers. “You,” he said, pointing at Echo, “are a menace.” He went and fixed himself a big cup of coffee.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Echo replied, breezy. “Eggs?” 

“I know you licked my glasses,” Tech said, but he sat down and accepted the plate of scrambled eggs. “It’s unsanitary. It’s juvenile.” 

“It’s funny,” Echo added, “and you shouldn’t sleep with your glasses on.” 

Harrumphing, Tech let him win the moment, tucking into his food. Omega asked to see his glasses and he handed them over. Omega’s magnified eyes blinked owlishly through the lenses. They started chatting about having glasses, whether she might need some someday, and before Echo knew it, Tech was out the door and off to work. 

Still no sign of Crosshair. Echo frowned. Hunter hadn’t shown, either. Doubly strange because Omega had a doctor’s appointment close on the horizon, before lunch. He would have expected Hunter to be especially present leading up to something like that; not only for their benefit, getting an insight into Omega’s health, but for the criminal investigation against Nala Se. 

Wrecker thundered down the stairs, dressed and in a hurry. 

“Hey, Wreck, what’s up with—”

“Gotta go, Wolffe’s outside,” Wrecker said, breathless. He rapid-fire shoveled eggs off of Omega’s plate and into his mouth, then chugged half her glass of orange juice, too. Omega’s affronted laughter was lost in the clatter as he clanged around, folding two slices of dry toast into his mouth. “P h’nks fr’ br’kf’st,” he gargled out. He gave Omega a squeezing, one-armed hug, saluted Echo, and was gone. Omega darted out to watch him leave through the window. 

“Here, kid,” Echo called, rolling his eyes. He replenished her plate and glass. “Finish up. I’m gonna go see what’s keeping Hunter.” 

He left her behind and headed up the stairs. Wrecker had closed the door to the room he and Hunter (and Crosshair) shared behind him. Echo knocked. “Sarge,” he called, “Reveille was an hour ago.” 

No answer. 

Even when they were teenagers, Hunter wasn’t the kind to wallow around in bed for no reason. Echo’s discomfort grew and he cracked the door open a touch. There was Hunter, still in bed, though he was stretched out on top of the sheets. Half dressed, like he’d abandoned the process after pulling on his jeans but before trading his sleeping shirt for something less raggy. He had one arm thrown across his face, nose tucked into his elbow, and Echo knew exactly what was happening.

He slipped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He loomed over his stupid, idiotic little brother’s bed, arm braced judgmentally on his hip. 

“Hunter,” he said, voice carefully low and gentle, “what the hell is going on?”

The visible half of Hunter’s face twinged. “I d’wanna tell you,” Hunter muttered. “You’ll b’pissed.”

“Hunter,” Echo growled, “Are you blacked out right now?”

“No,” Hunter growled back, only to wince and lower his voice. He didn’t move the arm draped across his face, but gesticulated weakly with the other one. “‘ve got th’ flashin’ lights. Right eye only.” A visual aura— Echo was familiar enough with his brother’s condition to know that Hunter, clearly in pain, was only in the prologue of what was about to be a truly awful hour. 

“Damn it, Hunter.” 

Hunter made a begrudging, worthless hand gesture. “Not helpin’.”

Just because Hunter was right didn’t mean Echo had to like it. “Where’s your meds, idiot.” Another twinge. Echo dragged his hand down his face. “Your phone, then.” 

The phone was procured from Hunter’s pocket and handed over. Echo keyed in a sixty minute alarm and then fixed the phone in Hunter’s grip like a live grenade, thumb on the button that would turn off the alarm. 

“If you’re still in pain when the alarm goes off, you call an ambulance.”

Hunter’s mouth curled up in disdain. “I don’t need a—”

“What you need is to take care of yourself, which you haven’t been doing, have you?” Echo’s brain quickly cycled back through the past few days, highlighting winces and massaged temples that he’d let slide in the moment.

Hunter said nothing. 

Echo sighed. “Promise me that you’ll call if you go over time.” 

Hunter said nothing, but it was an acquiescent silence. 

“I’m going to take Omega to her doctor’s appointment,” Echo continued, then cut Hunter off, “The bus ride over isn’t that long, and she can’t miss this appointment. She’ll be fine.” He hoped, but then again neither of them had much choice. “You need to rest.” 

To his surprise, Hunter didn’t put up much of a fight, slumping back into the mattress and nudging his head in a micro-nod. Although his brother couldn’t see it, Echo nodded back. His stance softened. “You want me to get you anything?”

“Nothing to get,” Hunter huffed. “Thanks, though.” 

With a final soft pat to Hunter’s leg, Echo left him to it. 

Downstairs, Omega had already started on cleaning up from breakfast. Between the two of them, they had it sorted quickly, and Echo tried to keep the clashing dishes from making too much noise as they loaded the dishwasher. 

“Well,” Echo hedged when they were done, “you have your doctor’s appointment today.”

“Yeah,” Omega said, twisting her mouth to the side. “I don’t really like hospitals.”

“Me either.” He hemmed and hawed, wondering how to phrase it. “I know Hunter said he’d take you, but he’s not feeling too good. How do you feel about letting me tag along?” 

“Yeah?” she perked up, then concern took over her face. “Is Hunter okay?”

“He’ll be fine by the time we get back, but he’s not going to be doing any driving today.”

She seemed to take a second, rearranging things in her head. Hell, if she really didn’t feel comfortable with just Echo, he’d call the hospital and beg for a different appointment. They could hang around the house, do whatever, bake a cake. 

After a moment, though, she looked up at him and nodded. “I’ve never been on the bus before,” she said. 

“First time for everything,” he replied, and her smile was a reward. 

Alone with his migraine, Hunter writhed fruitlessly. Moving only made it worse, pain lancing down from his head into his neck— but he was never able to keep still. Being trapped and still, trying to focus on his breathing, trapped in his body, just made panic rise up to meet the bleeding edge of throbbing pain, threatening to tip him over into a panic attack. 

He felt far too aware of the confining size of his head, the back curve of skull. Any attempt to adjust the lay of his body swung his vestibular balance awry by sharp, hard degrees. Nausea threatened to rise and he indulged in a groan. He could only hope that Omega and Echo weren’t around to hear it. 

And he’d thought he was such hot shit, skating by with a few easily hidden headaches. The past few days with Omega had been great, wonderful even— watching as she blossomed under her new freedom, working on her little robot with Tech, giggling and playing cards with Wrecker, whispering goodnight to him when he got her tucked in. He’d been perversely looking forward to the hospital trip today, too, eager to get it off of the to-do list and get some concrete tips for how to help his sister. He’d gotten one leg into his jeans, two, and the right half of his vision blurred, then started to pulse. Familiar with the signs of an oncoming nightmare, Hunter had just enough time to tip himself back into bed before the pain started.

Wrecker had been quick, at least, chalking Hunter’s prone form up to him sleeping in. The perks of the new job. Every stomp of Wrecker’s big feet had felt like a hammer blow to the head. Laid low by noise alone, how pathetic. Damn it, he hadn’t missed the feeling of helplessness that came with a migraine. He was the sergeant-at-arms for one of the most highly decorated military units, for crying out loud, but here he was, unable to do anything but lay there and take it as his body tortured him. 

A thought arose, bruise-colored and sickly: how was he supposed to take care of Omega if he was this easy to knock down? Meds would help the symptoms as they came, but they couldn’t stop them from happening. According to the doctors at the VA, the migraines were a symptom of his PTSD. What a wonderful homecoming gift. 

The door opened. Shit. Crosshair was back from his shift. 

“Sorry, Cross,” Hunter managed to mutter, each word a stab to the ear. He started to push up on his elbows, only for the room to tilt dangerously sharp; he barely got a glance at Crosshair, standing with his hand on the doorknob, before he had to slump over onto his side and catch his breath. “I’ll go crash in Echo ‘n Tech’s room…” He started to push up so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed, head swimming.

A hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back prone. 

“Sorry,” Hunter muttered again for good measure, dragging his arm back over his eyes to block out the light from the hallway. Crosshair wasn’t rough enough to argue with him in the middle of a migraine, but better he got his apologies out before they fought about it in a few hours. 

He could dimly hear Crosshair moving around the room, opening and closing soome drawers. Some muffled footsteps as he strolled closer.

The sound of pills being rattled in a bottle was like the rapid-fire of an AK, right through Hunter’s eardrums to his brainstem. “What the hell,” he exclaimed, cracking open an eye in what he hoped was a glare. 

Crosshair stood over him, one hand holding out an orange pill bottle. The words on the label swam; Hunter couldn’t make it out, and Crosshair sat down on the side of the bed, cracking the bottle open. 

“From when I got my wisdom teeth out,” he said. “Tylenol with codeine.” 

Hunter hedged his bets. Codeine could make him hurl if he wasn’t careful—he learned that the hard way. But, still. Better than nothing. He managed to leverage his head up far enough to take an offered tablet and chase it with some water. 

It was probably only the placebo effect, but he thought he started to feel a little better, the pressure lightening up far enough that he could string some more words together. “That wasn’t in the bathroom when I checked,” he said, voice heavy.

Crosshair shrugged and stood. He put the bottle on the bedside table. “Took it with me when I left,” he said, voice pitched low. “Didn’t get around to unpacking it yet.” 

Hunter hid his face again, this time for the light and to keep his expression hidden. When Crosshair left— that awful month when Hunter thought he’d really fucked up, losing his little brother. Yeah, what a piece of shit he was. This bed was the only thing keeping the peace, the only thing that symbolized Crosshair’s welcome in the house, and he was taking it up with his own preventable issues. He lay there, miserable, and listened as Crosshair carefully moved around the room, changing his clothes. 

He was surprised when he heard the creek of Wrecker’s bed. His skull felt like it was a few pounds of pressure away from splitting open, crown to chin, shimmering as his nerve endings screamed. “Cross,” he rasped. 

“Apologize again,” Crosshair hissed, threatening, “and I’ll whistle.”

Hunter kept his mouth shut. 

“Don’t moan too much,” Crosshair continued, shifting. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Medicated, Hunter settled down to burn his way through it. If the odd moan or noise of pain broke through, Crosshair didn’t mention it. 

“You can sit outside the exam room and wait,” the doctor said, waving Echo towards a chair against the wall. 

“He can’t come with?” Omega squeaked. Her hands were knotted together, kneading in front of her chest, and Echo’s heart lost a beat. She’d been agitated and nervous in the waiting room, and the thought of losing sight of him seemed to kick her up into an even higher gear. 

“I’m sorry, Omega, but since he’s not your legal guardian, he has to stay outside.” That made Echo wince; he’d had a bit of a verbal tussle with the secretary, signing Omega in. Technically Hunter was the only one of them cleared as Omega’s legal guardian, but he’d flashed some papers and his I.D., even played up the amputee-war-hero angle to get all the barriers lifted. 

“Hey.” He touched her shoulder. When she jumped, he dropped his hand, feeling awful. “I’ll be right there. And you can trust the doctor, okay? Anything you want to tell her, you can, and she won’t do anything you don’t want.” 

Doubt flashed through her eyes like panic before she shoved it down. 

The doctor, a stout woman with tightly coiled black ringlets, crouched down to be eye-to-eye with Omega. “You know,” she said with an air of secrecy, “I have the speed record for visits in the office. I guarantee I’ll get you back to your brother as fast as possible.” 

Chewing on her lip, Omega nodded, then headed into the exam room with the doctor. Echo did his usual shuffling foot maneuver to unlock his knees and drop him down into the chair. The minutes bled by. A half-hour. Forty-five minutes. Finally, the doctor exited, closed the door behind her, and made her way over to Echo. He stood to meet her. 

“She’s getting dressed now,” the doctor said in a hushed voice. She jerked her head towards the back of the sign-in desk. “Can I have a word?” 

Feeling a bit of worry gnaw on his guts, Echo trailed her over, and she opened up the paper file in her hand. “She’s underweight,” the doctor said, stating the obvious, “and her urine test indicates an abnormal strain on her kidneys—high levels of calcium.”

“I don’t—” he tried to wrack his brain for anything, anything he knew about the functions of the kidneys. They were filters, he knew, could become infected—

The doctor rolled past his unease. “Your file marks that there’s some suspected medical abuse being investigated.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Her, uh, mother was a doctor herself. We don’t know exactly what she did, but… she was probably medicated, with supplements or other prescription meds.” 

Another nod. The doctor scribbled something on the paper. “That tracks. I’m going to order some blood tests, see if we can suss out what might still be in her system, check if her hormone levels are normal. The lab is just down the hall, you just have to give her name.” 

“Of course.” 

“I’m also writing up a diet note. She mentioned having stomach problems.”

Echo suppressed the memory of a shudder. “Yeah. My brother and I have been working on a plan to introduce foods into her system, so there’s no strain.”

“Good. Leave saturated fats like cheese and milk for last, she might be lactose intolerant from lack of exposure.” The shudder broke free. No wonder the pizza had gotten the poor kid so sick. The doctor finished up the note and ripped it off the pad, handing it over. “Most of the time I recommend a multivitamin for kids her age, but that might want to wait until her system reorients itself and works the last of the meds out. But, that being said, the finger-prick I took quick tested back low iron. An iron supplement, dosed for kids, would be a good idea.”

Echo nodded, committing her words to memory. “Of course.” 

“And this is just a hot tip from a mom,” she said, cracking her first grin since walking in, “spinach is high in iron and fiber, and if you blend it into a smoothie, the kids have no idea it’s even there.” 

He managed to smile back. “I’ll remember that.” 

She bounced the end of her pen against the countertop, clicking it closed. “Good.” 

Omega appeared, dressed and looking worn out but not too bad. Echo felt his brows come together in concern. “Hey, Omega,” he greeted her, gently.  

“Hey,” she greeted him, listless. 

“Alright, Omega,” the doctor said with finality, “You did a good job— would you like a sticker?” 

For a second, her eyes brightened up, then smothered back down. “It’s okay,” she said, “I don’t need one.” More likely her mother wouldn’t have allowed her to take one. Not for the first time, Echo sent a few hateful thoughts Nala Se’s way, wherever she was. 

“Are you sure?” the doctor asked. She reached over the counter and came up with a basket of different stickers, a mix of cartoonish animals, flowers, and what Echo guessed were popular comic book characters. She shook the basket towards Omega, who hesitated again. 

Echo cleared his throat. “I don’t know about you, Omega, but I could use a sticker. Pick one out for me?” 

The look she shot over her shoulder told him she knew exactly what his game was, but her smile said she didn’t mind. She perused the basket while he finished signing things off, and came up with a leaping dolphin. Bubble letters declared You’re Fin-Tastic! 

“How about this one?” she asked him, offering it. 

“Perfect.” He showed off a little, unpeeling it one-handed with a complicated flick of his fingers. He stuck it front and center on his jacket. “Last chance if you want one.” 

One thing he learned from dealing with the quadruplets for over a decade, peer pressure absolutely worked. She plucked out a sticker for herself, with a turtle and the message You’re Turtle-y Awesome! With her tongue stuck between her teeth, she worked at trying to copy his trick. It took her a bit of muscle, trying to get her fingers into an awkward position, but she managed it with a savagely proud grin. Thus stickered, they exited the offices. She started to go towards the elevator, but he stopped her, wincing.

“Sorry, Omega, but we’re not done yet. The doc wants you to get some blood tests.”

“Oh...” 

He frowned, and tried to turn it into a smile for her sake. “It’ll be quick. Come on.” He herded her down the hallway. Luckily, the bloodwork lab’s waiting room was basically deserted, and within minutes of checking in, Omega’s name was called by a nurse in pale pink scrubs. 

Echo stood and followed her over. Omega wasn’t dragging her feet, per se, but hesitation and trepidation were clear in the line of her shoulders, the stiff swing of her arms. Echo reached out and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. 

“Last stop,” he said, “then we can go home. Okay?” 

“I know, it’s just…” she said, quiet. Her eyes tracked the movement of the nurse around the room as she started to gather up supplies, waving them over to a padded bench with a big sloping pillow at one side. “I don’t like needles,” she admitted in a tiny voice. 

“Me either,” he said. She clambered up onto the elevated bench and sat by the pillow, legs lightly swinging. Echo remained standing. “Had to see a lot of them when I was in the hospital.” 

Omega gave him a watery, sympathetic smile. Kicking himself, trying to come up with something substantial and comforting, Echo jumped when the nurse came back with her tray of supplies. “Oh, you can take a seat next to Omega. You’re her…?”

“Her brother,” Echo supplied. 

“Ah,” the nurse said, “of course. Same eyes! Family resemblance.” 

Echo perched on the bench next to Omega, unsure how comfortable she would be with his closeness. Her eyes tracked the movements of the nurse’s hands as she smartly arranged a series of vials, signing off on them with the time and double-checking Omega’s name. Shit, but it looked like a lot of vials. Omega’s leg started to jump, agitatedly bouncing. She was on his left side, so it was easy for him to put his hand on her knee and give it a reassuring squeeze. 

“This,” he whispered to her, shaking her leg a little, “you have in common with Tech.” 

That got her attention away from the nurse for a second, eyes glancing up to check for honesty in his face. He smirked, and squeezed the sides of her kneecap, making her yelp out a sharp giggle. “That, too.” 

She giggled again, and he counted that as a win. 

“Okay, let me see your left arm,” the nurse announced. Omega swallowed and held the limb out. Echo let go of her leg, only for her little hand to reach out and snare his fingers in a sharp grip. Damn it, she really was scared of needles. He ran his thumb along her knuckles, squeezing her hand as tightly as he dared. 

The nurse tied the rubber band around Omega’s left arm and started to gently palpate the crease of her elbow, the top of her forearm, looking for veins. Echo gave her hand another squeeze, trying to help distract her. The nurse didn’t frown, but she kept going, face still, and Echo winced, familiar enough with doctors to tell what was coming. Yet another downside of having only one arm— if the nurses couldn’t find his veins there, they had to resort to other locations. 

“Did you drink water this morning, sweetheart?” the nurse asked. Omega nodded, wordless and still. The nurse snapped off the rubber tie and spun her chair over to the other side. “Here, let me see if I can find your vein on this arm…” the nurse and Echo exchanged a look. He only had his left hand— moving to Omega’s left side, it might be a little awkward to keep in comforting contact with her. “Here. Your big brother can hold this for you.” She grabbed the arm-propping pillow, and there was a bit of wiggling and rearranging as Echo settled it into his lap, Omega’s right arm stretched out on it. He draped his left arm around her shoulders, holding her snugly to his side. 

Again with the tourniquet, again with the gentle probing. The nurse smoothed her thumbs, again and again, over the smooth skin of Omega’s forearm, poking at the crease of her elbow. 

Omega shifted her weight. “The ones on my feet might be easier,” she murmured. The nurse fell still. Echo felt how tense Omega’s back was, and he rubbed at her shoulder in circling, comforting strokes, the nurse silently pulling the tourniquet off. “Those’re the ones Mother would use, most of the time.” 

The nurse sent Echo a look. He avoided her eyes, willing himself to keep it together. “Here,” he told Omega, voice rough, “do you remember where the water fountain is?” She nodded. He gave her a gentle nudge. “Go get a big drink of water, and we’ll try again on your arms.” Omega slid off of the chair and headed for the blood lab’s open door, disappearing around a corner. 

Echo opened his mouth. Closed it. How to explain?

“There was a flag on your file,” the nurse told him. “It’s okay. I’ll try again on her arms, and if you like, you can come back again later today— my supervisor is coming in at three. She trained me, she’s the best. She’s like a bloodhound.” 

Echo managed to nod. “Thank you.” 

The nurse returned the nod, then stood. “I’m going to go grab some butterfly needles, they’re really thin.” She took two steps, then turned around. “Oh, does she have a favorite color?”

The question was so simple. Echo felt despondent. “I, uh…”

The nurse’s face didn’t flicker. “It’s alright. I’ll grab the purple tape. Everybody likes purple.”

Omega returned while the nurse was still away. She booted herself up onto the bench, tucked under Echo’s arm. He rubbed briskly at her shoulder. “You’re doing good, kid.” She wiggled a little closer and something in his chest clenched. 

The nurse returned with her new tray. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said to Omega, “let’s try again. Let me see your arm, make a fist, nice and tight…”

When the nurse’s finger found a vein, Echo released a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Omega turned her face away from the sight as the nurse carefully loaded the handful of vials with blood, and Echo did his best to lend her strength without jostling her around. 

“And there we go!” The nurse pressed a lump of cotton to the crook of Omega’s elbow and slid the needle out. “All done. You did a great job, honey.” Smartly, she wrapped the cotton up in two bands of purple medical adhesive tape. “Thirty minutes and you can take the gauze off, hmkay?”

“‘Kay,” Omega answered, subdued. 

“Good job, kiddo,” Echo murmured, unnecessarily, but if he wasn’t mistaken, Omega shed a little bit of her shadow, pressing in closer against his side as she rolled down her sleeve. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” 

Omega hopped down off of the bench and clung close to his side. He thanked the nurse over her head, and the woman smiled. Then they were out on the sidewalk by the hospital, walking along towards the bus stop. 

“You feel okay?” Echo prompted. “Not light-headed?”

Omega shook her head. In the light of day, she rolled up her sleeve and looked at the purple tape. “I didn’t know they made medical tape in purple,” she said. 

Echo took in and released a controlled breath. Knowing Nala Se, everything was as sterile and bland as could be. He tried not to picture Omega’s little feet, dangling, bound in white medical tape. “They come in all kinds of colors,” he said. They reached the bus stop and Echo sat, massaging his thighs above the prosthetics. “Do you…” he racked his brain for a nonpathetic way to phrase such a basic question. “...like purple?”

Omega pressed her lips together, eyes on her arm, like she was considering it. 

“I like purple,” she declared, and aimed a shy little grin at him. 

“Me, too,” he smiled back. A little bit of her earlier energy returned, and rather than sit next to him and wait, she skipped back and forth in front of the bench. 

“Is purple your favorite color?” she asked him over her shoulder. 

“Not my favorite, no,” he answered, amused.

“Oh. Well, what is your favorite color?” 

He gave it a moment’s thought; why not, after all, take her seriously posed question as such? “Blue, I suppose.” 

“What kind of blue?”

“Hm… Dark blue. Kind of navy-blue.” He pointed upwards to where a wedge of pale blue sky was starting to wear through the grey clouds, across the street. “Sky blue is nice, too.” 

Omega turned to look where he was pointing, falling still as she soaked in the sight.

After a minute, she turned slowly around, pivoting on the ball of one foot. “Can you have two favorite colors?” she asked. 

“Sure.” Echo shrugged. “You can have as many as you want.” 

She whirled on him, grinning. “Then my favorite colors are purple and blue!” 

He grinned back. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Yup!” She started to walk along the seam of the curb and the sidewalk, arms held out for balance. “And red,” she added. “And black.” 

“Why red and black?” he chuckled. “Here, there’s our bus.” Suddenly afraid of her proximity to the street, off-balance, he stood and grabbed her hand. She didn’t seem bothered by the intrusion, squeezing his fingers and then swinging her hand a little. 

“There’s a lot of red and black in the house,” she said. “I think it looks nice.” She trooped onto the bus and kept her hold on Echo’s hand even as he sat them down, Omega tucked against the window. 

He tilted his head, assenting. “Black is Crosshair’s favorite color, I think,” he said. At the very least, most of the things Crosshair bought for himself were black. “And Hunter likes red.” 

Omega hummed, pleased, and watched the window as they got on the road. After a few stops, she leaned her head back against Echo’s arm, leaning a little. He nudged her off for a second, disentangled his fingers from her hand, and draped his arm across her shoulders. She happily melted back against him, watching the streets roll by. So she wasn’t just bearing his closeness in moments of stress. Echo felt a wave of relief crash over him. 

The upcoming bus stops gave him an idea. He shook her a little. “Hey, want to stop by the grocery store before we head home? Then you can help me make lunch.” 

She twisted to beam up at him. “Sure!” 

“Great.” He pointed towards the cord and she leapt up to tug it for him.

They got off the bus, and he anticipated Omega dropping his hand to run ahead or practice her skipping. To his surprise, warm and glowing, she held onto his hand for the entire walk, keeping pace with him step by steady step.

They got back to the house, toting paper bags. Tech had dropped by for his lunch break, his car parked out front. Once inside, they found Hunter, back up on his feet, moving slowly through the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. 

“Hunter!” Omega exclaimed, dropping her bags. She went in for a hug, Hunter wincing a little at the volume and the contact but patting her back. They parted, and Echo dropped off the rest of the bags.

“How was the doctor?” Hunter asked, tentative.

Omega beamed. “Look at my tape!” She brandished her arm, showing off the gauze and purple medical tape. Hunter nodded his appreciation.

Echo touched at Omega’s shoulder to get her attention. “We oughta take that off so you don’t bruise. Thirty minutes are up.” 

“Aw,” Omega deflated. She turned big eyes on Echo. “Do I have to?”

“Nice try,” Echo smirked. He tapped the tip of her nose with a finger and her pleading puppy dog eyes melted into a look of wry humor, caught at the game. “Doctor’s orders. I think Tech might have some fun band-aids tucked away somewhere.” If his memory served him right, Tech had a tin or two of jokey band-aids in space and chemistry patterns, a stocking stuffer from Ninety-nine that rarely got used. 

“He’s up in his room,” Hunter gestured with his coffee cup. He opened his mouth, but Omega beat him to the point. 

“I’ll go ask him!” She bounded out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Distantly, they heard her chattering, look at the tape they gave me at the hospital! before the noise muffled out. 

Echo turned to watch Hunter move through the kitchen. “You’re looking less like death.”

“Crosshair gave me some old painkillers,” he shrugged. “I’m fine, now.” 

“Uh-huh.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “I’m feeling better ,” he amended, “which is fine.”

“Sure,” Echo scoffed. “Get out of my way, Omega and I are gonna cook lunch.” 

Hunter did not get out of his way, elbowing in to help put the groceries away. They heard Tech and Omega come downstairs and head towards the downstairs bathroom. Echo figured that now was as good a time as any to have what could be a rough conversation. 

“Look,” he said, “Hunter. You’re an adult and you make your own choices. But you ought to start going back to the VA. If only to get your old prescription refilled.” 

“I know,” Hunter sighed. “I called when I could see straight. I’m on the waitlist for the psychiatrist.”

Echo’s face creased in concern. “The waitlist can be pretty long.” 

Hunter shrugged. “I’ll survive. I put excedrin on the shopping list.” 

“Okay,” Echo said, carefully slow. “I just want to make sure you know that you can take a day off when you need to.”

Hunter pointedly didn’t turn to look at him, unloaded boxes of cereal into the cupboard. “I know.” 

Echo waited for his moment to strike, and lightly kicked at the back of Hunter’s knee when he locked it, holding up his weight. He toppled, off-balance, catching the edge of the counter with his hands to keep from eating linoleum. His betrayed look of righteous anger really was one of his best. 

“Okay, tin man, if that’s how you’re going to be—” he started to lunge for Echo, brandishing loose fists, only to pull up short as his phone rang. He pointed at Echo’s chest. “This isn't over.” 

“It’s over when I say it is,” Echo countered, grinning. Hunter stepped aside to answer the phone and Echo took over the last of the groceries. 

“Obi-Wan, hey. Yeah, I’m at home.” He frowned, and Echo paused. “Yeah, everyone but Wrecker is home. Echo’s here in the kitchen with me. No, she’s with… what’s wrong? What happened?” Echo fell still, watching as Hunter’s face flickered through too many phases to parse. Then he craned his neck, leaning into the doorway of the kitchen, checking that Omega and Tech were still in the bathroom. He dropped his hand and hit the button for speakerphone. “Here, you’re on speakerphone, it’s just me and Echo.” 

Echo crowded closer, his one hand cupping Hunter’s elbow as he held the phone out in front of them. Obi-Wan’s voice was a little distant, sounding like he had them on hands-free as he drove. 

“I just got out of a meeting with a friend of mine in the district attorney’s office,” Obi-Wan reported. “Unfortunately, Dr. Se has hired a very good lawyer. He somehow managed to convince the DA to drop all of the criminal charges for child abuse.” 

“What?!” Hunter exclaimed, then hurriedly checked that Omega wasn’t bounding around the corner. “What do you mean they dropped the charges?!” 

“The district attorney formally declined to prosecute. The case has been closed.” 

“But they had— the police seized all her files, they said—” Hunter looked distinctly unwell. Echo gently took the phone from his hand. It said a lot that he let it go through slack fingers. 

Obi-Wan continued. “I know this is a shock, and an unwelcome one. I tried to pull strings myself, but I’ve always been in civil practice and don’t have many bridges into the criminal courts. I apologize.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Echo answered when it became clear that Hunter didn’t have control of his voice yet. “Thank you for telling us.” His brain was running on auto-pilot. When in doubt, follow the regs. Mission complete, wait for next orders. “What are our next steps?” 

“Family court.” The repetitive chime of a turn signal filled the silence. “We have a court date set for later in the week. I assume that Dr. Se will try to reclaim full parental rights.” 

“Fuck,” Hunter said, rubbing at his face with his hands.

“Just because she has not been criminally charged with child abuse does not make her behavior excusable in court,” Obi-Wan said in an even, insistent tone. “There is still a very good chance that you can retain primary custody. Don’t lose hope. When are you free? We should have a meeting to plan our defense.” 

Dates and times got dragged through the wringer, and with a final urge to remain calm, Obi-Wan concluded the call. Despite his urging, hope and oxygen bled out of the room at a terminal pace. 

Hunter said, again, “Fuck,” and Echo could only agree. 

Chapter Text

“Hold still,” Tech said.

Hunter did his best. “The damn thing keeps moving.” 

“It wouldn’t move so much if you stopped messing with it,” Tech shot back, adjusting the knot of Hunter’s tie (borrowed from Tech). “There.” He finished and stepped back. Hunter’s hands twitched. He was especially aware of where his hair brushed the back of his neck, curls upset at the presence of a stiff dress shirt collar. Despite Cid’s shouted advice, he’d opted against cutting it— with his hair cut short, it would only make his face tattoo look bigger. Not the first time, Hunter wanted to go back in time and wring his younger self’s neck. Drunk as he and Cross had been getting them done, the excuse had long worn thin with time.

Obi-Wan finished reviewing a few papers and slipped them into a larger folder. “Do you have any more questions for me?” 

Hunter could tell from the stiff tension in Tech’s jaw that his little brother definitely did, but this wasn’t his show; Hunter was the one with the emergency custody, thus he was the one who was being called in by the courts for arbitration with Nala Se. 

He gave it his best shot. “The judge isn’t going to decide anything, right?” 

“Nothing concrete. This is just to try and see if official court hearings are really necessary. If either party are willing to agree without the court needing to intervene.” 

A sigh escaped Hunter’s lips. There was definitely no chance of that happening, knowing his mother. “So it’s just for show.” 

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, in a way Hunter was getting used to hearing— a word that stood in for anything conceding the risk of failure. “At the very least, I foresee the judge extending your emergency custody until the trial ends, even without the criminal charges.” 

Tech sharply slapped Hunter’s hand away from the knot of his tie. “That’s good,” Tech said to Obi-Wan. He shot Hunter a thin smile. “I should get going.” He’d helped Hunter and Omega get ready in the morning, quizzing Hunter on talking points, organizing their papers, distracting Omega where appropriate. He’d have to stay over at work to make up the lost hours, but Hunter was grateful. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and he must’ve looked properly dire, because Tech let him indulge in a quick, one-armed hug. Coming from Tech, like Crosshair usually so reticent to physical affection, it meant a lot. Tech said his goodbyes to Obi-Wan and headed out of the courthouse. He’d already said goodbye to Omega when the two of them dropped her off at the courthouse child-care room; she could have stayed at home with Echo, but Obi-Wan had gently proposed that having her close by would make it easier for her to talk to the judge if he asked for a meeting with her.  

The two of them started to walk towards their assigned room, Hunter opening and closing his hands to keep from tugging at his tie. Obi-Wan spoke up as they went. 

“It would be best if you allow me to do the talking,” he said, but kindly. “The judge will ask questions, but you can trust that they’re addressed to me unless the judge indicates to you specifically. I have my notes prepared, and if anything comes up where I need your input, I’ll signal for you to speak.” His lips quirked. “Blanket statement, because I learned long ago not to assume anything, but using profanity will probably not be for the best.”

Hunter was too nervous to let the comment sting. “Noted.”

They rounded a corner and their meeting room came into view. Obi-Wan stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?” 

“Would you believe I’ve felt better heading into combat?” Hunter replied, trying for levity. 

Obi-Wan nodded. “With your service record, this should be easy.” 

Never say should, Hunter almost replied. Obi-Wan beat him to it, opening the door and holding it for Hunter. With no other recourse, he stepped into the room. Not a courtroom, with witness stand and benches, but a pretty nondescript meeting room, with a long conference table and matching chairs arranged around it. The wall art was all nondescript, generic. 

Nala Se was already there.

There, by the head of the table, facing the door. She looked like she’d looked at her house, picking Omega up. A decade older than the image burned in Hunter’s memory, her face softened and etched by lines. Her dark hair was pulled back into an impeccable bun, pale eyes serious and boring like a drill right between Hunter’s eyes. 

He managed not to stumble as he picked out a seat opposite her and sat down. Obi-Wan sat at his elbow, opposite Nala Se’s lawyer, a tall, icepick-thin man with slicked-back grey hair. The lawyer was reviewing papers, only sparing Hunter a quick glance, all dismissal. 

They all sat in awful silence until the door opened, admitting their judge. He wore his robes like an overcoat, not closed in the front over a plain grey suit. It added a strange, lunch-break air to his amicable expression. Hunter started to rise to standing, but Obi-Wan stopped him. Nala Se and her lawyer remained seated as the judge moved behind them and sat at the head of the table, a thick leather folder of papers placed in front of him. Introductions, terse and clipped, were passed around. Hunter Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Nala Se, Lama Su, and finally Judge Wullf Yularen.

“Thank you all for waiting,” he announced. “We are now in session for arbitration over the custody of one Omega Se. Currently, the parental rights of her mother, Nala Se,” he nodded towards Nala Se’s side of the table, “have been suspended per the recommendation of child protective services. Emergency placement has been granted to Miss Se’s elder brother, Hunter Fett,” a matching nod for Hunter and Obi-Wan. “Now,” the judge said, patting at the tabletop with both of his hands, smartly, “I want to preface this meeting by stating that the primary interest of this court is to do what is best for Miss Se’s wellbeing.” 

If Hunter’s wasn’t mistaken, a muscle twitched in his mother’s cheek. 

Obi-Wan shifted in his chair, a preface to speaking, but Nala Se’s lawyer beat him to it. 

“I would like to move for reunification of mother and daughter,” he said, all oil poured on dark water. “My client is currently in counseling and is willing to cooperate with any educational courses and support programs the court will suggest as grounds to reinstate full parental custody.” 

Nala Se, sitting across the table, inclined her head, managing to look the picture of maternal innocence. Hunter stared at her, aghast. As a child, sure, the memory of his mother was one of fear and power, but he hadn’t been able then to fully grasp the depth of what she was capable of— the mask she was able to wear when it suited her. 

“Your honor, respectfully I must disagree,” said Obi-Wan, likewise turning towards the judge. Where Lama Su was all smooth pretense, Obi-Wan’s demeanor was more casual, grounded, frank in its reality while retaining a gloss of gentility. “It is my and my client’s opinion that Omega would only be able to thrive if she was removed from Dr. Se’s care permanently. My client is willing to take on the responsibilities as Omega’s guardian for full parental custody.” He tilted his head in an assenting gesture. “And with all due respect, I question the wisdom of Dr. Se having any unsupervised contact with Omega going forward.” 

Lama Su scoffed. “Your client, counselor, is a twenty-two year old unmarried man. Until several days ago, he had no idea that the child in question even existed— having terminated all contact with his mother over a decade ago.” 

Hunter bared teeth, leaning forward. “Ask me why.” 

Obi-Wan touched his arm. Hunter leaned back. Lama Su looked perfectly pleased with himself. 

The judge’s dark eyes skipped between Hunter’s side of the table and Nala Se’s. Then he looked down and carefully paged through his file with a light air; undoubtedly already familiar with its contents. “Dr. Se,” she said, turning towards her side of the table, “I commend your cooperation with CPS and this court. It is especially refreshing. Unfortunately, the report from CPS is a little too dire to be ignored. Medical abuse is alleged.” 

“My client has not been criminally charged,” Lama Su stepped in. Nala Se hadn’t even flinched, keeping statuesque silence. Like Obi-Wan, Hunter would bet money that Lama Su had told her to keep her mouth shut. “And the district attorney has declined to pursue charges.” 

“I believe I did say alleged, Mr. Su.” 

“Apologies, your honor. I must have misheard.”

“Indeed,” the judge said, eyeing him. He waved at the file. “For my sake, then, Dr. Se, can you explain these accusations? Invasive and unnecessary medical experimentation is described here; I’ve never seen a case like it.” 

“A simple misunderstanding of vision,” Lama Su soothed. “Dr. Nala Se has degrees in pediatrics and child development; admittedly, her knowledge of the medical dangers growing children face influenced her to keep a particularly close eye on the development of her daughter, and she intervened where perhaps an uneducated eye might not think to do so. Men and women who teach physical education may likewise prescribe more exercise for their children's health than a parent unaware of the dangers of a sedentary life might think necessary.” 

“Forcing a child into exhaustion and beyond the threshold of pain, even with a good reason, is still abuse,” Obi-Wan stepped in. “Regardless of Dr. Se’s intentions or background, the results go beyond what the court should accept as appropriate behavior from a primary caregiver, into endangerment. Nala Se’s overbearing medical attention to her daughter put a strain on her body and stifled her emotional and physical growth.”

“Vitamin supplements are not approved by the FDA,” Lama Su intoned, spreading his hands. “Antihistamines, NSAIDs, and even sleep aids such as diphenhydramine are available for purchase freely, without a doctor’s direction. Parents who purchase these items for use of their minor children are not charged with child abuse in this country. Why, imagine, if we extended the definition of abuse to cover the care that attendant parents have for their children!” 

Hunter bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. 

Obi-Wan pivoted. “For all her attendant care, as you call it, the result cannot be denied. My client and his brothers, for example, can speak for their own experiences being ‘cared for’ by Dr. Se— experiences that led to the previously mentioned estrangement, for their own health and safety.”

“Objection,” Lama Su stood up. “In this state, the statute of limitations for child abuse are two years past the age of eighteen for—” 

“Overruled,” the judge cut him off, crisply. “This is not a criminal case, Mr. Su, your client is not being charged with anything. I am aware of the law, you do not need to tell me.” 

Steaming, Lama Su sat back down. 

“Thank you, your honor,” Obi-Wan said, shuffling papers. “Where was I? Ah, yes.”  He presented the judge with a fan of papers, from Echo, Tech, Wrecker, and Hunter. Hunter had tried to ask Crosshair to write one, as well, but Crosshair had made himself especially scarce the last few days, ever since Hunter’s migraine. A traitorous part of Hunter wondered whether anything Crosshair might want to put into print would be better or worse for their cause. “Here are some witness statements from my client and his brothers about the abuse they endured. They are past the point of receiving justice for this abuse, but they want to spare their sister from similar treatment.” 

“I will take these into consideration, counselor,” the judge said, adding the papers to the file. 

Obi-Wan pulled out duplicates and offered them to Nala Se. “For your records, as well,” he said, with a bright smile. Nala Se’s mask of indifference sunk into a displeased scowl. She made no move to take the papers and after a moment of holding them, Obi-Wan placed them on the table. Lama Su managed to keep his composure as he ignored the presence of the letters and again turned to fully face the judge.

“Your honor,” he oozed, “allegations of abuse are incredibly serious, and deserve to be investigated in full. But I must stress that where Omega’s safety is in question, just as much scrutiny should be laid on Mr. Fett and his family. Especially considering Omega’s placement with him by CPS.” 

“My client is employed, a decorated army veteran, owns his own home, and is in the process of taking courses here at DHS to become a foster parent.” Obi-Wan spread his hands out, one eyebrow raised. “He and his brothers leapt at the opportunity to keep their little sister safe and well-cared for— interrupting their lives as soon as they recognized the danger she was in.”

“A danger she may still be in,” Lama Su shot back. He gestured at Hunter. Hunter indulged in the brief mental fantasy of bending his arm back until it broke. “My client is very concerned for her daughter’s wellbeing while not in her care. As previously established, she has had no contact with her sons since they were children— has no idea with whom her daughter has been entrusted.” 

Hunter wanted to growl that didn’t stop her from accessing our military records, but managed to stop himself. Nala’s pale eyes skirted over him. He’d tripped up and given her the satisfaction once; he wouldn’t do it again. This was Obi-Wan’s show. 

Lama Su continued, bringing up his briefcase and opening the polished clasps with showy deliberation. “It was out of this concern that we decided to hire a private investigator. What she found was… troubling.” He produced and slid a series of big, glossy photographs onto the table.

Hunter and Omega on the sidewalk outside of Cid’s bar— the glaring neon BAR sign framed perfectly in the negative space above Omega’s head. The two of them going inside. The frame of view shifted closer, zoomed in through the dark windows. Omega sitting alone at the bar. Omega standing between Bolo and Ketch, her arms a blur as she waved them, talking. 

Hunter counted up and down from four in his head, keeping his breathing as even as he could. 

Lama Su’s voice sounded very far away. “Hardly an appropriate place to bring a child.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Your honor,” Obi-Wans said, his tone professional, “I move to adjourn for the day so I can file for discovery.”

The judge turned to Obi-Wan with an apologetic look. “You can have a thirty-minute recess,” he said. Then, pivoting towards Lama Su’s triumphant face: “And you can withhold any more evidence for today. Save it for our next meeting. The defense should be permitted time for discovery.” 

A twinge rippled his smug mask. “Of course, your honor.”

“Then we’re adjourned.” With a crack of the gavel, Obi-Wan swept his papers up and stood, beckoning Hunter after him. Leaving the room with Lama Su and Nala Se oh so casually standing and slowly packing up their things felt too much like a retreat. 

Obi-Wan led the way around a few corners to a small atrium. Hunter started speaking as soon as they stopped walking. 

“It’s my boss’s bar,” he explained in a rush, “she owns the place and the construction firm, I was there to work out my hours with everything going on. That’s it.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. “Understandable. I’ll clarify that to judge, in chambers if possible. It’s worrisome that Dr. Se’s counsel has already gone to the length of having you followed by a private detective.” 

Hunter massaged his temples. “I think I saw the P.I., too. A woman in bike leathers.” He dropped his hands, and pulled out his phone. “She must have talked to Cid, she went inside the bar.” He started to rapid-type out a message to his boss. 

“We can clarify more today, but I’m more interested in getting our court date, then filing for discovery so we can see all what they’re bringing to the table. Character witnesses can get called during family court.” Obi-Wan hesitated. “Right now, the goal is to keep your primary emergency custody. With those photographs, however, and framing Nala Se’s concern, they’ll probably ask for visitation rights.” 

“Visitation?” Hunter stopped typing. An awful grip of cold seized him. “So Omega will have to go back to her.” 

“If she gets unsupervised visitation, yes.” Obi-Wan’s crisp tone undercut Hunter’s flare of panic. “But I’m going to try and press for supervised visits only. Omega won’t be alone with her, and it won’t be at Nala Se’s house.” 

Hunter forced himself to focus. As much as every fiber of his being wanted to argue and deny and rage, too much was at stake for him to not recognize it for the unhelpful reaction that it was. Obi-Wan wasn’t describing a failure or a retreat, not really— he was buying time to up their defenses. Folding a little to acquiesce. He understood that.

Didn’t mean it felt good.

He exhaled, forcefully, before nodding. Obi-Wan returned the nod. Hunter realized, trailing along after him back towards the meeting room, that Obi-Wan had been wanting his consent— if Hunter had raged and refused, perhaps, Obi-Wan would have found a different path, difficult as it may be. Not for the first time, he made note to thank Commander Cody for his recommendation.

They all remet in the room with the judge. 

To keep from saying something he shouldn’t, Hunter bit his tongue and let his mind go foggy around the edges. 

“Your honor,” Obi-Wan started, jumping smoothly in front of Lama Su, “I believe it’s clear to everyone here that our parties have very different visions for Omega’s care and safety. I will even allow, in good faith, for anxieties on both sides.” Lama Su glowed with sickening pride. “That being said, the girl has been settled in her new environment. What I said previously about my client’s dedication to her health and wellbeing remains. I and my client are ready and willing to sue for full custody for as long as necessary. With my client’s young sister’s health and happiness at stake, we can do nothing less.” 

“I agree, and echo Mr. Kenobi’s sentiments,” Lama Su said, crooning his approval at being included. Hunter tapped his foot against the ground, burning through agitated energy. They just had to get through this, they just had to get through this… his mother kept her eyes demurely downcast. “I move to reinstate my client’s access rights to her child.” 

“Access rights,” Obi-Wan cut in, chuckling. Hunter shot him a look. Obi-Wan’s face was wreathed in amusement past his beard. “She is a child, not a natural resource. I believe you mean visitation rights.” 

Lama Su’s mouth twitched. “Indeed.” He shifted in his chair, but Hunter felt the balance of power subtly shift. 

The judge’s eyes darted between the two sides of the table. “This court is not in the business of voiding a parent’s rights without due cause and process,” he said, lightly. “But, in light of what I’ve seen around this table this afternoon, I am loathe to burden the poor girl further with movements between two very different households. Supervised visitation would be my suggestion.” 

“We can agree to that, for now,” Obi-Wan said, shooting another disarming smile across the table. “What do you say, Mr. Su? For Omega’s sake.” 

Lama Su wasted a minute, looking down his nose at his papers, and then Nala Se cleared her throat. “For now,” she intoned, carefully, and cut her eyes at Hunter, “I can agree to that.” 

Hunter held his heartbeat in his mouth as they hashed out the finer details. In the back of his head, he could hear Crosshair’s half-whispered words from Omega’s first night in the house. Do you think Nala Se is saying if to her lawyer right now ? Her words chased each other around his head, for now, for now, for now.

They set a court date for late the next week. In a courtroom with a bailiff and witnesses and everything. For visitations, a showy if useless flexing match landed on their side of the table. Omega would meet with Nala Se for one hour, every fourth day, until the trial was over. Supervised visits to be hosted here at the courthouse under the watchful eye of Omega’s social worker, Shaak Ti. 

Just this side of light-headed, Hunter stood up and followed Obi-Wan out. 

Omega was still the only kid in the waiting room, just like when Hunter and Tech had dropped her off. He signed the clipboard next to Omega’s name, and he was allowed inside. Omega, squished into a big beanbag chair and looking rapt on a book, glanced up at the sound of the door. She brightened up immediately on seeing him, and Hunter’s chest did a flip. One day, he swore, he’d deserve how much affection she obviously had for him. 

“Hunter!” She rushed over and hugged him around his waist. He rested one hand on the crown of her head and struggled to come up with something to say. She pulled back, grinning up at him. “How did it go?”

Wincing, he ducked down to look her in the eye. “We’ve got another court date in a week,” he said, and hesitated. 

She frowned, watching his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nala wants to talk to you,” he said, carefully. “You don’t have to say anything to her that you don’t want, and you won’t be alone with her.” He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it, coming up empty. 

“Do I have to?” she asked, voice small. 

Yes was the correct answer. “I’m sorry,” was what he ended up saying. 

Her eyes darted over his face, reading him for all he was worth. Her lips pressed together and she nodded, trying for a brave face. He gave in to instinct and tapped a curled knuckle against her cheek, and watched as it deepened into a smile. 

“It’ll only be for an hour,” he said. “Then we can go home.” 

“Okay.” She clung to his hand as he walked her out of the childcare room. Shaak Ti was waiting for them in the hallway, and even the woman’s calming aura couldn’t loosen Omega’s grip. They trailed behind her down corridors until reaching a room marked visitations. 

“I’ll wait,” Hunter told Omega. “Okay? I’ll be right here.” 

She nodded, but didn’t look up at him, staring at the door. Shaak Ti held out her own hand, and Omega transferred her grip; Hunter flexed his fingers, feeling like he’d just let the emergency tab on his parachute wrench itself away from his grip during air-training. 

He stood and watched as Omega trailed behind Shaak Ti, into the meeting room, the door slowly sinking shut behind them, giving him a brief view of the interior. Nala Se stood up from the chair she had been sitting in. Omega turned to look over her shoulder, and held Hunter’s gaze as the door slowly but surely closed between them. 

For now, for now, for now. 

Crosshair had never been good at begging. Wheedling, leaning, demanding, insinuating, sure— but none of those worked to get him any more extra shifts at work. His half-hearted attempt to ask nicely only got him a scoffing eye-roll from his boss, and so for the first time in seven straight days, Crosshair found himself trapped in the house come nightfall. 

Well. He had ducked out on dinner with some kind of excuse, only returning to the house once he could safely assume that everyone else had gone upstairs to sleep. The household group chat had been peppered with updates from Hunter throughout the day on the outcomes of his first skirmishes with family court. Crosshair did his best to ignore them, but it was an uphill battle. It was far too easy for him to imagine the silent dinner, the hanging guillotine blade of the weeks to come. 

Contrary to what he was sure his brothers thought, he took no joy in being proven right. He wasn’t a pessimist for no reason; if hope was the thing with feathers, that only taught Crosshair to keep the cage locked up nice and tight. If only his brothers could learn to imitate him, they’d have an easier time of it. 

Shedding a tear for the kid’s court-ordered interactions with their mother especially struck him as a fruitless gesture. She’d already had to spend a decade under Nala Se’s thumb; what was the worst a few spare hours would do? Hell, maybe this could even ease the way. Not cutting the cord, but slowly clipping through it, thread by thread. 

Better than the backhand dismissal they’d all gotten at her age.

He let himself into the dark house and washed up in the downstairs bathroom. He didn’t dare go upstairs and grab anything from his room, so he was stuck with just his phone and the television for company. No issue. Crosshair was perfectly content spending time alone with himself, so long as there was even something as miniscule as a toothpick between his lips to occupy himself with. There was a skill he hoped the kid had learned by now; he’d honed that skill to a scalpel’s edge by the time they were all ten. 

After a little while, the hours bleeding by, Crosshair decided to watch a movie. Something he’d seen a lot, so many times he could almost follow along word for word. Tech had liked the movie a lot when they were kids, too, but Crosshair didn’t let that hook into his brain as he watched, colors flowing over him. He had the volume turned down nearly to zero. Just because his brothers didn’t care much when he was trying to get his sleep during the day, he didn’t want to give them another reason to start shit with him. 

But, even with that consideration, he eventually heard the telltale noise of someone on the stairs, coming down with labor-slow steps. So much for staying quiet. He braced for Hunter or Wrecker, another bitten-tongue argument that went nowhere. In his opinion, arguments were worse when you couldn’t shout. Not that anyone in this house cared about his opinion anymore, anyway. 

The creaking paused on the last step. Crosshair gave them a count of ten to man up and get his attention away from the movie. At zero, when they still hadn’t made up their minds, he turned around on the couch, something sharp rising with a sneer on his lips— and he shut his jaw, teeth grinding. 

Omega stood on the bottom stair, just barely visible through the living room doorframe. She still looked too thin. Small for her age. A touch better in pajamas Wrecker had bought for her. Gone was the wan, timid-looking kid of their nightmares, and here stood the sleep-rumbled shadow of what might turn out to be a totally normal eleven year-old girl, given more time in the sun. 

She held the patterned quilt from her bed wrapped over her shoulders. Her eyes weren’t on Crosshair, but on the television screen. Multicolor splashes— he’d been watching Princess Mononoke — danced across her face, her glassy eyes. She seemed even unaware of his presence, enraptured. 

Frowning, unsure— why the hell was she down here? — Crosshair turned and hit the pause button on the remote. That seemed to break the spell, a little gasp falling out of her lips. “Oh,” she said, squeaking a little. Her attention reasserted on him. “Hi. Sorry.” 

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, growling. 

She took that as an invitation to step into the living room, eyes tracing the television screen. “What are you watching?” she asked, instead of answering his question.

He turned to aim his shoulder at her, staring daggers at the still frame of the television. “A movie.” 

She moved a glance closer, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up. “What movie?”

“It’s not for kids,” he lied. 

That got her to stop her forward advance. “Oh.” He waited for her to turn and go, but she continued to stand there. He picked up on her little shifting movements, socked feet and a too-thin body not even heavy enough to creak the floorboards. 

“Can I help you with something?” he demanded, turning around to pin her with a glare. 

Her shoulders, padded with folds of quilt, were hiked up to her shoulders. She met him frown for frown, little face screwed up into a pout. “I said I was sorry,” she muttered. “If I knew you were here I wouldn’t’ve come down.”

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m here.” He gestured towards the stairs, dismissing her. 

Still, she didn’t retreat. She was almost as obtuse as Tech on a good day. He watched as she shifted her feet again, casting her eyes around the living room, tracing the outline of a few shelves against the far wall, either stalling for time or trying to find an excuse. He let her burn with it for a moment before his patience ran out. 

“Look,” he hissed, “spit it out. I want to go back to my movie. What do you want? Water? A snack?” He almost mockingly asked if she wanted a hug and a bedtime story, but he managed to stop the acidically sarcastic words from coming out, feeling heavy in his mouth. Considering his luck, lately, she’d answer in the positive and he’d have to deal with that fallout. 

“I just,” she didn’t meet his eyes, “I just wanted to look around. It’s stupid.” 

He made a show of checking his watch for the time. “Yes,” he agreed acidically, “it is.” 

Her pouting frown returned. “You’re mean,” she stated. 

If only she knew. He flashed teeth. “You haven’t seen mean yet,” he hissed. “But you’re getting close.” 

A moment passed. Trying to call his bluff. He made another gesture towards the stairs, ushering, insistent. She made a strange, strangled noise in the back of her throat and turned around. Instead of going back up the stairs, though, she disappeared further in the hallway. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, making after her. In the doorway of the living room, he spotted her aim: the hallway closet. She opened it up and peered inside, obviously not finding anything other than old coats and the folded stepladder. “Hey,” he whisper-shouted, keenly aware of how badly this could all go if Hunter woke up and came downstairs. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m looking for the fire extinguisher!” she snapped over her shoulder, closing the closet door— and he watched her realize that she’d let her secret slip. The tension broke and recoiled. She drew herself back further into the shell of her blanket. 

Crosshair stared at her. “What the hell do you need the fire extinguisher for?”

Her eyes skittered away from him, and she made no answer.

He made a noise of frustration. “Come here,” he ordered, meaning to grab her and guide her back into the living room. She moved before he could get within arm’s length, ducking past him and darting into the living room. For a moment he was left alone in the main heart of the house, the lights all out, watching through the doorway to the living room as Omega dropped herself onto the far end of the couch with stiff, coiled tension. 

Shit. What did she think he’d been about to do to her?

He forced himself to walk calmly into the living room and stand, towering, over her. Omega sat stiffly on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her eyes were locked firmly on the middle distance, as if Crosshair wasn’t even there. Her face was bathed in the colors from the paused movie, hair dully shining in stripes of red, green, and blue. 

“What. Do you. Need. The fire extinguisher. For?” he demanded, enunciating with harsh tones. Even wracking his brain, he couldn’t think of what a kid would need something like that for, not in the middle of the night. “If you don’t tell me,” he tried instead, glowering, “I can always ask Hunter for his best guess.” 

There. The flash of something guilty in her eyes. She’d come down in the middle of the night precisely because whatever it is she wanted, she didn’t want Hunter involved. 

“Mother says that this house is dangerous,” she said, quietly and without much feeling. Like it was all so bloodless. “That it’s so old it could burn down easily. Not like her house.” 

Crosshair chose a section of cheek and bit down, hard. His hands knotted into fists. He hadn’t heard his mother’s voice in over a decade. But there it was, carved chest-deep in his grey matter, echoing Omega’s listless tone. 

He’d been too afraid to sleep, that first night in Ninety-nine’s old house. A narrow, high victorian. Wood paneled walls. Detritus and bric-a-brac scattered around. Long, grasping hanging curtains. Visible dust in some places, laying thick as quilt ticking. Nala Se’s house was purposeful in its emptiness, in its endless unfurling hallways of whitewashed plaster. Emptiness was sterile. Emptiness was clean. It was safe. It was hell.

She seemed to take his furious silence as an invitation for elaboration. “She says I’d be safer living with her. Even with. Everything else.” Her hands rubbed against her shins, up and down, careful. 

For a moment, Crosshair stood and stared at her. This strange, familiar, terrible kid. He could feel the pressure on his lungs, the weight of Ninety-nine’s phone receiver heavy in his hand. He forced himself to swallow. “Omega,” he started to say, and didn’t find any words. He ought to go upstairs and wake up Hunter, or Wrecker, or someone, anyone. He should pick up the phone and call Cut or even old Ninety-nine. Anyone other than him. The kid deserved that much.

She wriggled a little in the silence, tipping back on her tailbone and flailing a bit as the cushion gave way and toppled her weight back against the pillows. The thought bloomed on the tip of Crosshair’s tongue: So Mother still doesn’t have a couch with real padding. It spun his head around, facing the frozen television, and he forced out a harsh breath, veins flooding with the kind of heat he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. 

The trick was not to think about it. About the way they’d all been raised. The real texture of it. In his memory, it was a thing that happened to the kid he was once; not the person he was now. With Omega, it was harder and harder not to think about it. From living in the deepest parts of his brain to living up the attic stairs. Sitting on the couch, sharing silence with him. A familiar silence. A recognizing kind of silence. The edge between the kid he was and the man he had become was blurring, blurring, blurring.

“Omega,” he started again, staring at the television before daring to meet her eyes. Her big, familiar eyes. “She lied to you.” 

Her gaze flickered towards him, then back down. “She wouldn’t do that,” Omega said, and it was only the unsure weakness in her tone that checked Crosshair from snapping something red-hot and rude back at her. 

He hissed in frustration. “You know what lying is, yes?”

The glare she shot him over her knees was impressively dire. “I know what lying is.” She let her attention fizzle out into the middle distance again, unfocused, hands holding white-knuckled onto her shins. “She says only bad people lie. That I shouldn’t lie.” 

Crosshair had started lying on his daily weigh-ins when they were all nine years old. He deliberately missed answers on their education modules. He would pace, up and down his room, back and forth, to keep from sleeping her prescribed hours of rest. At first he did it to see if she would react, to try and eke something out of her other than clinical observation. She hadn’t noticed, not for a few months, until she did a spot check on their progress and found his discrepancy. 

Self-reporting is only one kind of data collection, she had told him, as the fog set in. You’ll wake up when I have the data I need on your progress. If you told me the truth, I wouldn’t need to do this. 

Crosshair sank down onto the other end of the couch, hands on his knees. “I don’t care what she told you. This house is safe. She lied to you.” 

“What if you’re lying to me?” she demanded, then flinched backwards. Crosshair bit the inside of his cheek.

“I’m not lying to you,” he said, far too softly for his own tastes. 

She swallowed; doubt crept in. “What if I don’t believe you?” she queried, tremulous. 

Why would she? Of course she wouldn’t. He’d barely spoken to her since she got here. 

He shrugged. “I don’t care if you believe me or not,” he said, and then didn’t elaborate further. Didn’t try to press the point, sway her, lean on her. Like their mother would have done. Like their mother had undoubtedly done, for the hour she could get her claws in. Omega’s face was slack in surprise. “It’s the truth.” 

For a long moment, they sat together in a heavy, far too familiar silence. The kind of silence that used to hang over all their heads, in their shared bedrooms. In the pale, empty hallways. Crosshair tore himself up to standing.

“Come on,” he said, and added, at her sudden look of panic, “I’ll show you where the fire extinguisher is.” 

Omega followed, silent and steady, as he walked her through the bottom floor of the house. He showed her the fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink, let her hold it and accustom herself to its weight, familiarize herself with the instructional tag hanging from the pin. He showed her the earthquake emergency bag in the hall closet, how to wind up the battery-less flashlight and radio. He showed her the first aid kit in the bathroom, nodded when she quietly said it ought to have some iodine, just in case, and promised in a stiff tone that he’d make sure they got some. 

He walked her to the front door and stood there in the midnight chill as she worked the deadbolt, back and forth, back and forth, carefully scratching out the furrow of muscle memory in her hands. Just in case. At the back door, doing the same, she snuck a glance at him, and he easily read her concern that he was getting frustrated with her; the glow of frustration was clear in her cheeks, in her heavy sniffs as Crosshair finally ran out of ideas and led them back to the living room. 

She sat down on the couch knuckled at her eyes, sniffing. Crosshair turned his back on her and tried to pretend, for her pride, that he didn’t know what she was doing. He went into the kitchen and got a glass of water, setting it down in front of her before circling back and getting one for himself, just burning through an extra minute of privacy. When he returned, the first glass was empty. He replaced it with the full one and took the empty to the kitchen, returning to see Omega taking some tentative sips, eyes red but clear. 

He cleared his throat and she set the glass back down, gathering the quilt closer over her shoulders as she stood. “Thank you, Crosshair,” she said, sounding like she meant it. 

“Whatever,” he made himself say. She walked to the doorway of the living room and then stopped, turning around and peering up at his face. 

“Can I stay down here with you?” she asked.

He shrugged, throat tight. “I don’t care.” He should tell her she needed to sleep, force her back upstairs, but he didn’t have it in him. What’s the worst that a late night could do to a kid like her, already a survivor of so many worse things?

With that bit of permission, she perched on the sofa once more, in the corner, burrowing a bit backwards and frowning at the unfamiliar sensation. If Crosshair was the kind to crack jokes, it really said a lot about their upbringing that softness of any sort was an alien, sometimes unwelcome, surprise. 

He didn’t feel like he could laugh about this, though. Instead, he stayed silent, and picked up the remote, hitting the eject button. The screen went blue, and the DVD player spat out the warm disc into his hand.

“You don’t have to stop your movie,” she said, voice suddenly so small that Crosshair felt like he’d been given an electric shock. “I-I won’t talk or distract you at all, I promise. I won’t even watch.” That got her a confused look; she met it with a head-tilt. “Since it’s not for kids,” she clarified.  

He swallowed, heavy. He put the disc away without thinking of a damn thing he could possibly say, but felt the weight of her eyes on him as he picked up another DVD case and cracked it open. 

“You’ll like this one better,” he said, voice sounding stiff and odd to his own ears. The DVD player inhaled the disc, and he pushed himself up to standing, circling around to the other end of the couch, leaving plenty of space between them.

The room lit up as the menu bloomed bright and colorful on the screen. Kiki’s Delivery Service. He hit play and turned the volume up one tick, two. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen, unsure of what he might say or do if he turned and looked at Omega. He could only tell that she’d fallen asleep halfway through the movie by the shift of her breathing, long and deep. Even then he didn’t turn, just leaned his head back along the back of the couch, bringing one hand up to knead at his eyes. 

The strange darkness of an illuminated midnight. The clawing certainty that things were going to go wrong, like they always did, that anything you tried to hold onto with both hands was just going to pour out like sand. Familiar and terrible. Lying awake in Ninety-nine’s house. Listening to his brothers breathe in their sleep. Getting up. Going downstairs. 

If hope was the thing with feathers, Crosshair had gotten very good at wringing its neck very, very early. 

Chapter Text

Gregor kicked the door open the second Wrecker’s hand had turned the knob. It knocked him back into the wall— Wrecker was bigger than Gregor, but the old vet knew how to throw his weight around. 

“Alright,” Gregor bellowed into the house, “Where is my new niece?!” 

Omega’s little head popped around the corner to the kitchen, eyes wide. “Uh,” she said. 

“There she is!” Gregor thundered over to sweep Omega up into a big crushing hug. “Nice to finally meet you, kid!” 

Wrecker shook his head, unable to keep from grinning even as he rubbed the new bruised spot at the back of his head. Luckily, Wolffe entered at a more subdued pace, two giftbags dangling from one of his hands. 

“Isn’t she technically his cousin, too?” Wrecker asked. He closed the door with a kick.

“Don’t spoil this for him,” Wolffe replied. He and Wrecker shared a quick, squeezing handshake, and Wolffe passed over the gift bags. “No idea what girls like at her age,” he admitted, shrugging with a complete refusal to feel shame. “Had to ask the cashier to help me pick something out.” 

In the kitchen, Gregor and Omega’s voices piled on top of each other. It was nice to hear; she’d been so shy and quiet after her forced visitation with Nala Se, it had taken a slow warming of a few days to get her back to her old self. 

Wrecker stomach churned a little. Yeah, back to her old self— just in time for her visitation with Nala again tomorrow. He hadn’t been able to check his phone the whole day, and it’d been like getting a cinderblock dropped on his head, getting the report after-the-fact. The stupid courts— who in their right mind would take one look at their mother and not want to scoop Omega up and carry her away to safety? They were all idiots. Wrecker had even almost said so to Hunter, but seeing how heavily it weighed on his brother stopped him. 

“How’re you keeping up?” Wolffe asked, nudging Wrecker’s arm.

“Oh,” he said, unconvincingly, “you know.” 

Wolffe’s one good eye pinned him in place. 

“So,” Wrecker called out, beating a neat retreat away from his cousin, into the kitchen. Echo, by the stove, looked trapped in a corner as Gregor and Omega circled around, constantly moving, gesticulating with their hands. “Are we getting out of here or what?!” 

Gregor started to protest that a little bit of breakfast wouldn’t hurt, Omega begging for both him and Wolffe to stay longer, Echo trying to herd them away from the stove, and Wrecker’s hollering did little to quell any of it. 

Upstairs, wood cracked as a door was slammed open, and very loud, furious footsteps sounded down the stairs. Crosshair appeared, some bags under his eyes, looking shitty. He hit the doorway to the kitchen and stopped, eyes glaring like bullets through the rowdy room. 

“Hey! Crosshair! Haven’t seen you in ages—” Gregor went in with his arms out for a hug. 

Crosshair dodged and countered with a shove, harsh and cold and hard enough to send Gregor staggering back into the wall and kill all the levity in the room. Oxygen quit and a cold silence followed. Wrecker’s eyes moved from Crosshair’s furious scowl to check with Omega— she’d shrunk back a little, frowning up at Crosshair like she was confused. Hell, Wrecker didn’t blame her.

“I,” Crosshair hissed, “am trying. To sleep.” 

Exchanging mutual looks of muted rage with Wolffe, Crosshair scanned the room one last time, hovered over Gregor, then turned on his heel and stalked back up the stairs. A slamming noise informed them that he was back up in his bedroom. 

Gregor’s eyes were a little unfocused. He leaned with his back against the wall, eyes rolling from point to point. A vague, kind of airy smile betrayed that he wasn’t quite there. 

Echo stepped up before Wolffe or Wrecker could cross the room. “Gregor,” he said, moving into Gregor’s line of sight. “You okay?” 

Nodding aimlessly, Gregor took his time finding an answer. “Missing a few limbs,” he eventually observed, gesturing at Echo. “Huh.” He scratched at one cheek, giggled. 

“Been missing ‘em,” Echo replied, but he was grinning indulgently. “Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” 

“Cup of coffee, yeah,” Gregor giggled. He sat down, and his eyes cleared up at the stability, at the mechanical movements of spooning a shitton of sugar into the cup of coffee Echo placed in front of him. He cleared his throat, gestured over his shoulder, towards the stairs. “He’s a treat.” 

“He’s a c—” Wolffe closed his mouth, glancing at Omega. “You know what he is,” he growled instead. 

“I’m sure I can guess,” Tech said, breezing into the kitchen. “Ready to go?” he asked Omega. 

“Yes!” she bounced up, excitedly hopping over to stand by Tech. Wrecker grinned, watching how his little brother (“Statistically,” he’d always said, “the two minutes between our births is marginal at best and negligible at most”) couldn’t hold back a pleased smile at Omega’s eagerness. He tried to be so cool, but Wrecker knew he was just a big dork. And he finally had someone in the house who whole-heartedly shared his interests. Just one of the nice little ways Omega brightened up all of their lives.

“Where’re you two off to?” Gregor asked. 

“We’re going to the robotics swap meet in Corellia!” she announced. “We’re going to get more parts for AZI.”

“We’re going to try and get new parts for AZI,” Tech corrected. “At the very least, we can get the supplies to reinstall the solar power cells.” 

“And once he’s back online,” Omega breezed on, “I can get back to work on his code! Tech gave me this great program…” she chattered on to Gregor’s more and more flabbergasted look. 

“Yeah,” he said to Tech, when she’d hit a pausing point, “she’s your sister, alright.” 

Tech’s chest puffed out just so with barely hidden pride. Wrecker’s heart swelled. 

“We should go,” Tech said to Omega. He glanced at Wrecker. “Before Crosshair wakes up again.” 

Well, there went his happy little mood. Cross’d been especially prickly, lately. 

“Where are you going?” Omega asked him. The whole lot of them clustered up the entryway, Wrecker trying to get his shoes on without tossing an elbow somewhere he’d regret. 

“Your big brother is getting a monocular driving lesson,” Wolffe answered for him. He closed his right eye in a deliberate wink, briefly hiding the intimidating white orb from view. 

“I thought you were teaching me t’drive with one eye.” 

“That’s what monocular means.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” 

“I’m here for the free lunch,” Gregor added.

“Never said I’d buy you lunch,” Wolffe growled. 

“I’ll spot your lunch, Gregor,” Wrecker said. They all managed to get out the door and separate into their two different cars: Omega and Tech in his sleek vehicle, Wrecker, Gregor, and Wolffe in his old van, the side advertising his boss’s catering company in chipped old paint. They let Tech pull out first, Omega twisting in her seat to wave at them as they disappeared down the street.

“Sweet kid,” Wolffe observed. 

“Yeah.” Wrecker tried to keep his expression from turning too dopey. “She’s great.” 

“Apple rolled pretty far away from the tree, huh,” Wolffe commented, and got them in gear. “Full offense to your mother and Jango.” 

As they drove, Wrecker felt a little bad that his body refused to relax; Wolffe was a good driver, a pristine record, but Wrecker’s subconscious hissed no depth perception, limited periphery and his whole body broke out in a cold sweat. He gripped the grab handle like his life depended on it. 

“Hey,” Wolffe barked, making him jump. “Pay attention. Lesson starts now. Watch how I move.” 

It was a little difficult; with Wolffe in the driver’s seat on his blind and deaf left side, Wrecker had to really twist in his seat to get him in view. He watched, tense and silent, as Wolffe silently got them through a few intersections. He didn’t get on the freeway— Wrecker felt incredibly grateful for that. Finally, they arrived at their destination, a big overstock store with a massive, mostly-empty parking lot. 

Before Wrecker knew what was happening, they were all set to go, Wrecker with his hands on the wheel, the car off and in park, Wolffe watching in the passenger seat, and Gregor out of sight. 

“Look at the side mirror. Lean forward, lean back,” Wolffe instructed. “Not a full rotation, you’re not trying to look over your shoulder. You’re using the mirror. See?” 

Wrecker, sweating a little under the collar, did as he was told. The left hand side mirror on Wolffe’s van had been augmented with an extra magnifying dish, increasing the surface area. As he leaned forward, body only slightly turned, the reflection of the van shifted, revealing the blindspot. Gregor, sitting in a camping chair just out of view, made a funny face. 

“Good,” Wolffe continued. “It just takes a second. Check the rearview, check the blindspot, and move. Get the muscle memory down.” 

Feeling a little ridiculous, Wrecker glanced up at the rearview, the nearly empty parking lot looking big and threateningly exposed. Then he turned, aiming his good right eye across at the side mirror, and seesawed forwards and back. Gregor stuck out his tongue when he came into view. Wrecker shifted his grip on the steering wheel. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat on Wolffe’s good side, there was no escape. “What is it?” he asked. 

For a second, Wrecker entertained trying to lie, but the novelty of trying had long worn off when it came to Wolffe. If anything, losing his right eye had doubled his ability to suss out lies. He hiked his shoulders up and lowered them. “I don’t feel so good,” he muttered, eyes on the steering wheel. 

“No one ever enjoys day one of Basic,” was Wolffe’s reply. 

“Yeah,” Wrecker allowed. “I dunno. It’s stupid.” 

“Bet you good money it isn’t.” 

“I just… don’t wanna hurt anybody,” Wrecker admitted, squirming. Growing up, people who weren’t his brothers refused to listen when he said stuff like that. Well, his brothers and Ninety-nine. Most people looked at him, always the biggest, always loud and kinda rough around the edges, and they thought he didn’t care. Sure, sometimes he got caught up in stuff and didn’t think about the collateral damage, hell, he’d gotten tossed out of half of the bars in town for something or other, but this was different. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he started, but couldn’t finish the sentence, wincing. Wolffe and Gregor had both given up their Sundays for him. He wasn’t ungrateful, he just— it wasn’t— 

“Take a deep breath for me, Wrecker,” Wolffe said, in a tone that made it an order.

Wrecker, a little lightheaded, gulped down a breath, exhaled it. 

“You could hurt someone,” Wolffe said, blunt as ever. Wrecker opened his mouth. “Shut it. Listen to me.” Wrecker closed his mouth and frowned down at his hands on the steering wheel. “You could hurt someone. That was just as true when you had both eyes. And just like then, all you can do is be careful and smart. Learning to live with your disability is the careful, smart thing to do.” 

“Plenty of idiots out there with driver’s licenses, Wrecker,” Gregor popped in. He leaned into the open window, chin propped on his crossed arms. “Even worse, ninety-year olds! You’ve got nothing to worry about, you won’t turn ninety for a few decades at—” 

Wolffe leaned over and started to crank up the window. 

Grinning guilelessly, Gregor backed off. He exhaled on the window and drew in a smiley face, flashing a thumbs up. Oddly enough, it did make Wrecker feel a little better. He returned the thumbs up. Sated, Gregor returned to his camping chair. 

“I know where you’re coming from, Wrecker,” Wolffe continued. “When I first lost my eye, I thought that was it for me. If I couldn’t keep up my career as an officer, what was I good for? And I felt even worse because there were plenty of men with worse injuries who got back up faster than me.” 

Like Echo. Wrecker couldn’t imagine. His big brother had taken to PT and his prosthetics like a man possessed, logging hundreds of hours with the trainers and doctors as soon as they cleared him after surgery. Meanwhile after all of his surgeries and stupid CAT-scans, Wrecker’d felt truly miserable, constantly knocking his left shoulder into door frames the first month of stumbling around the PT offices at the VA. He wore the eyepatch they’d given him for ages, too self-conscious about the white post-surgery orb they gave out for free. Hell, he’d almost burst into tears when the special just-for-him one finally got put in his hands. 

“Every injury is different,” Wolffe continued. “Every healing process is different. There’s no better or worse, there’s just healing. I trust that you can do this without hurting anyone. You just need to trust yourself.” 

Wrecker bit down on the inside of his cheek and nodded. “I dunno how you’n Echo got so good at this,” he muttered.

“We’re older and wiser,” Wolffe deadpanned. He was the second-oldest of Cody’s four brothers, but still, that wasn’t that much older than Wrecker. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. Testing, he leaned forward. Gregor was back to sitting in his camping chair, reading a magazine he got from who-knows-where. The wall of stuffy silence over his left ear was the same as it always was, but peering at the mirror with his right eye felt stable, secure. 

Wolffe watched in silence for a few minutes as Wrecker got the muscle memory down. 

“Okay,” Wolffe said, a verbal clearing of the air. “We’re going to do some left turns. Feel up for it?” 

No. Not really. Sort of. Maybe. 

“Sure,” Wrecker said. “Sure, I think I can do that.” 

“And then,” Wrecker said, swinging one arm out in a wide sweep, “I drove out of the parking lot, and got into the turning lane— you know, like this,” he curled his arm around, indicating the corner, “and turned the corner and back into the parking lot.” He nodded, beaming, empathetically proud. 

“That’s awesome, Wreck,” Hunter told him. He was feeling a little tired— he’d gone that morning to hand some stuff for Cid at the apartment complex, mainly replacing some fuses and fixing a stuck window lock. That afternoon, the house empty and quiet, he’d tried to read through the foster parent handbook the DHS had given him at the night school. It was slow going. 

They all sat around the kitchen table, eating dinner, comparing notes. Omega and Tech were pleased with their purchases from the swap meet, and Tech had even assured Hunter via text that he wasn’t concerned about spending the extra money— Tech made the most out of all of them, paid for groceries most days, budgeted them all to hell and back. They only got back a bit before dinner, the drive to Corellia and back a little on the long side.

Hunter’s back was to the kitchen door, so he didn’t see Crosshair appear until Wrecker, opposite him, looked up and started, brightening up and gesturing with his fork, waving over his head.

“Crosshair!” Wrecker called out. Hunter looked over his shoulder— Crosshair pulled up just short of the door, and by the stiff tilt to his shoulders, regretted doing so. “Come over here and eat something.” 

“Pass,” Crosshair said over his shoulder.

“Come on,” Wrecker said. “You owe me for this morning.” 

The look Crosshair shot over his shoulder was not amused. He walked over anyway. He wasn’t dressed for work, so Hunter had no idea where he was trying to run off to. Crosshair reached over Omega’s head and snagged a bread roll, chewing on it while still standing. 

“What happened this morning?” Hunter asked, glancing between them all. 

“Crosshair yelled at Gregor,” Echo reported. 

“I yelled at all of you,” Crosshair replied, baring teeth. “And you had it coming.” 

“Gregor didn’t deserve it,” Echo shot back, and oh shit, he was serious. Echo could bottle stuff up just as good as the rest of them, and when he was done hiding things, the relationship between him and Crosshair could be pretty obvious. His face was set in a serious frown, eyes steady and daring Crosshair to dodge.

“Gregor doesn’t live here. I do,” Crosshair replied. He smiled acidically at Echo. “Not enough room for him, anyway, even if you wanted another pet project.”

“Hey,” Wrecker growled. “Don’t be rude.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. Omega, luckily, looked like she was confused, not catching Crosshair’s underhanded dig for what it was. Hunter started to wish that Wrecker hadn’t called him back over; then he felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t seen his brother since his big migraine. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Cross,” he proposed. 

Crosshair eyed their dinner. Boiled vegetables, blanched meat, all stuff safe enough for Omega to eat. Even with just a bare week since she moved in, she was putting on some healthy weight. 

“Hard pass,” Crosshair said. “If I wanted to eat hospital food, I’d walk into traffic.” 

Hunter felt his jaw drop, his face going cold around the edges— had he really just heard Crosshair say that? An uncomfortable, stiff silence descended. Crosshair, at least, didn’t look smug. Far from it. He stood just as awkward and stiff behind Omega’s chair as Hunter felt. It took obvious effort for Crosshair to swallow his mouthful of bread. 

Crosshair coughed and pulled out the empty chair with a screech. He wordlessly added stuff to his plate and started eating, mechanically, eyes locked on his plate. 

Tech found his words first. “Please pass the salt,” he said. Crosshair wordlessly nudged it closer. They all started eating again. Hunter spared a glance for Omega, hoping she wouldn’t read too much out of it, but she was peering up at Crosshair with furrowed brows, like she couldn’t quite figure him out. Hunter wanted to kick himself, then Crosshair. Not necessarily in that order. 

The rest of dinner, short as it was, was almost entirely silent. When everyone was finished, Tech stood and started gathering the plates. Hunter came to a decision.

“Can you go upstairs for a few minutes, Omega?” he asked.

“Oh, please.” Crosshair sagged back in his chair and rolled his eyes. 

Omega, her eyes darting between Hunter and Crosshair, did as she was bid, but not without a bit of feet-dragging, continuing to glance over her shoulder as she disappeared up the stairs. 

“Real A-plus parenting, there,” Crosshair drawled. “They teach you that in dad school?”

“Crosshair,” Hunter growled, “you are on thin fucking ice.”

Crosshair’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Wrecker beat him there.

“You shouldn’t’ve said that in front of the kid, Cross,” he said. He sounded more disappointed than angry, which cowed Hunter’s heat a little bit. He didn’t want this to turn into another scene like in Cut’s garden. “You know she can’t handle heavy foods yet.” 

“What’s your excuse, then?” Crosshair countered, clanging his fork down onto the empty veggie plate with a loud clash. He shook his head and stood. “Whatever. I’m late.” 

“Running out on another conversation,” Echo said. “Real mature of you, Crosshair.” 

“Some conversation.” Crosshair gestured sharply. “I’m getting dogpiled.” 

“I haven’t said anything,” Tech said, from over by the sink.

“My fucking hero.” Crosshair tried to make for the door to the kitchen. Hunter moved to intercept him, then thought better of it, pulling up short. Crosshair stalled anyway, eyeing him critically. 

Hunter took in and released a long breath. “Look,” he said, “Crosshair. Omega coming to live with us was sudden. Having to deal with our mother again is a lot. We should talk about this. About…” he made a vague gesture, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Get back on your meds, yet, Sarge?” Crosshair growled.

“Damn it, Cross, do you hear yourself?” Hunter demanded, dropping his hand. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, alright, I’m sorry for dropping this shit on you, I’m sorry about the attic. I don’t want to fight you. None of us do.” 

Crosshair’s eyes darted between all of them. Echo couldn’t quite school his scowl, but he turned his back to start helping Tech load up the dishwasher. Finally Crosshair’s gaze landed on Hunter and stuck. He couldn’t read what he saw there— Crosshair was a closed book most days, anyway, but a series of unreadable expressions shuffled on and off the hard line of his eyes.  

“Could have fooled me,” he said, tone icy. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he hissed, “I’ve got shit to do.” He moved past Hunter, shaking his head. Hunter let him go. 

Hunter let him go— but Wrecker had other ideas. He doggedly followed Crosshair into the heart of the house, following him towards the front door. 

“You know what the problem is?” Wrecker challenged, “You won’t talk to us, Cross! Not about how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking or anything. You think you’re so tough, but I know you’re not— you’re just scared.”

Crosshair turned slowly his heel, face screwed up in a hateful scowl. 

Hunter had the barest moment to think, oh no. 

Crosshair punctuated his words with sharp gestures, voice strained with anger. “You’re pathetic!” He stepped forward and jabbed a finger at Wrecker’s chest. “I wish I had the fucking privilege of eating shrapnel the way you’ve lost the damn thread! Why is it every fucking thing I do gets psychoanalyzed to hell and back while you’re free to wallow in so much self pity you’re basically useless?! Oh, poor Wrecker, he got himself blown up, better not mention how sick we all are of him refusing to pull his own fucking weight!”

Wrecker’s open expression shuttered closed. 

“Fuck you, Crosshair,” he said, voice strained, and he elbowed past him towards the door. Hunter called his name, but Wrecker didn’t turn around, not even stopping to grab his shoes or coat before slamming the front door behind him. 

“Shit,” Hunter hissed, moving Crosshair aside to follow. He stalled long enough to grab the truck keys and shove his feet into the first pair of shoes he saw— Echo’s, judging by the elastic ties. Crosshair remained standing, a pillar, in the hallway, watching. “You happy now, Cross?!” Hunter barked, and Crosshair flinched. “Fuck . Stay here!” Completely unable to enforce the order, Hunter hoped that using his Rank Voice and a glare would suffice. 

He hit the porch at an abortive jog, slowing and sweeping his eyes across the lawn and street, trying to pick out which way Wrecker had headed in the blinding twilight gloom. Cursing, he let adrenaline take him to the truck. He headed right, first, rolling along at a far slower speed than he would have liked, eyes scanning the sidewalks. He doubted that Wrecker would impose himself on his friends down the street, Waxer and Boil, at this time of night— contingency plans stacked up in an orderly fashion. If he couldn’t find Wrecker on his own, he’d call or text Boil. 

He reached where their street hit the right hand cross-street, double lanes both ways. He hesitated, then swung the truck around to go the other way. When he passed the house, he spared a glance for the porch— Crosshair stood there, back straight as an arrow, face unreadable with the light and the distance. 

Finally, down a few more blocks of houses, Hunter spotted the unmistakable figure of Wrecker, trudging along with his head down and his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants.

“Wrecker!” Hunter called out of the window. Wrecker didn’t turn his head. Cursing, Hunter gunned the engine, pulling over onto the first empty stretch of curb he could see. He cut the engine and hopped out of the cab, meeting Wrecker halfway. “Wreck—”

“Leave me alone,” Wrecker cut him off, elbowing past him. 

Hunter circled back around, walking backwards and facing down his brother. “Wreck, come on, you don’t have your shoes, I’ll drive you back…” 

“I don’t wanna fucking go back,” Wrecker said, voice low and awful, and his next elbow was harder, aimed for the textbook spot below Hunter’s sternum. Hunter caught his arm, tried to trap it in his grip at tricep and wrist, but Wrecker had always had an extra weight class on him; one second Hunter was standing half-unsteady, one foot on the sidewalk, the other sinking into the grass on the road verge, and the next he was laid out on his back on the sidewalk, head ringing and mouth vaguely bloody.

It took a second for his head to clear. 

He managed to get up to his elbows, and then Wrecker was crouched over him, big hands cradling the smarting back of his head and getting him up on his feet. “Shit, Sarge, I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting— you okay?” 

Hunter made the executive decision to let Wrecker help him over to a short barrier wall and get him sitting. “Textbook throw, trooper,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head. 

The compliment, as sincere as it was, bounced right off of Wrecker’s despondent expression. He stood in front of Hunter, hands still half held out as if he expected Hunter to fall back over. “Sorry,” he muttered again. “I didn’t— you surprised me.” 

“I know, Wreck,” Hunter said. “I’m sorry for grabbing you. Shouldn’t’ve done that.” 

Wrecker pressed his lips into a tight line and his good eye skittered away from Hunter’s face. Down the street. Casing the getaway route. He shifted from foot to foot in his socks. Hunter whistled, sharply, at about half power to keep from splitting eardrums. Crosshair’s whistle was killer but Hunter could beat him, easy. Wrecker’s attention landed back on Hunter, and he quick-tossed the truck keys at him. 

Even with his less-than-perfect depth perception, at their distance, Wrecker caught the keys easily. He frowned down at his palm, jingling them a little bit. 

There were a dozen things Hunter wanted to say. Crosshair’s a dick, you know he is. Don’t let Crosshair get under your skin. You can’t just run out on me like that. Not like Crosshair would. 

“You scared the shit outta me,” Hunter ended up saying. “Just rushing out like that.” Sitting like this, the adrenaline was finally leaving his system. Regret took its place. He could have handled his exit a dozen different ways, each better than the last. He wouldn’t blame Crosshair if he slunk away to lick his wounds somewhere private. 

“Sorry,” Wrecker said for a third time, and sniffed. “I just… I dunno. I didn’t wanna be around.” He shoved his hands, keys in one fist, into his pants pockets. 

Hunter thought he could understand that. “It’s okay,” he said.

The street lights all winked on. 

Wrecker kept shifting from side to side. Hunter moved over, inviting Wrecker to sit next to him. After a second, he did, sinking down and propping his elbows on his knees. Spine a deflated curve.

“I hate him, sometimes,” Wrecker said, like it was an admission. 

Hunter huffed a little. “You’ve been saying that since we were seven.”

“Yeah. Well. He’s been a dick since we were seven.” Wrecker bounced his leg, agitated. 

After the silence grew from a moment to a minute, Hunter cleared his throat. “Wreck,” he started. “You were right. What you said to Cross. He’s not handling this well. That’s why he flipped out like that.”

Wrecker nodded. “Yeah,” he said. 

“He didn’t mean it,” Hunter said, then. “I mean, the stuff about all of us…” he couldn’t make the words come. “We never said anything like that. I don’t care about you not driving. You’re my brother and I’d go through hell for you. Honest.” 

“I know,” Wrecker said, voice stressed and then cracking. “I kn-know you’n Tech‘n Echo don’t feel that way, I just— I do,” he admitted. “I’m… sick of bein’ like this.” With the hand not holding the car keys, he gestured at the scarred side of his face. “Not used‘t needin’ other people’s help for stuff. Or not, you know.” He shrugged, agitated. “Wolffe said it like… I gotta trust myself. That ‘m not gonna fuck up. Being so fucked up.”

“You’re not fucked up, Wrecker.”

“Feels like it,” he muttered. 

“I trust you, Wrecker,” Hunter spoke up, voice low. “Always have. Always will.”

Wrecker’s mouth twisted up the way it always did when he was trying to keep it together. “I don’t wanna go back yet,” he said, voice thick.

“We don’t gotta go back right away,” Hunter said softly. “And you don’t have to talk to Crosshair if you don’t want to, either.” 

“It’s not Cross,” Wrecker said. Hunter frowned, confused. “I know,” Wrecker started, and sniffed, “I know he’s hurting and that’s why he said that. I know he says stuff he doesn’t mean. That’s not… It’s just…” Wrecker’s good eye lifted and pinned Hunter in place. “D’ya think Omega heard him?” he asked, quiet. 

Hunter opened his mouth to lie, closed it. Wrecker, watching him, crumbled further, hiding his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Hunter wrenched his gaze away and tried to look for inspiration in the line of houses, windows softly glowing, dark bodies of cars. He opened his mouth again. Closed it again. He wished he’d brought Echo along. That they’d never gone into the service. So many things. 

Wrecker dropped his big hands, and looked at them. He opened and closed his fingers, turning the car keys over and over and over. 

Hunter opened his mouth. Closed it. Leaned in so their shoulders were touching, although Wrecker’s loomed a good few inches higher. His big little brother. The day an RPG kissed him was one of the worst of Hunter’s life, and he had plenty of dates vying for a top spot. The higher-ups in the army had warned him about the dangers of leading his own brothers into the field, letting his emotions get charge of him, and so on. He’d waved it away as so much military faff. 

Then the explosion had winked out Wrecker’s tracker on his ‘pad and some not insignificant part of Hunter had snuffed out like a dying star. The part that thought he was such hot shit. The part that didn’t quite get just how awful the universe could really be, when it came down to the wire. Wrecker was his brother, and Hunter had sent him out into the line of fire, and he’d nearly died for it. 

Wrecker had assured Hunter first thing, when he was out of surgery and the docs had let up on the painkillers, that he didn’t blame him. That he didn’t hold him responsible. That Hunter had better wipe that look of martyred guilt off of his face before Wrecker smacked it off. That was just the kind of guy Wrecker was. All the way through. Hunter didn’t know what they’d all do without him.

“You know,” Hunter said, then stopped, choosing his words carefully. “If anything happens to me, Wreck, you’re next in line. Next oldest.” Wrecker’s hands stopped, his body falling very, very still. Hunter could feel the panic beginning to ebb up in Wrecker’s frame, and leaned, nudging him. “And I’m glad about that. So fucking glad. That if anything happens to me, Omega will have you. I know she can rely on you. The way I already do.”

Wrecker sniffed, loudly. 

For another few minutes, Hunter let himself suffer the cold, eyes scanning the street to make sure that no one was going to call in two strange men— one big and brawny, the other smaller but with a big honking face tattoo— for loitering after dark. It only took Wrecker a couple of minutes, his legs bouncing, to nod with decision and shake the keys around in his hands. 

“You wanna drive us back?” Hunter asked, carefully.

Wrecker nodded once, twice. 

“‘Kay,” he rumbled, and that was that. 

Crosshair was waiting on the porch. He stood up from the steps as they approached, every inch of him nervous, wiping his palms off on the sides of his jeans. Hunter hesitated, shooting a look over his shoulder. Wrecker nodded at him. Go on. Hunter returned the gesture and silently slipped past Crosshair, letting the front door close shut behind him. Wrecker idled, and stood next to Crosshair at the porch railing. 

It took Crosshair a second to find his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said, tone clipped. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Wrecker glanced aside at his face. He was drawn and closed off, eyes locked forward. “It’s not true,” Crosshair started to say.

“It is,” Wrecker cut him off, but not harshly. Crosshair flinched a little, glancing at him but then wrenching his eyes away. “That’s why you said it, cuz it’s true.” He shrugged, wincing. “Truth hurts more’n lies. I wasn’t working on shit I needed to work on. Y’know.” 

Crosshair rubbed at his eyes with one hand like his head was throbbing. Only for a second before he dropped it again, leaning his elbows on the porch railing. Maybe once, when they were in the worst of their teenage years, Cross might have tried to pull a I wasn’t trying to hurt you schtick, but they’d outgrown that so long ago that Wrecker would have been surprised to hear it now. Crosshair had wanted to hurt him. And he had. Now there was just the getting past it. Wrecker didn’t have it in him anymore to be mad, not hot-mad, like he had been boiling with when he rushed out the door. Not even cold-mad, the kind with roots; that wouldn’t do either of them any good. So he stood there and he waited for his brother.

Finally, Crosshair seemed to come to some conclusion within himself. “If you want me to go,” he muttered, “I’d rather you just say so to my face.” He gestured with one hand. “Sick of all this… waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“I don’t want you to leave, Cross. None of us do.” Even with everything, they had survived far worse together. Wrecker watched his brother’s profile, stony in the half-light. “D’you think we want you to leave?” he asked, quiet. 

After a still moment, Crosshair hiked his shoulders up, lowered them. Every inch of him, tense and stiff. Eyes locked hard on the grey rib-bone of the curb, the sweep of black asphalt beyond it at the edge of the lawn. Wrecker’s throat was tight, and he struggled to think of something to say.

Into his silence, Crosshair muttered, “If I was in your shoes, I’d want me to leave.” 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Wrecker repeated. “I jus’ want…” He made a vague gesture with one hand, winced, and dragged it down his face, exhaling with a loud sigh. “When you left… before,” he said, carefully. “I didn’t like it. None of us did.” 

He knew that some people were surprised, once they got the bare-bones story of their childhoods, that they hadn’t spread their wings a little wider and gone in semi-separate ways once the opportunity arose. They had been trapped together for so long; why stay trapped together now? But Wrecker never saw it that way, knew none of them (even Echo) saw it that way. When Crosshair had gone off on his own after the fight with Hunter, it’d felt like getting gutted. Like losing a limb. They’d never really talked about it. During or after. With each other or Cross.

The thought of trying to ask Crosshair about it now, everything so raw and thin already, was an idea that came with a kill switch attached. I bet you hated it more’n we did. Since you did it to yourself and to us. Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.

Instead he just took a deep breath and said again, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Crosshair worked his jaw. Considering Wrecker’s words. Jumping neck-tendons. The slide of muscle as he swallowed. What Wrecker wanted was for Crosshair to believe him when he said things like that; but that wasn’t something he could get just by wanting it. 

“I’m sorry,” Crosshair said again, stiffly. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know you didn’t,” Wrecker replied, quiet.

For a moment it looked like Crosshair wanted to say more, but instead he only ground his teeth, aimlessly nodding, and after a long moment, he turned and went inside. Wrecker turned his head to watch him go with his good eye, but the angle was bad, and Crosshair disappeared into the long-reaching darkness of Wrecker’s periphery. The sound of the front door closing was quiet. 

Wrecker faced the street again, weight heavily leaning on his elbows. After a little while he straightened up, stretching his back. It wasn’t a bad night, all things considered. Not too cold. At the very least, not cold enough to make him want to go inside just yet. He went and sat on the porch steps, staring at nothing. 

After what could have been a few minutes or an hour, he heard the door opening. When it wasn’t followed by the louder step of one of his brothers, his brow furrowed. The door closed, and small, socked footsteps landed on the wooden planks of the porch. He turned, twisting around to get the door within range of his good eye, and there was Omega, drowning in the old sweatshirt he’d given to her that night with the pizza. He’d handed it over like it was nothing— and it really wasn’t, shrunk too small for him, he’d probably’ve given it away soon anyhow—but she’d accepted it with the same awe from the carnival, when he’d given her a grubby handful of used game tickets. It made him angry, and sad, and happy, all at once, that he could give her something so simple like it was the world. 

She was hovering, sort of, playing with the big loose sleeves around her hands. 

“What’re you doing up?” he rumbled, quiet.

Omega shrugged. “Couldn’t fall asleep,” she said, and her eyes slid off of him.

Wrecker nodded. He had trouble sleeping sometimes, too, even before deployment. All of them did. Family heirloom. When he didn’t immediately pry or tell her to go back inside, she came and sat down next to him on the porch steps. It was as easy as breathing to hold out his arm and let her snuggle up next to him, her arms pulled inside her sweatshirt. Together they sat and watched the dark street, listening to the distant chirp of night-bugs and the rustle of trees. 

After a few minutes, Wrecker felt a tightness invading his throat. She’d definitely heard what Crosshair’d said to him earlier, no doubt about it. She’d probably heard his reply, too, the slamming of the door. How to explain? She was just a kid, she didn’t need to get the whole adult hash of war and pain and healing. He didn’t want her to have to carry that stuff for him.

He was still trying to find the words when she spoke up, voice subdued. 

“Wrecker?”

“Yeah?”

Omega carefully picked at a loose thread on the leg of her pajamas. “In Mother’s house,” she said, voice quiet, “there was a table, in one of the upstairs rooms.” His brows furrowed as she paused, wondering what she was talking about. “One time, I dropped a ball bearing and it rolled under it. And I went and got it, and when I looked at the underside of the table, there were letters scratched on the underside. W.S.” 

Wrecker tightened his arm across her shoulders. At one time, those initials were the most important thing he had, the only important thing he had in his mother’s house. Time and Ninety-nine’s love and affection had overpainted it, but now the memories came flooding back. It’d taken him what felt like hours to get the scratches in the wood deep enough to be visible. Smelling of paint and chipwood. Sawdust tickling his nose as it trickled down around his face, Tech sitting beside the table, watching and scoffing at his technique. It’d been… winter. Yeah, winter; the heater had been growling all day, the windows condensed and foggy. 

Repetitious scratching. The feeling of raw wood under his fingertip, tracing the letters to check their clarity. W.S. Not a name on a file, on a vial, not medical snapshots of the stretchmarks on the insides of his knees, of his swollen knuckles. His throat closed up and he willed himself not to start blubbering. 

“I just,” Omega continued, plucking the thread loose, “I’m glad you’re my brother,” she concluded, sounding strangely shy. “You know.”

This fucking kid. Wrecker blinked a little fast, eye stinging. 

“Thanks,” he managed to choke out. Then, smiling, with more clarity, “Yer not so bad yourself.” 

That got a little giggle out of her.

“Not kidding,” he continued, squeezing her a little tighter. “My favorite sister.” 

“I’m your only sister,” she pointed out, snickering. 

“Wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he insisted, her giggle becoming a shriek as he blew a raspberry against the top of her head. She tried to wriggle free, all show, and he hauled her weight up with his arm wrapped underhand around her waist. “Not for a hundred dollars!” 

She went boneless and flipped her hair out of her face to grin up at him, limbs all dangling. “What about two hundred dollars?” she asked, challenging. 

For that insolence he shook her a little and she laughed. “Nuh-uh, no way, kid.” Still toting her under his arm like an oversized ragdoll, he carefully mounted the porch steps.

“Three hundred!” 

“Yeah, right!” he scoffed, and alley-ooped her so she was draped across his shoulder, making sure to switch her to the side with his good ear. 

“You could buy a lot of poptarts with four hundred dollars,” she sing-songed. 

He opened the front door and carefully slid inside, making sure not to bang her head, kicking the door shut behind them with his heel. “You’ve been talking to Echo too much,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t trade you for a thousand bucks.” 

“Ten thousand!” 

“Ten thousand’s nothin’!” Wrecker took the stairs two by two, shooting down numbers while Omega went higher and higher. Her bedroom door wasn’t fully closed, easily nudged open with one foot. Her bed was kind of made, like she’d slipped out from under the covers before creeping downstairs.

“A million dollars,” Omega proposed, stretching her hands out big and wide.

“Pass.”

“A million and one. Final offer!”

“Well,” Wrecker hedged, and carefully tossed her onto her bed, “a million and one is a lot of money, kid.” 

Giggling, she scrambled around on the bed for a second before he sat down on the edge and held back the covers for her. She settled down then, still in his old sweatshirt, tugging the blankets and quilt up to her chin. He smoothed the pile down, making sure it was still tucked in around her feet.

“Warm enough?” he rumbled. “I can getcha another blanket if you want.”

“I’m fine,” she said, snuggling down further.

He eyed her. “You don’t gotta settle for fine.” 

She took a second to think about it, shifting her gaze away as she wiggled, testing. She nodded, the movement tiny, and Wrecker nodded back in turn. “Be right back,” he said, and squeezed her ankle through the blankets. He left her attic door open, quick-footing to the second floor and his bedroom. 

Crosshair glanced up from his battered old iPad when Wrecker came in. Wrecker met his gaze, two eyes with his one, and Crosshair went wordlessly back to what he was doing. Wrecker went to his bed and grabbed the spare old knit blanket he kept shoved in one of the bins under his bed. Straightening with the thing in his arms, he spotted Lula, tucked against the wall. For a moment he hesitated, then grabbed the old plushie. He could feel Crosshair’s eyes on him, but his exit was as wordless as his entrance. 

Up in her room, Omega was resting with her head still on the pillow, burrowed in so the tip of her nose poked out from under the blanket. Wrecker propped Lula up by her head as he shook the extra blanket out over her, making sure it was tucked in around her feet. When he straightened up and sat back down on the edge of the bed, Omega’s hands had emerged to pull Lula closer. He couldn’t read her expression as she gazed at the plushie, running her hands against velvety material. 

“Y’said you couldn’t fall asleep,” he explained. “I thought ya might want Lula here to keep you company.” 

“But she’s yours,” Omega protested even as her arms pulled Lula tight against her chest. Wrecker leaned over and fixed the blankets so Lula was tucked in with Omega, the big drooping ears framing her suddenly very exhausted little face. 

“Well,” Wrecker said, quiet, “you can take care of her for me for tonight, yeah?” 

She nodded, earnest. Smiling, Wrecker gave into a sudden instinct, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He’d seen plenty of movies where families did that to show affection; even old Ninety-nine wasn’t above a paternalist forehead smack in public when he thought it would make you roll your eyes and complain. 

Omega didn’t complain. She blinked up at him, smiling like she was kind of confused. “What was that for?” 

He shrugged, suddenly bashful. “I dunno. I jus’ think you’re neat.”

Her grin deepened, and she sat up. He was about to protest that she really ought to go to bed, only for every thought to fly out of his head as she bounced up a little to land a quick kiss on the crown of his head, or at least as close as she could get. His chest felt like it was going to burst. “I think you’re neat, too,” she declared. That done, she tucked herself back under the covers, Lula under her chin. He was never going to deserve this kid, not in a thousand years. 

It took him a moment to steady his voice. “Ya gonna fall asleep okay?” he asked.

She nodded, eyelids already drooping a little.

“Okay. If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

Another nod. Her eyes slid closed and she burrowed her face into Lula. Wrecker checked her blankets again just to do something with his big hands. Then he finally stood and went towards her bedroom door. 

Her voice was tiny and barely awake. “G’night, Wrecker.”

“Night, kid,” he whispered back, and closed her bedroom door behind him. For a minute he stood there, looking at her door, listening for the night-gentle sound of her breathing, the shifting of the mattress. 

He let himself lean against the wall for a second. It was a long day. And tomorrow, with Omega going back to the courthouse to meet with Nala Se, would be even longer. Wrecker indulged in a big, cleansing sigh, then went downstairs to the second floor. He approached his room and pushed the door open, slowly.

“Hey,” he said, “Cross…”

The room was empty. Frowning, Wrecker backtracked into the hallway, to the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor. There was no light coming up the stairs; the downstairs was shut for the night. He could kind of hear Hunter talking to Echo in his and Tech’s room. The bathroom light was on, and as Wrecker stood there at the top of the stairs, the toilet flushed, water ran, and then Tech appeared, one eye on his phone.

“Hey, Tech.” Wrecker hesitated. “Have you, uh, seen Crosshair?” 

“He left,” Tech reported, and shrugged. “I doubt he would enjoy staying here all night, after what happened.” 

“Oh. Right.”

Tech hesitated, then locked his phone and dropped his hand. “He spoke out of turn. He doesn’t speak for me.” 

“I know,” Wrecker said, shaking his head. “Hunter gave the ‘Crosshair didn’t mean it’ speech. ‘N Crosshair said so, too.” 

“And I am saying it now.” Tech’s face was hard with sincerity. “You are my brother, and I am not, as he said, ‘sick of you.’ I would never be sick of you. For anything.”

Wrecker eyed him, a grin tugging at his lips. “Even when I drink your redbulls?” 

“Well,” Tech said, primly adjusting his glasses, “there’s an exception to every rule.” 

“You liiike me,” Wrecker sing-songed, “you looove me.” 

Tech rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I take it back.” He turned to go, too big an opportunity to miss— Wrecker snagged him around the middle and hauled him up into a big hug. “Wrecker!” 

“My little brother loooves me,” Wrecker sang while Tech writhed. 

“Put me down!” 

Laughing, Wrecker squeezed, hard enough to make Tech wheeze, and then dropped him.

“You’re a child,” Tech accused, fixing his glasses. 

“Yeah,” Wrecker agreed, grinning. “Thanks, Tech.” He glanced down the stairs; some of his bubbling good will bled away. “Did he say where he was going?” 

“It’s Crosshair,” Tech shrugged. “Not many places for him to go. He’ll be back.”

Wrecker wasn’t so sure. “Right,” he said. 

“Good night, Wrecker.”

“G’night, Tech.” 

Wrecker stood at the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkened house. Tech slipped into his and Echo’s room, cutting the hall light as he went. Wrecker was left with just the foggy, evening gloom, the upstairs only illuminated by the safety light plugged into a low outlet, the light under Tech and Echo’s door. He hated the thought of Crosshair out there, in all that dark. 

After a minute, nothing else left to do, he went to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Crosshair went to his work shift. What else could he do? He went to work and lost seven hours in a haze of muscle memory. He wasn’t talkative at work, as a rule, so his coworker in the security booth didn’t notice that he wasn’t all there. He finished his shift an hour before dawn, got in his car, and drove. 

He didn’t think about it, not in any real depth. He just went, and as he went, he decided to get high. 

The parking lot was entirely empty, the big box store’s neon illuminated over an endless field of black asphalt. Crosshair picked a spot out in the far corner, away from the main street, and parked. Cutting the engine threw him into far too much silence; every metallic clink of the engine cooling was a needle to his mind. 

He fished in his glovebox for the black plastic tube. A Life Day gift from Cut almost a year ago, it’d been palmed under the table with a wink and a nudge, kept on hand but always easily forgotten. He’d actually been meaning for weeks to finally get off his ass and smoke it, had even entertained offering to share it with Wrecker or Tech. Hunter, of course, never indulged.

Fucking Hunter. Sergeant Hunter Fett, man of the hour, hero, could do no wrong, dump him in the ocean in full kit and he’d walk the whole way back to Coruscant. 

The way he’d barked Are you happy now, Cross? echoed through Crosshair’s brain.

His hand met the plastic tube. He pulled it out, popped the lid, and slid out a short, fat joint, closed off with Cut’s signature fold-over instead of a twist fuse. He sniffed it, morbidly curious, and yeah, it smelled a little dry. So what; it’d irritate him like a cigarette. Not new territory. Crosshair leaned his seat back all the way and cooked the cherry with his lighter, keen eyes tracing the appearance of a resin ring just past the column of fine grey ash. 

The first inhalation of smoke was a balm. Crosshair held it, deep, and when he was just on the verge of coughing he exhaled forcefully through his nose. Twin streams of smoke fogged up the cab of his car. It’d reek for a few days. Fine. Pull by pull, the dark interior of the car became bathed in smoke, hot and heavy. Crosshair’s grey matter began to gratefully melt, floating somewhere just beyond where he could get grip of it with both hands. Shit. Cut always did grow some good strains. 

Yeah, he needed this. Too much tension in the house now to ever really unclench, too many eggshells scattered over every inch of hallway. Letting himself exhale and relax. Pressure points of pain and pretense shelved. He’d bake out here, maybe crawl into the backseat of his car to sleep it off during the day, slip into the house once everyone was asleep to use the shower before going into his next shift. Hell, if he wanted to flush the rest of the week down the drain he could go all out, repeating the pattern, smoking his way through those fragile, transitory hours between work and sleep. 

The month he’d left. The month he’d thought he’d find some kind of equilibrium within himself. It’d burned a bit like that. He hadn’t dared smoke, then, knew that being alone and living in his car would’ve sent him spiraling down a paranoiac’s drain. He’d slept in the backseat, used the gym to shower, worked, and refused to let the hours between those things have any texture. 

He still couldn’t decide whether that was worse than now, everything too sharp and too present. The intervening weeks, even with the stressors of bed-swapping with Hunter aside, had been pretty damn close to pleasant. Pretty close to something he might be able to hold onto. Move into the attic. Start putting down roots. Maybe find some way to get Tech to add him to the lease. Something. Anything. 

And then. I saw Nala Se today…

Crosshair’s pleasant high curdled into wretchedness. Cursing, he dragged out the cherry in the car’s ashtray, nearly folding the joint in half in his vigor. What a pathetic sack of shit he was, shellacking his lungs with resin in an abandoned parking lot. Like he was some groady high schooler again, making do with ratweed shaved off of tarry bricks, Wrigley’s wrappers for rolling papers because no one in town sold them and he was above wasting an apple just to make a pipe. 

Fuck. What the hell was he doing? 

Crosshair pressed the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes and tried to will back his good mood; it only sank lower, paranoia opening eyes on the back of his head and seeing shifting shadows. 

You’re pathetic, his mind supplied, free of charge. Look at you. Like you could ever help raise a kid.

Hunter hadn’t asked him for his help. Hadn’t asked any of the others, either, but that was just how Hunter and his martyr complex handled things. Always the sergeant, always the one at the front of the line. And they’d all fallen in line, too; Echo and Tech were nearly arm-wrestling in their house groupchat over who got to take her to buy a phone, buy new shoes, ferry her to and from appointments. And Wrecker had given her Lula. Lula. Crosshair hadn’t believed it when Wrecker had grabbed the plush, had stood there stupid and dumb and reeling from it before running out the door like he was getting chased. What was happening to all of them? They’d had her for a week, a week , and they were all bending over backwards for her. 

Giving her so much only meant they all had more to lose. 

He could see what was waiting for them around the bend in the river, trailing behind them as they blazed ahead. If Nala Se got full custody back ( when, not if, his bad trip told him), he doubted that she’d stick around for long. No, knowing her, she’d move out of the state, hell, out of the country if she wanted to. Leaving him behind to watch them all crumble. How was that fair , how had the universe not wrung enough out of him already? 

You’re useless, his bad high told him. Hands tied. Nothing but an extra weight on Hunter’s shoulders. How’s that for fair? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was really, really tripping. What the hell was Cut growing these days? He hadn’t had a bad high like this since Tech was in university and he’d bought a joint on a whim from a downstairs neighbor, a piece of shit in a reeking hoodie who used to stand out in the parking lot at dusk and smoke— he’d gotten a few puffs in before realizing it was laced with something, spent the next three hours puking while Hunter oscillated between chiding him and bringing him water to clean the bad taste out of his mouth.

What was Echo always going on about? Getting three of his limbs blown off had apparently made him an expert in PTSD, and even Crosshair wasn’t cruel enough to deny him that. What the hell was it—grounding techniques, right, grounding techniques, controlled breathing and all that bullshit. Crosshair sucked in a breath and exhaled it, slowly, mind too tangled to work up to four from zero. The smokey interior of the car wasn’t doing him any favors; whether it was real or imagined the taste of potsmoke invaded every pore. He fumbled with the window, the button clicking uselessly, before he remembered to turn the keys and get the car back on. 

Music blared. The engine stuttered, flooding, and he cut it again, cursing. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closed. If he could just— if he wasn’t just spiraling alone in the dark, he could— he would— 

His hand pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar phone number. He’d done it before, especially during that month on his own, called the number and then hung up once the voicemail started, just a quick dose of the familiar voice and then he’d feel better, more sane, and he could hang up and go back to—

“Hey, kid,” Ninety-nine’s voice was warm with smiles. “What’s the occasion? Everything alright?”

“Shit,” Crosshair muttered, fumbling with his phone. “I didn’t— I thought I’d get your voicemail.” He pulled the phone back far enough to catch the time and winced.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“I was already up, anyway,” Ninety-nine breezed. “It’s good to hear your voice, Crosshair.”

Crosshair thumped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. Ninety-nine always sounded so damn sincere when he said stuff like that. He could see the old man in his mind’s eye, sitting up in his bed, or downstairs in his lay-z-boy. His scattered, dopey brain refused to come up with anything to say.

Shifting on the line. “Crosshair?” Ninety-nine queried, tone gentle, “are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Crosshair insisted, and winced. 

“Are you at work?” 

“No, I… it’s my day off,” he lied.

“... Okay,” Ninety-nine said, quiet, the way he always did when he knew you were lying but was too nice to pull on the thread. “That’s okay, Cross. Like I said, it’s good to hear your voice. Miss you a whole bunch, kid.” 

Crosshair sucked in a wet breath and couldn’t make the words come. The silent moment became a minute, and when Ninety-nine hummed a quiet noise on the line, Crosshair had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep some kind of noise from wrenching out of his chest.

“Hey,” Ninety-nine soothed, summoning more shifting sounds over the phone. The creak of a spring— he was in his lay-z-boy. Any time one of them had to stay home sick from school, Ninety-nine would set them up in that thing, piled high with blankets and the side-table overloaded with gatorade and ancient tubs of Vic’s. He’d even let them get away with a faked cold here and there, if you played your cards right and said please . Crosshair missed his fair share of pop quizzes, curled up under a flannel blanket in that chair, listening to the symphony of creaking springs. “Here’s an idea, Cross. Why don’t you come down and visit for the weekend? Just you and me. The creek’s still dry, so there’s no fish, but the weather’s been pretty nice.” 

Ninety-nine was an awful fisherman. Everything he ever caught got thrown back. Didn’t mean it wasn’t a great way to spend an afternoon, listening to the lap of the water. Wind in the trees.

Ninety-nine gave you everything you ever wanted, his bad trip informed him, oh so helpfully, so why can’t you be happy like you should? What the hell is wrong with you?

“You still there, Cross?” Ninety-nine asked.

“Yeah,” Crosshair replied, voice thick. “Yeah, I’m still here.” 

“Think about it,” Ninety-nine pressed. “It doesn’t have to be for the whole weekend, even, you could drive up Friday night, drive back Saturday.”

He should say no. Should try and lie, as futile as it was. Ninety-nine didn’t know. He didn’t know what he’d done and that was the only reason he was holding the door open, the door to closest thing to a home Crosshair ever had.

“I yelled at Wrecker,” he blurted out. Some kind of fucking noise escaped his lips before he could seal them together. 

A beat of silence. “Yeah?” Ninety-nine queried, tone gentle. Always so damn gentle. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“He… I…” Crosshair carded through his unspooling grey matter and came up empty. “Feels worse than usual,” he said, instead of whatever hell else he might have come up with. He heard his own voice like it was coming down a long hallway. 

Ninety-nine made a humming noise. “You two have really gotten into it, a few times. Over the years.” That was putting it mildly. Crosshair had never been very easy to live with. And Wrecker had always had an eye for the perfect buttons to press to get a good show. “You two always managed to work things out.” 

“This was worse.” He wanted Ninety-nine to get to it and ask him what he’d done so he could tell him. He’d tell him, Ninety-nine would get the picture, hang up, and stop being there to lean on. Ninety-nine forgave them all for a lot of shit over the years (Crosshair especially) but there had to be a line somewhere.

Ninety-nine didn’t ask him what he’d done. Instead, Ninety-nine asked, “Have you two talked about it yet? You both probably just need some time to cool off.” 

“We haven’t— he said—” Crosshair wished he could get his thoughts in order. I don’t want you to leave, Cross. None of us do. 

If only they knew. 

Shit, but Cut had given him something strong for Life Day. “That won’t matter,” Crosshair managed. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Ninety-nine soothed. “You two always made up after you sat down and hashed it out. You and Wreck can get this figured out, I know you can. Things'll go back to normal.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Crosshair insisted. “It’s not the same, it’s—Omega’s around, so everyone has to watch out for her, if I so much as raise my voice it’ll be the same shit all over again.” He waited, sickly hoping for Ninety-nine to tell him to grow up, fall in line, handle his shit, sober up, never call him again. 

Ninety-nine didn’t say any of those things.

What Ninety-nine said was: “Who’s Omega?”

All of Crosshair went cold, very cold.

Hunter’s going to skin you, his bad trip told him, slithering in sadistic glee. He’s going to think you told on purpose. He’s going to think you did it to hurt him.

“It’s,” he said, “she’s—“

Red and blue lights flashed in the rearview.

Crosshair’s mouth dried up. “Ninety-nine,” he said carefully, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” 

Tech was halfway to his car when the police car pulled up against the curb. Disconcerting, to say the least, though not totally a surprise. Crosshair often did impulsive things when his ire was high, and as well-behaved as any of them could be on a good day, they were passingly familiar with the associated municipal fines for disorderly conduct. Considering how things were going with Omega, Nala Se, and the courts (Tech had an online bolo out for information on the private detective following Hunter), the sight raised more tension than it usually would.

He could see Crosshair on the backseat, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. 

The car parked, the engine cut, and the officer driving emerged and approached. Tech stared him down every step of the way, and the man got the message, stopping while he was still on the sidewalk, meeting him glare for glare.

“Excuse me,” the officer asked, “do you live here?” 

“I won’t answer any questions without a lawyer present,” Tech replied.

The officer rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet someone who knows his rights. Your friend here is stoned as a goat, got him on a public intoxication.” 

Tech filed away a future complaint to Cut about his ‘gifts.’ “Marijuana is legal in this state,” he told the officer. “To buy, grow, and consume in public where smoking is permitted.” 

“Fun fact,” the officer shot back, “you can drink and smoke outside but driving drunk and high is still illegal. Would you rather I leave him in his car to try and drive back here, pull him over and get him on a DUI instead?” 

Crosshair, in the car, still hadn’t moved. Tech frowned at the officer. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lieutenant Dogma,” the officer said. “I won’t ask for yours, since you’ll probably tell me I need a warrant.” He even listed off his badge number. Tech frowned, adjusting his glasses. 

“Are you releasing him into my care?” he queried.

Another eyeroll. “Public intox is a misdemeanor, he’ll get a court summons, he’s not under arrest. This is the address on his ID, if you can confirm without a warrant that he lives here I’ll cut him loose. If you object to him getting out here I can drag him back to the drunk tank.” 

Tech took a minute to observe Crosshair’s profile through the car window. Public intoxication wasn’t the expected problem, and it wasn’t like Crosshair to get high somewhere he couldn’t hunker down safely if paranoia hit. 

He sighed, turning to Lt. Dogma. “He’s my brother. You can let him out here.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, half-sneering. “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.” 

Tech trailed after the officer. Lieutenant Dogma unlocked and opened the door, but Crosshair remained sitting, eyes closed, coiled with tension. Tech leaned into the space. 

“Expecting Hunter?” he asked, and Crosshair’s bloodshot eyes snapped open; confirmation. He’d been bracing for what would, in all honesty, probably be quite a scene. Also, Tech’s nose wrinkled: Crosshair smelled absolutely awful with potsmoke. Judging from the officer’s information, he had been hotboxing his car. Juvenile. Concerning. 

Tech motioned with his head and backed up. Crosshair carefully unwound from the seat and stepped out of the car. Before long, the police car was gone, and they were staring each other down. Crosshair looked sleep deprived, eyes sunken and bloodshot. 

After a minute of silence, Tech walked over to his car and opened the passenger side door. Silent, Crosshair considered his options and came to the conclusion that Tech was correct (a reasonable outcome) and got into the car. Tech got in the driver’s seat and rolled down all the windows to try and air out Crosshair’s stink. Then he got them on the road. 

For the first few minutes, Tech was silent. Both building up the steps for his solution to the problem (where to leave Crosshair until lunch, how to approach his chosen topic of conversation, the work he knew was waiting for him at the office, Omega’s dietary plan), and giving Crosshair the space he knew his brother liked when he was in a particularly low mood. 

Tech could sympathize. Facts and symptoms worked themselves out so plainly in his brain, forcing himself to voice them felt redundant at best and repetitive at worst. Crosshair was even more buttoned up than he was when it came to matters of emotion (he liked to think). So half of the drive was quiet, contemplative. Then, switching lanes to dart around a particularly slow truck (going beneath the speed limit, honestly, the way some people drove boggled the mind), he took the plunge. 

“So,” Tech said. “Public intoxication.”

“Cop was a piece of shit,” Crosshair muttered without much heat. Tech kept his eyes on the road; a small bit of privacy he knew Crosshair would appreciate. 

“I won’t ask why you decided to hotbox your car in the early hours of the morning,” Tech continued blithely on. 

“Oh? No sitrep interrogation? Not your usual MO, Tech.” Crosshair’s tone was bitter; Tech didn’t let it bother him. It was the same tone he used after almost any mission where he had to go off as a solo fireteam. He hit his turn signal and continued. 

“I do not need to guess because I know why. For the bulk of our lives, we have lived in anticipation of harm; from Nala Se, from enemy insurgents. Even now as stable adults, we live with the anxiety of waiting. It is what our brains are accustomed to. In your case,” he pivoted, “you instigate punishment from others in order to cease anticipation because the realization of pain is a comparatively controllable factor.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Crosshair muttered, but again without any real heat behind the words. Tech let the silence settle for a few minutes, and he was surprised when Crosshair spoke up, voice sounding just this side of raw. “If I do this shit on purpose, why can’t I stop?” 

Something odd in Tech’s chest did a few flips. “It is in your nature,” he said. “You have high standards. For yourself and others. If you fall short of your expectations for yourself, your brain chemistry demands a punishment. If you feel that you fall short in the eyes of others, and they give you leniency, you do not trust it.” He hesitated. “I feel the same way. Sometimes.” 

Crosshair shifted in his seat but said nothing. 

“Being aware of our problems does not place them under our control. Unfortunately. So much of the human psychological profile is automatic, beyond direct control of consciousness. The best we can do is acknowledge it. Work with it. Find healthy solutions for it.” 

Crosshair said nothing. 

Tech pulled into his favorite parking spot at the office, out of the way by the back exit so he could slip away without all the needless chatter and mingling that the others in the office liked to do around the front entrance come end-of-day. Tech cut the engine and tugged on the parking brake. 

“I do not agree with your methods,” Tech began, carefully keeping his eyes on the steering wheel. Sometimes, when the going was heavy, a pair of eyes on him could feel like torture, like getting his skin peeled. Being observed locked him into strangeness he only ever felt when around other people; he liked to characterize it like quantum theory. First studying the theory in Nala Se’s educational modules was like a revelation. On his own, his odd habits, the just-off-enough brain chemistry that fueled his personal relationship with the world, it was free and effortless. Only when observed did he lock into definition— a definition many saw as a negative. As a disability. So much pressure from the outside was not comfortable to bear.

His brothers never made him feel like that. Or, at least, they tried so hard not to that even when they slipped up, he could forgive them for it. He wanted to try, with all his usual problems with interpersonal communication, to do them the same courtesy. 

So he didn’t look at Crosshair as he spoke. “I do not agree with your methods. But I understand them. You are my brother, and I do not want you to think that I judge you for it. I do not. I only want you to know that help is available. If you so wish it.” 

Crosshair swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Well,” Tech said, verbally dismissing the stiff air of quiet in the car. “I am going to go to work,” he said, smartly unclipping his seatbelt. “You are going to stay here and sober up.” 

“I am sober,” Crosshair lied. 

Tech reached over and pulled something out of the glove box. A bottle of eyedrops landed in Crosshair’s lap. “Your eyes are bloodshot,” he said, prim. He waited and watched as Crosshair acquiesced, tilted his head back and blinking away the excess saline. Some of the redness bled away, and if Tech wasn’t mistaken, Crosshair looked mollified. 

“I’ll be out in a few hours for my lunch break,” Tech said. “I would like you to still be here when I get back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Crosshair dropped the passenger seat’s back as far as it would go, laying out almost flat and closing his eyes. Tech left, shutting the door but not engaging the locks. Looking back, he could barely see Crosshair’s form through the tint on his windows. The vague shape was peaceful— an illusion of the distance, perhaps. An illusion that could not be made real with wishing, but as logical as Tech was, indulgence was part of human nature.

Wishing that Crosshair could find some peace, for a few hours at least, Tech boxed his feelings up, set his mind on work, and went inside. 

Luckily, happily, Crosshair slept without dreaming.

He wasn’t even aware that he fell asleep; one minute he was watching Tech disappear into his office building, and then he was jolting awake as Tech opened the driver’s side door and slid into his seat. Crosshair’s heart hammered under his breastbone, and the dry, awful taste in Crosshair’s mouth signaled the end of the high and the start of sobriety. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hand down his face. 

“Nice to see you, too,” Tech said. “Did you sleep well?” Crosshair flipped him off. Tech snorted. “Seatbelt,” he ordered, and Crosshair put his seatbelt on. 

They got on the road, Crosshair squinting through the windshield at the sun. He didn’t know whether it was his own weed hangover that made the sun so bright and piercing, or whether working the night shift was finally getting to him.

Tech kept his eyes on the road. Still, Crosshair felt observed— when Tech wasn’t stuck in his phone or a computer, he had an aura of awareness around him, nothing missing his observation, his cataloging mind. Nala Se used to sit them down at matching computer consoles, running down hour after hour of educational modules, testing their response time. Tracking their eye movements. 

When Crosshair started to lag behind Tech, the questions ramping up into harder and harder theories, he’d gotten flagged again and again for looking away, for dithering, for rubbing at a frustrated headache instead of keeping his hand on the mouse. And then Tech’s scores started to slip, too. They evened back out. And one day, Crosshair had noticed from the corner of his eye how Tech hesitated, waiting, eyes locked forward. When Crosshair moved his mouse, Tech did the same. When Crosshair clicked a selection on the screen, Tech was half a second behind him. Copying him, wrong answers all the way. Reassurance in every silent breath.

Eventually Nala Se got wise and put them in separate rooms. But Crosshair still remembered that feeling of realization. Just how much his brother cared. All without speaking. All without making him acknowledge it. 

He was so lost in his memories that he started, surprised, when Tech pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. Ahead of them, through the windshield, was the distinct shape of the VA health building. A familiar, awful place. 

“What are we doing here?” Crosshair demanded, hissing.

“I have a therapy appointment,” Tech sniffed. “Let me remind you that I am not driving you around: you are in my car while I drive around.”

“Whatever,” Crosshair grumbled. He pressed his forehead against cool glass.

“You can stay here,” Tech continued, unclipping his seatbelt, “or… you can come inside.”

Crosshair shot him a look. “I don’t have an appointment,” he said. 

Tech adjusted his glasses. “You could get one.”

Crosshair returned his gaze to the window. “The waiting list is long.”

“It is,” Tech agreed. He popped the door handle but paused with one leg stretched outside of the car. “The best time to have gotten on that list was three months ago,” he said. “The second best time is today.” 

“Get out of here, Fortune Cookie,” Crosshair grumbled. 

Tech shut the car door and disappeared into the building. Crosshair watched as his figure got smaller and smaller before finally disappearing inside the building. He slumped lower in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He always hated that building; he or Hunter would show up to see Echo and Wrecker in the long-term intensive ward, and Crosshair would be overwhelmed walking down sterile hallways. Every bed filled with some poor bastard with worse luck than him. Including his brothers.

Well. He wasn’t feeling very lucky these days, anyway.

Crosshair forced out an exhale and let his eyes get used to the shape of the building’s front entrance, listlessly staring through the windshield. Tech and Echo were the only ones who kept up with regular therapy appointments; Hunter used to, technically, though he split his time between a neurologist and a psychiatrist for his migraine management. One of the early days back on home soil, when they were helping Cut out at his house, Hunter had ducked out early to go to an appointment, and he’d come back listless. It took all of Cut’s charm and wheedling to draw out that the neurologist was finally sure that his migraines were related to his PTSD— stress and anxiety leaning on his grey matter at the precise pressure point to fuck up his life. 

Crosshair had understood his frustration, understood it bone-deep. When they refused their second tour contract, they thought they were free. Free to follow Wrecker and Echo home and keep them safe. None of them had really appreciated how much they’d take with them into peace. Add that to the rocky foundation of their childhoods, and it was impossible to ignore the cracks in all their armor. 

Cracks in the armor. Weakness you had no control over. Pride did nothing but paint it over. Crosshair looked at his reflection, ghostly, in the curve of Tech’s windshield. He was so damn tired. Just tired. 

After a ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, he got out of the car and went inside. 

The secretary eyed him. Crosshair was sure he smelled absolutely awful. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Would you like to schedule one? The waiting list is a little long, but we can call if any openings come up…” 

After a moment, Crosshair managed a nod. The secretary took his information, eyebrows going up a little as the computer pulled up his service record. He forgot where he’d stashed his share of the medals they’d all netted during their career in the field. They were probably hidden away somewhere in Ninety-nine’s house; Tech was the only one who kept them at easy access, velvet boxes up on a tall shelf in the garage. 

The appointment was made for three months out, with a promise to call if an opening occurred. Crosshair went and picked a seat in the waiting room, if only to wrinkle everyone’s noses with how badly he stank of smoke. He picked up and discarded a few magazines waiting for Tech, and ended up half-dozing off, sucking a nicotine stain on his trigger finger. 

He straightened up when Tech emerged from the admitting door. A sly turn of his brother’s lips told him that he’d done exactly as Tech expected him to. Heat prickled the back of his neck. Tech strolled up to where he lounged haphazardly in the chair. 

After a moment of letting Tech indulge in being smug, Crosshair mulishly tried to kick his shin. Tech dodged out of the way, grin deepening.

“Well,” Tech announced, adjusting his glasses, “are you ready to go?”

Crosshair said “Whatever,” and stood up. He fell into step beside Tech, who didn’t say anything more. Crosshair started and began half a dozen sentences, discarding them all as Tech’s car got closer. Tech wasn’t Wrecker or Echo— he let Crosshair have his silence, and Crosshair started to relax. 

They got in the car and Tech got them on the road. He still didn’t say anything. After a little bit, driving, he asked, “Where did you leave your car?”

Crosshair told him and they were there in record time. Tech pulled into the spot right next to where Crosshair had left his car, and shifted into park. He didn’t say anything for a minute, then: “Are you going to go back to the house?” he asked. 

“Nowhere else to go,” Crosshair said, sighing a little. He scrubbed one hand down his face, then popped the door. “Thanks,” he said, hesitating. For the save, for the ride, for the fortune cookie bullshit. So many things. 

“You’re welcome,” Tech stepped up. “You should go to the gym and wash. You smell awful.” 

Feeling petulant, Crosshair reached over and flicked at the precise corner of Tech’s glasses, sending them down his face, dangling by one arm. Tech fumbled, sputtering, while Crosshair got out of the car. He got into the driver’s side of his own, and yeah, the upholstery was rank with the smell of pot. He waved goodbye to Tech, who flipped him off with a smile as he disappeared out of sight.

First things first, Crosshair took his car to the carwash; sitting in the outside waiting patio, he heard the guys doing the interior having a good laugh. Whatever. He ended up falling asleep in his chair, the only person using the car wash in the middle of the day; a technician had to shake his shoulder to wake him up. 

That done, Crosshair drove across town to Rex’s new gym. “New” being a relative term— the building was older than all of them, and it showed, though his cousin was doing his best to retrofit the interior into something more passable. It was still a cavernous space, industrial, exposed cement and lofted ceilings. 

As he scanned in through the unmanned front desk, he spotted Rex’s blonde shave in a far corner, working with a client. Not feeling particularly talkative, Crosshair slunk into the showers without catching his eye. 

He let himself indulge in quite a bit of Rex’s hot water, leaning his forehead against the tile of the shower stall and letting it all just rain down around him, his hung-up clothes hopefully getting freshened up by the steam. Fuck, he was tired. Part of him knew the better thing to do would be to call out of his shift, hide away somewhere, catch up on his sleep debt. The greater part of him didn’t want to be in the house any longer than he needed to.

Especially considering the conversation he knew he had to have.

Cleaned up, he slipped out of the gym and made his way back to the house. The work truck was gone. If Hunter wasn’t there, he would wait. It would be a reprieve, give him a few precious hours to get his muddied thoughts together.

No such luck. Crosshair walked in the front door, and the house was almost silent. A page turned, loud and glossy, and Crosshair walked into the doorway of the kitchen to see Hunter at the table, bent over a textbook. 

He glanced up and fell still. “Cross,” he greeted him. 

“I need to talk to you,” Crosshair said. 

Hunter eyed him, understandably wary. Crosshair jerked his head, and Hunter frowned before standing and following after him, across the front hall and into the living room. After pacing for a minute, he made another gesture and Hunter slowly sat down on the edge of the couch. 

“What’s this about, Cross?” he asked, tone careful. 

Crosshair decided against sitting. Standing, he decided against hedging. Best to get it out. Ripping a bandaid. Setting a dislocated shoulder. Priming a shot. 

“I called Ninety-nine, last night,” he said. “I ended up talking to him for a little bit.” 

Hunter sat in silence, and when Crosshair didn’t say more, he replied “Okay,” drawing the word out. He wasn’t stupid, big face tattoo aside. Something in his eyes was calculating, working through the problem that was Crosshair. Feeling scrutinized, Crosshair dithered on finding the next sentence. He paced some more, and Hunter huffed. “Cross, come on. Just tell me. What is it?” A flash of concern appeared on his face. “Is something wrong with Ninety-nine?”

“No,” Crosshair assured him, quickly. “It’s not that… I…” He couldn’t force himself to look Hunter in the eye. “I dropped Omega’s name.” 

There was a beat of silence.

“Okay,” Hunter said, again, tense. 

“I didn’t tell him anything else,” Crosshair said. “I had to run and get off the phone. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t tell him on purpose ,” he stressed. He dared glance at his brother’s face. Hunter’s eyes were unfocused, like he was off in his own head. 

Crosshair waited for Hunter to say something. Hunter remained silent.

“I know you were waiting to tell him,” Crosshair said, tone clipped. 

“I,” Hunter said, then, “I wasn’t.” He buried his face in his hands, then half-tugged his fingers through his hair. Crosshair stood and watched him, feeling sick. “Fuck,” Hunter sighed, but softly. He dropped his hands, and looked up at Crosshair. He couldn’t read his expression. Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but into the silence the front door crashed open, slammed shut, then opened again. 

“Omega!” Echo called out.

“Leave me alone!” 

Hunter and Crosshair both got to the doorway to the living room at the same time; to one side, Echo still stood in the doorway, looking absolutely wretched, and to the other, Omega was already at the bottom of the stairs.

“Omega,” Hunter called out, head swiveling back and forth, “what’s wrong, what’s going on?”

Crosshair thought the answer immediate and obvious: she was coming back from visitation with their mother, after all. Echo started to confirm as much, closing the door, but Omega turned on her heel, standing halfway up the stairs, red-faced and trembling in every limb.

“I hate her! I hate her!” Omega screamed herself hoarse, “I never want to see her again!”

Hunter’s voice was breathless and shocked. “Omega—” 

“It’s not fair!” her voice cracked, so pitifully. “ Why don’t I get a say?! I don’t wanna go back! No one cares what I want!” 

“Omega,” Echo stepped in, tone soothing, “that’s not true, we want—” 

“I won’t go back! I won’t, I won’t! ” Red-faced with rage, she actually stomped her feet, hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. Her big, shining eyes missed Crosshair and landed on Hunter. “You’re gonna m-make me go back,” she hiccuped accusingly towards him, “and y-you’re gonna let her t-take me, and then I’ll hate you, too!” 

She stood there, shaking, and Crosshair watched as horror dawned on her, as her own words came echoing back at her in the red haze of rage and anger. He could sympathize— and he could feel at his elbow how Hunter tensed up, going rigid as a board. There was a beat of silence. Hunter and Echo looked floored, frozen. 

With a wet sob, Omega turned heel and stumbled up the stairs, weeping piteously as she went. She disappeared around the bend on the second floor, and after one count, two count— the attic door slammed shut. 

They all stood in silence for a breath.

“Shit,” Echo sighed, dragging his hand down his face. 

“Fun bus ride?” Crosshair questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

Echo dropped his hand, scowling— but when he spoke, his voice was low, guilty, not hot and angry for the low dig. So that was an improvement from the night before, at least. “She was really quiet after getting out with Nala Se,” he reported. “Halfway back, I fucked up— asked her what was wrong. She just started,” he made a gesture, then shakily wiped at his mouth with his hand. “She just started bawling, Hunter, right there on the bus.” He glared wretchedly down at his prosthetic feet. None of them needed the extra detail, but could feel the pressure of all those staring eyes, strangers, watching Omega break down. 

“Shit,” Hunter breathed. Crosshair could only agree. 

“She cooled down once we got off and started walking,” Echo continued. The walk from the bus stop to their house was not long, only to the end of the street. “But then she sprinted ahead of me once she spotted the house.” He shook his head, and looked at Hunter. “What should we do?”

Hunter took in and released a shaky breath. “We could let her cool off a little,” he proposed, hesitating. “I… could go talk to her…” Crosshair frowned, watching his brother’s face. His eyes were kind of glazed over, like they got when he was fighting off a headache, trying to distract himself in his own mind. Not easy to do, especially when the things in his mind were themselves dangerous objects. 

Wordlessly, Crosshair stepped around Hunter and made for the stairs. 

“Wait, Cross…” 

He stood on the bottom stair and turned to face Hunter and Echo. He silently arched an eyebrow into the silence, and Hunter worked his jaw. 

“We’ll talk later?” Hunter asked. 

Crosshair sealed his lips and nodded. He turned his back on Hunter, and only once he started walking up did he realize that Hunter thought he was going up to his room. Hunter and Echo spoke in quiet voices behind him, soft tones like the lash on his back, and Crosshair forced himself to keep walking. Up the stairs. Past the bedroom. Up to the attic.

He stared down Omega’s door. Past it, he could hear the bitten-back noises of crying. A breath rattled its way in and out of his lungs before he found the resolve to reach up and knock on the wood. The snuffling cut itself off with a little gasp. 

A beat of silence. 

“Go away!” Omega called through the door. Nice bit of spine; Tech had been the first out of all of them to assert dominance over a closed room, and it’d been a shock a scant year under Ninety-nine’s roof. They’d all been raised where the only doors with locks were the ones between them and the outside world— Nala Se had unspoken, unquestionable access to all of their bedrooms, at any time. He doubted she’d changed that habit for her daughter. 

“It’s me,” he said. He waited. 

After a minute, the doorknob turned, opening a crack. Omega’s eyes were red, but she’d scrubbed her face clean of tears. “What do you want?” she demanded, and yeah, he deserved that and more. He made a gesture with one hand. Frowning, she backed off to let him enter.

He closed the door behind him, circling through the room. Wrecker had done a good job. Crosshair went to the circular window and peered out of it, into the backyard. 

“I’m not going back,” Omega piped up. “I’m not going to change my mind.” She sniffed, loudly.

“Good,” Crosshair said. Her wants had no say here, he knew, so why bother making her agree with the law and the courts? “I’m not here to change it.” 

He turned back towards the room. She was sitting cross-legged on the foot of her bed, glaring up at him for all she was worth. Crosshair walked over, and picked up Lula, sitting down where she had been propped by the pillows. Omega watched him settle the plush toy in his lap, eyes suspicious. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded. 

He shrugged, pointedly disinterested. “Nothing better to do,” he said. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at her— she looked pissed, face screwed up and getting redder. “Big scene down there,” he continued. “So, are you all out of steam, or—” his drawl cut off with a sharp inhale as Omega launched herself at him. 

Her little fists rained down over Crosshair’s head and shoulders— she didn’t have enough muscle mass to really make it painful, but damn if she didn’t make up for it with enthusiasm. At first he just tried to dodge, blocking the barrage with open palms, but she got one really good one in against his temple and he caught both of her wrists in his hands, trapping them. 

“Fuck,” he cut out, the word slipping out before he could stop it, “hey!” 

She yanked on his grip, hard, so hard he had to let her go with the momentum or risk hurting her wrists. The inertia took her toppling backwards, and she scuttled a retreat to the foot of the bed, panting and glaring at him like a cornered street cat. 

He took a moment to roll his shoulders, touching at his temple. Shit. Yeah, she was their sister, no doubt about it. It felt like she might’ve actually managed to bruise him. Omega remained where she was, watching him, but her breath evened out and she fell into stillness. Waiting on him. For his response. She didn’t look afraid, but he knew better. He forced out an exhale and stood. 

“If you’re going to be like that,” he said, tone carefully neutral, “you should learn how to throw a real punch. Here.” He turned towards her, his hands held up, palms out, fingers together. “Throw a punch, here.” He indicated his left hand.

For a moment, her face was slack with surprise. Not the expected response. He deserved that, too. She stared at him, face screwed up in some kind of resolution. “You’re making fun of me,” she accused.

He dropped his hands. “I’m not.”

“You made fun of me yesterday,” she pointed out, scowling in a frankly adorable way.

Shit, okay, yeah. So she had understood his meaning at the dinner table. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I’m… sorry. I’m not—I don’t have any experience with kids.”

A corner of her mouth twitched. “Hunter said the same thing,” she said.

“Now you’re making fun of me,” he hissed, and her responding giggle, though brief, was a relief.

He took a step closer and held up his palms again. Eyeing him, cautious, she slid off of the bed and stood. Their heights didn’t work out— he knelt down and held his hands up at chest-height for her to aim at.

She hesitated again, so obviously trying to get a read on him. “A better outlet,” he proposed. 

Her lips pressed together, and the shifting of her feet indicated her readiness. 

“Fold your fingers in,” he instructed. “Thumb on the outside.” She did as she was told. “Now hit across. This hand.” He indicated his left, and she swung at it with her left hand. Weak. “Again.” She did it again. For a few brief minutes, he got her into a rhythm, correcting her stance and ordering her to turn her shoulders into it. She relaxed, just going along with his instruction, eyes on his hands. He watched her face, quietly, then spoke. 

“What did she say this time?” he asked, tone purposefully light. 

Frowning at his hand, she put a good bit of torque into her next punch. His palm stung where her delicate knuckles met skin. “She says Hunter only wants custody of me because of the money,” she said. “That the court is gonna make her pay him a bunch of money in child support.”

That was probably true. It would probably be a good thing. Dumping all four of them on Ninety-nine had really rocked the boat in that department; more than a few first-of-the-months found their electricity off, the water cold no matter how long you ran the red tap. Ninety-nine, for all his humility and kindness, was a pretty good liar when the mood hit him— it took two years for Crosshair to realize (more accurately, for Tech to share his conclusions) that buying them clothes and food had led to a few late utility payments. 

“She said I didn’t understand,” Omega continued, “that people like him don’t do things except for money.” She kept her eyes on her targets, blows getting listless. 

When the silence went on a little too long, Crosshair spoke up. “She was lying,” he said.

Omega rolled her eyes, and he had to fight not to grin at the gesture. “I know that,” she insisted. “I’m not stupid.” 

“Evidently.” She hit his right palm. “Turn your hips more. Lean into it.” 

She eyed him. “Doesn’t it hurt?” 

“If you want it to hurt, you’re going to have to try harder.”

He meant it as a joke, tone drawling, but she dropped her arms with a sudden look of concern. “I don’t,” she protested. “I’m not—“

“I know you’re not,” he cut her off, wincing. “I was joking.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. Fair enough. He dropped his hands, wondered what the hell he could possibly do to cross the divide between them, and came up awkward and frustrated, rubbing his palms against the tops of his thighs. He stood up to his full, towering height. He wasn’t short by any measure, was used to being one of the tallest guys in a room, but something about Omega’s smallness in comparison seemed unbearably far away. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you earlier,” she said, voice small, looking up at him. “I just— I was so mad.” 

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” 

She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back towards the bed. Lula had fallen over during their scuffle and had lain abandoned all this time. Omega carefully picked her up and cradled her in her arms, scrabbling back up onto the bed. The plush was so big, Wrecker-sized, Omega’s little body could just barely curl around it. 

The silence rankled. Crosshair chewed on the inside of his cheek, wished that he had a toothpick to distract himself. “If you know that she was lying,” he said slowly, skirting his gaze over Omega, “what are you so upset about?”

A brief resurgence of her glare. It fizzled out, however, and he missed it. Without it, she looked too downtrodden and tired for comfort. “I dunno,” she muttered. 

He watched her in silence. “I think you do,” he said, voice muted. He sat down on the bed, elbows braced on his knees. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, chin tucked into Lula. He waited for her, and she took her time. 

“Dr. Dorme said… that I might start to think differently about things,” she said. Crosshair surmised that this doctor was a therapist or a psychologist. “About my memories with Mother. And other stuff. Now that I know… now that I know that the things she was doing were bad.” 

Crosshair ground his teeth. Every inch of him was demanding that he stand up and walk out. A traitorous, awful voice rose up in his mind, scoffing and demanding how naive this little girl had to be to not know, he’d known it in his bones from year seven onwards. That first escape. The ceiling of stars. Only someone truly awful would try to keep that from them. 

He held onto his knees with white-knuckled fingers. 

“I wish she wouldn’t lie to me,” Omega whispered, almost too muffled by Lula to be heard. “She doesn’t have to— I don’t want her to lie to me anymore.” She sucked in a sharp breath that became a whine, and the whine shattered into painful little sobs. 

Feeling awkward, too tall and too out of his depth, Crosshair started to reach out a hand and then withdrew it. He was halfway through a mental plan to sneak away and go pass the baton to Hunter or Echo when Omega suddenly growled out a disgusted “Ugh!” and started to paw roughly at her cheeks, rubbing away tears, Lula tipping out of her lap. 

She shook her head back and forth, taking in big, choppy breaths. “I’m so s-sick of c-crying,” she choked out, biting back another whine. Her back shivered, and her breathing started to even out. She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Eyes on the floor. 

He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. 

“I should be happy,” Omega whispered, and sniffed. “I-I don’t know why I’m not.”

Crosshair couldn’t swallow. He forced himself to stare at the long stripe of baseboard along the bottom of the opposite wall. It felt like it was falling away, so slowly, so surely.

Omega swallowed, mouthily, and sniffed again. Crosshair turned to glance at her. She was snotty and gross, blotchy-faced, breathing a little through her mouth by necessity. For a second he considered ducking out to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, or the box of tissues Tech always kept around his desk. 

He stood up from the bed and Omega looked up at him. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. There was begging in every inch of her, smothered down and made mute, begging him not to leave her alone, useless and silent as he was. Crosshair could kill their mother for what she did to this kid. To all of them. After a moment, he carefully extracted himself from his overshirt, leaning him in his thin undershirt, handing it over.

“Here,” he said, voice rough, when she only stared. “Blow your nose.” 

She frowned, but took the shirt. “Ew,” she said, “that’s gross.” 

“You’re gross,” he countered, and then winced. Lucky for him, she seemed to think that was funny, lips quirking a little. “I’m not gonna put it back on,” he continued, gesturing. “Just blow your nose.” 

She did as she was told, blowing her nose twice before carefully wrapping the shirt up into a little bundle so none of the gunk was exposed. She sniffed a final time and set it aside. She avoided his eyes. 

“Hunter hates me now,” she said, “has to.” 

The idea was so ridiculous, Crosshair couldn’t hold back a derisive snort. Omega glanced up at him, brows drawn together. Shit. She thought he was laughing at her again. 

“He doesn’t,” he assured her.

“How do you know?” she pressed. 

“I’ve said worse to him, and louder.” He hesitated around the wording of his next sentence. “And he says he doesn’t hate me.” 

Her eyes were deep and still, looking at him. 

“Okay,” was all she said, voice small. 

He nodded. A beat of silence passed, but it wasn’t that bad. 

“Do you wanna come downstairs?” Crosshair asked then.

Omega broke eye contact and tucked her chin. Holding strong onto Lula. She shook her head. He understood that. There was a certain embarrassment that came with giving in to your temper. Boy, did Crosshair know that. 

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, voice forcibly even. 

She glanced up at him. Glanced down. Another shake of the head, even smaller than the last. Moving slowly, he sank down onto the foot of the bed. The very air itself felt fragile, atom-thin and new. 

For what felt like a long time, the two of them sat together in silence. He leaned over his knees, elbows propped on his thighs. She slumped back against the pillows, knees drawn up, Lula on her lap. 

“Crosshair?” she whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“The movie we watched the other night,” she drew out, carefully, peering at him from over Lula’s plush head, “can you tell me how it ends?”

He swallowed. This kid. He could read the eggshell-delicate wall around that question. Trying not to show how much she wanted it. If Nala Se thought getting something might be a treat, even if she intended to give it to you before you tipped your hand, she wouldn’t. Just to make a point.

The more he gave Omega now, the more she had to lose when Nala Se got her back. Lies and all. And yet. Looking at her, at how small she was, so small and somehow still so familiar, Crosshair felt his resolve oh so surely dying. 

“Yeah,” he said, “okay,” and let the words just come. 

Chapter Text

Hunter and Echo ended up in the kitchen. Agitated, Hunter picked up his abandoned textbook and flipped it shut along its shitty plastic ring-binding. For something the DHS churned out in-house, mass-printed scans of different reports on parenting and childrearing, it had been surprisingly expensive. That, and it said nothing about how to handle this sort of situation. 

Echo collapsed into Hunter’s vacated chair at the kitchen table and leaned his face into his hand. Sympathetic, Hunter grabbed him a beer from the fridge, cracking it open for him. Sue him, Tech wasn’t there to get on them about drinking before it was even dark out. Echo took the drink with a nod of thanks, swallowing heavily.

“Almost forgot how bad blowups like that can be,” he commented, watching condensation form on the bottle. 

Hunter frowned, sitting in the other chair. “Forgot?” he said. “What do you mean, forgot?” 

Echo glanced aside at him, one eyebrow raised. When it was clear that Hunter wasn’t playing, his look shifted to one of honest surprise. “Mother’s day,” he said, “that first year you were living with us.” Hunter wracked his brain— he didn’t keep many memories of middle school as a rule, but he could probably glean the result of him, freshly decoupled from Nala Se, and mother’s day. It’d taken quite a while for the holiday to lose its sting, for flower commercials and restaurant-deal ads to not make him vaguely nauseous. 

“I can guess,” he grunted. 

An assenting tilt of the head from Echo. A contemplative silence descended. Echo tapped his fingernails on the glass of the beer bottle. As the seconds passed, Hunter wondered whether he was taking too long to go up and comfort Omega, or defuse her, or whatever terminology wouldn’t make him feel like a monster. 

I’ll hate you too! She’d said it with such conviction. It’d felt like getting electrocuted. 

A sigh escaped Hunter’s mouth before he could stop it, and he rubbed his face with both hands. 

“Kids say stuff, Hunter,” Echo said. Like he didn’t know that.

“They don’t say things for no reason,” he replied. 

For that he got a long, put-upon sigh. “I’m too tired to argue with you,” Echo grunted. 

Hunter shot him a look between his fingers. Echo’s gaze was unfocused, one hand rotating the beer bottle around and around, listless. Hunter dropped his hands. His older brother was, among them at least, a paragon of recovery, the one who not only kept himself sane but put in his free time to help others. Now he looked dragged out. 

The bus ride was undoubtedly awful for Omega, forced to be the center of so much attention. But Echo had been right there, too. Echo, already so used to being the center of attention, metal legs and one-handed. If anyone asked, Hunter would say Echo was more than tough enough to handle the normal amount of public scrutiny he faced, living his life. But that was then. This was now. For a brief second, he tried to imagine so many eyes on him while he could do nothing to help his baby sister stop crying, and his stomach churned in sympathy.

He nudged Echo’s leg. Socked foot to metal. “You okay?” he croaked. 

Echo, eyes on his hand, made a face. Shook his head. “That really fucking sucked, Hunter,” he said, voice dull. 

Wincing, Hunter tried to scrape up something to say. Didn’t quite manage it. They sat together in aching, uncomfortable silence. Well. Echo’s day was already ruined. Maybe telling Hunter I-told-you-so might make him feel better.

“Crosshair said he called Ninety-nine,” Hunter said. 

That made Echo’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “What did he say?”

Hunter gestured. “That he called Ninety-nine.” 

“I mean what did Dad say, dumbass.” 

Hunter shrugged, but he was pleased to see Echo looking a little amused, if anything. “Crosshair didn’t say. Just said that he called him… and accidentally dropped Omega’s name.” 

“Did he say it was an accident?” 

“Yeah,” Hunter said. 

Echo took a moment to think over his next question, leaning back in the chair. “Do you believe him?” 

Hunter shrugged again. “I dunno. He seemed… off.” That was putting it lightly. If Echo looked bad, he and Crosshair could tie in a beauty contest. 

Echo gave him that one, tilting his head. “Hell of a weekend this turned out to be.” 

“Yeah.” He tapped at the table with his fingertips and counted up from zero. 

At ten, Echo said, “I told you so, by the way.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter said for a third time, but smiling a little. “You did.” Then, his smile faded. “I should call Ninety-nine,” he said. He stood up, agitated. “I should…” he stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking up the long expanse of the stairs, going up. 

He heard Echo stand up from the table behind him. “Maybe letting her cool off is a good idea,” he said. “She’s probably tired of people looking at her.”

That made Hunter turn. Echo was looking down towards his toes, prosthetics still shoved into his outside shoes. Elastic laces. “You gonna turn in, too?” he asked. 

“I might,” Echo sighed. His smile was thin, but it was there. “I’ll be up for dinner. Tech’s turn.” He shuffled past Hunter, patting him on the shoulder. “Tell Dad I said hi. And that I said you were stupid for trying to keep anything from him.” 

“I wasn’t trying— ” 

Echo shot him a look, paused with one foot on the stairs. Hunter shut his mouth, pulse ratcheting up. “It’s just Dad, Hunter,” Echo said. He said it chidingly, voice quiet with conviction. Hunter knew deep down in his bones that the only reason Echo had agreed to go along with this stupid scheme, not calling or texting Ninety-nine about the recent events of their lives, was because Hunter had asked him to. Echo knew that it was a mission doomed for failure; they couldn’t keep their little sister off of his radar forever. But he’d played along to soothe Hunter’s anxiety. 

Some sweat slid down Hunter’s spine. It was the getting on the radar that scared him. Scared the shit out of him. Not because he thought Ninety-nine would be angry, oh no, even worse: he’d have to expose his soft underbelly, have to put words to some of the awful things he’d been feeling ever since the carnival. If you didn’t talk about it, you could ignore it. Kind of. Sort of. Not really. 

He made a helpless hand gesture. The look Echo shot him was sympathetic, but only just barely. “With all due respect,” Echo said, which was code for none at all, “get your shit together. I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned and went up the stairs. 

Hunter stood in the doorway to the kitchen, alone in the quiet house, and blew out a long, slow exhale. 

He ended up going out to the back porch and sitting out there. Their backyard was a mess, even worse than the front yard, overgrown. The old screened-in porch was sagging and splintery beneath his hands as he settled on the top step, leaning his back against a support beam. 

Tech and Wrecker weren’t due back until after dark. He played with his phone. Gathering up the remnants of his courage, Hunter hit the speed dial and waited. One ringing peal, two, three—

“Hunter!” Ninety-nine’s voice exclaimed. “Hey, kid. Hold on a second, let me put this stuff away really quick.” Hunter sat there and listened to the distant clinking and clanking of what was probably Ninety-nine’s kitchen. “There we go.” Ninety-nine returned to the phone. He sounded a little out of breath. Like he’d rushed to get back to the phone. Hunter’s head swam. “It’s been a while,” he said, so casually, like that sentence wasn’t a stake right through Hunter’s chest.

“Yeah,” he agreed, ducking his head, “about that…” 

“Is Crosshair alright?” Ninety-nine asked, not what Hunter was expecting.

“Crosshair?” he echoed, carefully. 

“He sounded like was having a tough day,” Ninety-nine confided. “Well. Tough night. Spoke to him really early this morning.” 

“It’s, uh, been a long couple of days,” Hunter said. He opened and closed his free hand, wishing there was something for him to hold onto. “Ninety-nine,” he started, and had to stop. 

Shifting on the line. “Are you doing okay, Hunter?” Ninety-nine asked. “Is this… about the fight Wrecker and Crosshair had?”

“You heard about that?” 

“Crosshair told me a little bit,” Ninety-nine allowed. Rustling on the line. “Hunter, you don’t sound so good. What’s going on, are you okay?”

His mouth was dry. “I, uh. Have something I need to tell you. Should have told you about. Sooner.” 

“Okay.” Ninety-nine sounded confused.

“Crosshair said he… mentioned Omega.”

“Just the name,” was all Ninety-nine said, waiting. 

“She’s…” Hunter swallowed. Edge of the cliff. “She’s our little sister. We have a little sister.” 

Ninety-nine took in and released a shaky breath. “Oh,” was all he said. 

“She’s eleven,” Hunter continued, remembered the awful realization of her age in Obi-Wan’s office. “She’s just a kid, Ninety-nine, and I…” Hunter’s chest tightened. “We have her, now. But Nala Se’s fighting for custody.” 

“Oh, Hunter,” Ninety-nine breathed. “I’m so sorry, kid. That’s a lot for anyone to have to shoulder.” 

Something like an awful laugh came out of Hunter’s mouth. Yeah, it was a lot, but he had four brothers to back him up, plus Cut and Cody and Obi-Wan and Wolffe and Gregor and even Cid had turned out with an open hand instead of a closed fist. Ninety-nine had done far more with far less. 

“I shouldn’t be complaining,” he huffed.

“You’re not complaining,” Ninety-nine said, as close to stern as he could manage. “And I’m not complaining for you.” 

Another huff. Hunter glared up at the branches of the tree in the backyard. His leg bounced, agitated. 

“When is your first court date?” Ninety-nine asked then, and Hunter cringed inwardly.

“We’ve… already had it. Technically.” Hell, he was already in for a penny. Better make it a pound. “They gave me emergency custody of her last weekend.”

A beat of silence. “Oh,” Ninety-nine said, in a different tone as the truth sank in. That Hunter had hid it from him. Had asked everyone else to hide it from him. Hunter’s head throbbed and he let it hang, dropping between his hiked-up shoulders. “Oh. Okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hunter said, sounding miserable. “I should’ve told you sooner. I just… I didn’t want to bother you,” Hunter choked out, feeling like ten kinds of foolish. 

“Hunter, I… if, if I ever made you think that— that it bothers me, helping you, I— I’m—” 

“Ninety-nine, no, it’s not like that,” Hunter managed to cut him off before he had to suffer to hear Ninety-nine apologize for his own backwards bullshit. “It’s… I didn’t want to bother you,” he just said again, and winced at his own resigned tone. “You’ve done so much for me and the boys, and I just— I know that things can be tight and— and you’re so far away—” He forced himself to stop, biting down hard.

There was a long, torturous moment of silence. 

“Hunter,” Ninety-nine said, oh so carefully. “You’re my kid. I’d do anything for you.”

An embarrassingly relieved-sounding noise came out of Hunter's mouth. “I know,” he said. “I know that.” 

“Okay,” Ninety-nine said, tone gentle. He stayed quiet as Hunter took in and forced out a long, shaky breath. “Just making sure.” 

It hadn’t always been that clear. Or Hunter hadn’t let himself believe it quite so concretely. Sure, Ninety-nine was kind to them, fed them, housed them. For the first few years Hunter was grateful, but any time that gratitude threatened to turn into affection he stamped down on it, hard. When he was fourteen, he’d gotten into another fight at school, a full brawl. He thought they might expel him. Ninety-nine negotiated them down to a month of academic probation, working in the cafeteria kitchens. 

The gratitude threatened to drown him. When they’d gotten back to the house, Hunter’d run off to the far reaches of the backyard, the gurgling stream that separated Ninety-nine’s lot from his back neighbor. He’d stayed there as the night got cooler, darker, deeper. 

Crunching on the leaves and dirt, shuffling, announced the old man’s arrival. Hunter bit his tongue and refused to turn around. Braced and ready for the argument they hadn’t had in the school, in the car, on arrival. 

Ninety-nine hadn’t spoken. He’d just draped a blanket over Hunter’s shoulders, and he’d crumpled. Years of resistance just going up in smoke. 

The silence on the phone was heavy. The sun started to set. 

“Omega’s a good kid,” Hunter croaked, just to say something. “She’s sweet. Somehow.” One word you never would have used to describe Hunter and his brothers post-Nala Se was sweet . “Nala Se changed up some of her habits, I guess. Sounds like, anyway.” 

More shifting on the line. “Have you seen her?” Ninety-nine asked, careful. 

“Sort of,” Hunter answered. A bad taste invaded his mouth. “It’s been really…” almost saying the word clinical while he held his mother’s image in his head felt like toeing at the edge of a cliff. The lapping of the saline water in the sensory deprivation tank. “Professional,” he decided on. “The lawyers are always there, so.” He picked at a paint stain on the knee of his jeans. “Omega has it worse,” he said, bloodless. “The court gave Nala Se supervised visitation. Until the trial is over.” 

“Poor kid,” Ninety-nine said, and didn’t follow up with a question on how that was going. He didn’t need to; he’d seen first hand what being Nala Se’s child did to a kid. 

One thing Hunter never understood growing up was how Ninety-nine could restrain himself from dragging on Nala Se whenever she came up in conversation. No, he showed an incredible amount of restraint, hedging around judgements against her, carefully side-stepping potential moments to denigrate her, call her a bitch and a monster and worse. Now, with Omega, he could almost understand. Nala Se was their mother, and she’d never been warm, or welcoming, or even loving, but Omega’d only had her. They knew what affection was because they stumbled through creating it for each other. She’d been all alone.

Then they’d had Ninety-nine, who taught them by example what family could be. How to take care of each other once out from under the boot. Hunter could feel the weight of that responsibility leaning on his shoulders, and he had Cut and Cody and his brothers and Ninety-nine. Ninety-nine had done it alone.

“Ninety-nine,” Hunter spoke up, and swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. “Thank you. For everything. I know that you— that you probably know that, but. I don’t think I’ve ever really said it. You were… we needed you, and you were really good to us.” 

“Oh,” Ninety-nine said, his breath all shaky like it did when he felt bashful under praise— the speech he gave at the military academy on the occasion of his retirement was half stuttering and that tremoring oh, and Hunter had a damn hard time keeping his eyes dry. Plenty of other students and teachers hadn’t managed it. “I-I did what I could,” he said, “wh-what anyone should have done…”

“Ninety-nine,” Hunter cut him off. The strain in his voice surprised him. “You were a great dad. You were… you did so much for us. I just— I just hope I can do the same for Omega.”

“Oh, kid,” Ninety-nine breathed, “of course you can, Hunter, of course you can— there’s no real secret to any of this. You just gotta do your best. Make sure she knows you care for her. That’s all there is to it, really.” 

If only it could feel as simple as Ninety-nine made it sound. “I’m not,” Hunter said, swallowed, “Ninety-nine, I’m not— at Cut’s— tonight—” His brain refused to find the end of any sentence, picking up threads and discarding them as the emotional toll of putting his insecurities into words overwhelmed him. 

“Hunter,” Ninety-nine stepped in. “Do you love this kid?” 

The ease of answering was a relief. “Yes.” 

“Are you proud of her?” 

“Yes.” He began to suspect where this was going. 

“If you told her that, and she didn’t believe you, what would you do?” 

Hunter ducked his head, grinning despite himself. “I’d tell her she’s being too hard on herself,” he said. “That I’m proud of her anyway.” 

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Ninety-nine said. “I’m proud of you anyway.” 

“Walked right into that one,” Hunter commented, shaking his head. 

“You always made it a little easy,” Ninety-nine chuckled. He verbally pivoted. “So! What do you need from me? I can get a letter written ASAP, overnight if you need. What’s your lawyer’s contact information?”

Hunter felt relief slowly invade his system as he hashed out some details with Ninety-nine. He didn’t want the old man to go to the exertion of leaving Kamino for Ord Mantell— his already limited mobility hadn’t gotten better with age. Maybe further down the line an in-person interview or video call could be set up for the courts, and Ninety-nine swore to send a full testimony letter out express the next day. 

The noise of Wrecker and Tech getting home was the first clue to Hunter that they’d been talking for over an hour. They started to wrap up, Ninety-nine demurring to have the phone passed over to Tech or Wrecker. 

“You probably all want to talk together,” he said. “They can call me whenever they need me.” 

That made Hunter smile. “When all this is over,” he swore, “we’ll take Omega up to Kamino for a visit.” He ignored the treacherous voice that asked him what if you lose . With Ninety-nine on the other side of the phone, filling up silence, it was the easiest it’d been in days to ignore it. “She’s gonna love you. Wrecker and Echo have talked about you.” 

“Aw, hey,” Ninety-nine said, so obviously pleased that Hunter’s grin deepened. “D-don’t go telling stories. Whenever’s best, let me know and I’ll have everything ready. Any time.” 

They finally said their goodbyes, and Hunter ended up looking at his phone in his hand, screen dark. He felt better— far better than he would have thought possible given the circumstances. Good old Ninety-nine. Cut and Echo had been right. Of course. 

Knowing that Cut would have a nice evening crowing about it, Hunter sent him a text that he’d finally called Ninety-nine and it all went well. He called up Cody’s number, and luckily got his voicemail, leaving a brief recording that the gag order was over, thanking him for going along with Hunter’s awful cheese-brained schemes, and finally apologizing for inadvertently siccing Cut on him. All that done, he dragged his sorry carcass up to standing and went inside. 

Tech and Wrecker were making a lot of noise in the kitchen. Hunter decided to leave them to it; Echo’s voice picked up, barking out some laughter. That left Crosshair probably out like a light in the bedroom, and Omega up in the attic. 

Hunter slowly made his way up the attic stairs, starting and discarding things he might say as he went. He tried to think like Cut— tried to hold onto the memory of Cut’s advice on his porch, repeating like a mantra that he hadn’t fucked up, wasn’t fucking up. He passed by his closed bedroom door and mounted the narrow stairs. 

He reached her bedroom door, closed. He raised his hand to knock and then pulled up short. Omega was talking. Muffled, a little unclear, but unmistakable. Then, she laughed, and Hunter dropped his hand. 

Then, shock on shock: Crosshair’s voice. Saying something, tone low. Omega laughed again, a little louder. Hunter froze. His mind whirled, trying to connect dots he didn’t have; when had Crosshair decided he wanted to help out— she has enough brothers, he’d said, that first night. 

Omega said something, tone rising. He could only make out the word airship, and then. Crosshair laughed. Crosshair laughed. 

Hunter flinched, realizing that he was just standing there, stupid and dumb. He beat a quick retreat down the stairs, feeling a little bad for eavesdropping, but past that just confused. Had Crosshair even spoken to Omega besides his out of line comments at the dinner table the night before? 

An awful feeling arose; the last time he’d felt it, he’d been standing in the doorway to the attic, watching Omega take in her new bedroom’s decorations, courtesy of Wrecker. Jealousy, petty and bitter. Wrecker could give her the creature comforts she needed, that he hadn’t considered, and now— Crosshair was comforting her, making her laugh. 

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Hunter skipped out on checking in with the others in the kitchen, hiding himself away back on the back porch. The air was clear back here, at least. Things were getting colder, after dark, late summer burning away towards autumn.

The important thing was that Omega had them, he told himself, stern. She needed all the support she could get. All the affection. 

He hadn’t expected Crosshair to be the one to provide it. He didn’t give his brother enough credit. Sometime tonight, he decided, he’d step up and apologize. Ninety-nine was right; Crosshair was having a tough time of it. All they had left from their childhoods was each other. And that was something they had to hold onto with both hands.

When the door to the back porch opened, Hunter turned his head, expecting Echo to come and gloat, and froze. 

Omega, swimming in the old sweatshirt of Wrecker’s that had become her favorite, was standing there, in her socks. 

He realized she was waiting for him. “Hey,” he croaked. 

“Hi,” she replied, and stepped out onto the porch. “Uh,” she said, hesitating. 

“You okay?” he ended up asking, voice low. 

She nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Better,” she said. “Kinda.” He waited for her to mention Crosshair. She didn’t. “I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing, “a-about what I said.” 

“Omega,” he started, but she cut him off. 

“I would never hate you,” she said in a rush, earnest, “I promise. I know that y-you can’t just, stop the court from doing stuff.” She glared down at her feet.

“I wish I could,” Hunter said quietly. Her big brown eyes glanced up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” he continued. “It’s okay.” 

Her frown only deepened. “It’s not okay,” she said. “Y-you’re my brother, and, and if anyone else said that to you I wouldn’t like it.” 

This kid. “You’re not just anyone, Omega,” Hunter said. “You’re my little sister. It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Honest.” 

She bit down on her lip and nodded, silent. 

Hunter hesitated, watching her. What could he possibly do, could he possibly say, to take that shadow out of her eyes, the hiked-up painful set to her shoulders? 

She got to her bravery faster than he did, though she kept her eyes averted, nervous in every inch. “C-can I h-have a hug?” 

That she even had to ask. “Yeah,” he barely breathed, holding out his arms, “come here, Omega.” He was about to stand, but she scrambled up onto his lap, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his shoulder, her legs dangling off of his lap. Hunter felt himself coiling up like a spring, wrapping his arms around her to keep from shaking. For a long moment they sat there in silence, just breathing. When he didn’t move to break the embrace, Omega relaxed into him, loosening her hold but not backing away.

“Mother says I’m too old for this kind of stuff,” she mumbled into his chest. 

Despite the bolt of rage that cut through his core, he kept his gestures careful, squeezing Omega’s shoulder with one hand and then tightening the circle of his arms around her. It was clear from go that Omega was a tactile kid, found a lot of comfort in hand-holding and hugs. The chasm opening up in her past, their mother's constant aloof distance, was killing him. “She’s not here,” he said, fiercely. “It’s you and me.” He forced himself to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. “And I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

With a muffled half-whimper, she burrowed in closer, pressing her forehead into his neck. 

He leaned his cheek against her temple, closing his eyes. The whole world narrowed down to her weight in his arms, the rise and fall of her back beneath his hands. The beating of his heart in his throat.

“I’m sorry we didn’t come and get you sooner,” he whispered. 

She pulled her arms in, cuddled up against his chest within the protective circle of his arms. “You didn’t know,” she said, quietly. 

“I know,” he replied, matching her tone. “Still.” 

Another long moment passed in silence. Omega’s breathing started to deepen out, and Hunter felt a strange, deep serenity flood his system. The night grew darker and deeper and colder. Omega fell well and truly asleep, and something hard stuck in Hunter’s throat. 

A chilly breeze rustled the branches of the tree in the backyard, and Omega shuddered a little, trying to burrow closer into his chest. Hunter carefully rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Hey,” he said quietly, “Omega. Come on. You should sleep in a bed, if you’re not gonna stay up for dinner.” 

“Mmph,” she grunted.

His lips twitched into a grin. “Come on, you’ll be more comfortable upstairs.” 

With some more gentle prodding, he got her half-awake and on her feet. He walked her inside, and once the light and the activity in the kitchen got to her, she shook off her sleepiness. They all gathered up (sans Crosshair, Hunter keeping an eye towards the stairs) and ate dinner. Echo and Omega both seemed loads improved from the afternoon, and they shared a long, silent look as Omega sat down next to him at the table. The look ended with a shared, soft smile, and the bus ride (and her visitation with Nala Se) wasn’t brought up. 

It was clear that Echo had told, though, Wrecker showering Omega with affection, ‘discreetly’ shoveling some seconds onto her plate when Tech wasn’t looking, offering to do the dishes before she could, oh so tactfully proposing that they have some ice cream for dinner, or at least toast with chocolate spread. 

After dinner (and some chocolate toast), they all ended up vegging out in front of the television, aimlessly watching some game shows. Echo and Omega were still pretty tired out, and before it got too late, everyone was cleaning up and turning in. Wrecker headed upstairs after crushing Hunter in a hug (“Glad you finally talked to Ninety-nine, Sarge,”) leaving Hunter alone downstairs. 

He circled around, aimless and still kind of preoccupied, thinking through the next steps for the court case, his DHS class homework. They had another week until the first court date. He had a meeting planned with Obi-Wan. Ninety-nine’s letter in the mail. Omega’s first day at Cut’s homeschool. Crosshair. 

Hunter walked out of the kitchen as Crosshair came down the stairs. He looked a little better—he’d slept through dinner, probably. 

“There’s leftovers for you in the fridge,” Hunter said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Crosshair grunted wordlessly and went into the living room instead. After hesitating a minute, Hunter followed him. Crosshair sat on the couch, legs stretched out long, eyes on the television as he flipped through some channels. He seemed surprised to see Hunter in the doorway, but smothered it by the time Hunter came to stand by him. 

“It’s late,” Crosshair noted, arching an eyebrow.

Hunter nodded, aimlessly. “Yeah,” he agreed. He really ought to get some shut-eye. He was due to drive Omega up to Cut’s early the next morning, introduce her to the other homeschool kids, hang around and drink Cut’s coffee while Omega took her placement tests. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Cross,” he started, and struggled to find the right order of words.

Crosshair stared up at him, impassive to the last. 

“About Ninety-nine,” Hunter ended up saying. If he wasn’t mistaken, Crosshair’s shoulders stiffened a little bit. “It’s, uh, okay that you told him about Omega. I shouldn’t’ve kept him out of the loop for this long. I called him. He knows, now.” 

For a second it looked like Crosshair was going to say something, but he bit his tongue, looking away. 

“And I know you didn’t— that you didn’t tell on purpose.” 

If he wasn’t mistaken, Crosshair rolled his eyes. 

Hunter took in a breath. Released. “And thanks,” he said, “for helping with Omega tonight.”

Crosshair’s head snapped around stare, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, sneering a little, but Hunter got out in front of the train. “She didn’t tell me. If that’s what you told her to do. I went upstairs to talk to her, heard you through the door. Nothing specific.” He shrugged.

“Whatever,” Crosshair huffed, looking away.

“I mean it,” Hunter insisted. “Thank you. She needed someone to talk to.” 

He watched as Crosshair tried to come up with something to say. What he ended up with was a hissing, “Don’t go throwing me a parade. It wasn’t difficult.” 

Hunter sincerely doubted that. “No parades,” he said, unable to stop himself. “Got it.”

Crosshair, without looking at him, flipped him off. 

“Okay,” Hunter said, huffing half a laugh. He turned his back and left the living room, heading up the stairs. “Night, Cross,” he called behind him. 

After a beat of silence, Crosshair’s voice followed him, faint but sure. 

“Goodnight, Hunter.” 

Chapter Text

Omega woke up in the dark. 

It all happened so fast; the tense, wandering nonsense of a nightmare switched over into awareness, into consciousness, and her body tumbled right over the edge into a mire of panic. She sucked in a sharp, wet breath as she desperately thrashed up to sitting, hearing her own gasping, panicked breaths— she was back on the cot in the observation room, it had all been a dream, just a stupid dream, just like so many other useless, hopeful things she’d deluded herself with— her kicking legs tangled up in the blankets and her hyperventilating collapsed into hiccuping, panicking sobs. She couldn’t let Mother hear, she’d already gotten in trouble once already, and now she was probably late, waking up after the alarm, any second now the lights would all snap on— she tried to clap her hands over her mouth to muffle the noise, but—

Something was in her hands. 

Instead of skin over skin, something velvety soft and plush was gripped hard in her hands, and her face buried for a suffocating moment against it. She breathed in, gasping, and—

It smelled like Wrecker. 

The illusory panic of the nightmare fell away like a tide. Every breath grounded her further— brought her back to the safety she’d felt that first evening, when she’d run at Wrecker on the lawn, excited to see him again. For half a moment, as she got within arm’s length, she’d panicked, wondering if she’d read his smile wrong and he’d only hold her off like Mother did when she came back from a long trip and Omega tried to hug her. But then she’d been floating, flying, then held fiercely against his chest. His sweatshirt smelled like woodsy deodorant, like soft, homey detergent. Like being safe. Like being home . 

Omega hugged Lula hard against her chest, pressing her face into the stuffie’s head. She was safe. She was with her brothers. She was safe .

Her eyes, when she dared to open them, had adjusted to the dark. She wasn’t in the observation room— she was in her room. Although the very idea was still strange, the sharp edges of it were familiar, comforting. Exhausted, Omega slumped back against her pillow. Stupid. Stupid . She pressed her face into Lula and tried to settle her thumping heart. 

Almost every night since she arrived, she’d had the same nightmare that bled through into waking. Her mind refused to accept the change in circumstances, as incredible and half-dreaming as they seemed. 

Almost every night. The night she’d fallen asleep downstairs with Crosshair, she’d slept the whole night through, dreamless and vast. When she woke up, it was barely daylight, and he was gone. She’d crept upstairs, gotten dressed, then headed back downstairs just in time to catch Tech making an early breakfast. 

Frowning, Omega tried to settle herself back down under the covers. 

She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep; even when she tried it before all she did was get cranky, tossing and turning, unable to even doze. On the other hand, though, she knew she couldn’t just get up and go wait downstairs— Echo had nearly caught her, she thought, the morning he came downstairs to find her already in the kitchen. She’d been there, waiting, for about an hour. He’d jumped, surprised, and she’d fibbed a little, about having only just gotten up. For a second, it’d looked like he wanted to question her claim, but he ended up letting it go, making her breakfast. 

It didn’t feel good , lying to Echo. But it also hadn’t felt good, knowing how much trouble they were already going to for her. It wasn’t their fault she was having so much trouble sleeping; a small part of her knew it wasn’t her fault, either, but it shrank smaller and smaller every night. 

A wave of emotion cascaded over her, and she curled up tight under the blankets. No, it wasn’t her fault that she felt this way— Dr. Dorme and Crosshair both made that clear in their own ways—but the helplessness was becoming suffocating. 

Omega tossed and turned for another hour, two, before hearing a door open deeper in the house. So long as someone else was awake first, they probably wouldn’t ask too many questions. She got up, dressed, and made her bed with hospital corners. Carefully, she sat Lula up at the head of the bed. Wrecker hadn’t asked for her back, yet. Omega wondered if he ever would. 

Downstairs, Tech was up and getting started on coffee and breakfast. If he noticed how early she was up, he made no mention, only plated her up some food. They were eventually joined by everyone but Crosshair, which made Omega a little sad. She knew that he worked nights and so was probably asleep somewhere, but as weird as he was around her, it felt like they were missing something without him there. 

But then everyone had their jobs to go do— Wrecker with his tool belt slung over his shoulder, hard hat in hand, Tech in his slacks and tie. Echo was wearing shorts, and Omega tried extra hard to make sure she didn’t stare or gape at the narrow metal tubes that made up the lower half of his prosthetic legs. He was also headed out the door, walking down towards the bus stop. 

After nervously shifting around in her seat for a minute, Omega bounded after him, catching him in a hug on the porch.

“Wh—hey,” he said, chuckling, and hugged her back, ducked down to loop his one arm around her shoulders. “I’m planning on coming back this afternoon, kid.”

“I know,” she said, feeling funny. She pressed her face against his chest. His shirt smelled the same as Wrecker’s sweatshirt, like Lula, like the house. “Um. Sorry about yesterday.”

He paused, then squeezed her tight. “You don’t gotta apologize for that,” he muttered, voice low. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said back, and tilted her head up to smile at him. His worried expression softened, and he dragged his hand through her hair. It was getting kind of long. Mother was talking about trimming it, before. Omega hadn’t brought that up to anyone yet, curious about whether or when they would. 

Saying one more goodbye, she stood on the porch and watched Echo walk down the street until he was out of sight. Then Hunter came and stood next to her. 

“Ready to go to Cut’s?” he asked, tone forcibly neutral. 

She sucked in and sighed out a breath, something she’d seen Echo do. Hunter made a strangled noise, like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m ready,” she declared, and bounded over to the truck. 

The drive was just as nice as it was the last time they’d made it; Omega loved to watch the city edges melt away into long stretches of hills, covered in swaying grasses and wildflowers. As they really got out into the countryside, a few horses and cows even appeared, fenced-in far off from the freeway but still clear and visible. 

The Lawquane farmhouse was, likewise, just a big and beautiful and sprawling. The last time they were there, Omega only got to see a little bit of it, and she was curious how four people  needed so much space, or what might be in the other wings of the house. Shaeeah and Jek had talked about a greenhouse, and the pen for the goats, but they hadn’t gotten a chance to go see, after… Omega’s throat got a little tight at the memory.

Hunter squeezed her hand, and she made sure to squeeze back. It was okay. She was okay. She had made a mistake, but he wasn’t going to let Mother take her back. Not for that. Another cleansing breath, and they were at the front door. 

Cut didn’t open the door; an adult woman with bright blue eyes and an elaborate headscarf stood in the doorway.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, “You must be Hunter and Omega. Please, come in, the last of the other parents just left, Cut is getting everyone settled in the school room.” 

Trailing forward with Hunter, Omega tried to find a landing space for this information. She knew that there were eight kids in the class, including Shaeeah and Jek. They passed the living room.

“I’m Allie, Stass Allie,” the woman introduced herself to Hunter and Omega as they went. “Katooni’s my niece. I’m in school for child development, and Cut has been letting me shadow for my final thesis.”

They arrived at another door, noise breaking through. Allie opened the door, and Omega was struck by the motion and activity within. The room was about the same size as the living room, but it was arranged with low couches, some desks, chairs, and a big whiteboard installed on one wall. Overwhelmed for a second, Omega watched as Allie waded into the fray, Cut appearing to greet her. His eyes moved past her to Hunter and Omega, and his face brightened. 

“Hunter! Omega! There you are!” he exclaimed. He moved towards them, clasping Hunter’s hand and saying something that Omega didn’t quite catch, too distracted as she watched Allie start to gather up the other kids. A few, unfamiliar, were looking at her curiously. Hoping that she wasn’t making a mistake or a weird face, she waved. They waved back. 

“Come on, come in,” Cut ushered, and Hunter took a few steps into the room. Omega, clasping her hands together, followed. There— she spotted Shaeeah and Jek, towards the front of the room, arguing about something in front of the whiteboard. Cut and Hunter drifted to one side; it seems they didn’t need her immediately. She could go over and say hello, or call their names… her stomach twisted. What if she called their names and they didn’t remember her?

She had just met Jek and Shaeeah a few days ago, but experience told her not to expect anything. There was one boy who she met in the waiting room of Mother’s dentist. Omega only went with her twice, once to get a baby tooth removed, then a check-up to make sure everything was healing well. Three weeks between the two appointments; by some coincidence, the same boy was in the waiting room both times. Omega had bounded up to him, excited to recognize him, only to be met with a blank stare, heatless but still scathing. 

Cut moved towards the knot of children, saying something to Shaeeah and Jek Omega couldn’t catch, but the result was immediate. Shaeeah and Jek’s faces turned to look at her, bright and excited, and Omega, overwhelmed, could only stand there dumbly as they rushed over to say hello. 

The first few bits of babbled greetings went totally over her head, but then Shaeeah grabbed her hand and tugged, walking backwards. “Omega can sit with me! ” she declared, like sitting with Omega was a privilege.

“No fair!” Jek said, pouting. “I’ve got the better spot, ‘Mega can sit with me! ” 

“Omega,” Cut stepped in, chiding but smiling, “is gonna have to do some solo stuff first, then you can have a territory war over her, okay?” 

Both of them groaned, deflating, and Omega braced herself for whatever response Cut would have to the obvious disappointment. She cut a glance up at his face, but he was rolling his eyes, smiling, like it was nothing. 

“Alright, everyone,” Cut said, raising his voice, “you all know the drill. Petro, Katooni, it’s your turns for teacher’s assistant, so you can pass out the work from the bins. Shaeeah, Gungi, you’ve got your math test this morning, go ahead and study up until I come back. If you guys hit any snags, what do you do?”

“Help each other figure it out,” a chorus of voices replied. 

Cut squeezed Omega’s shoulder; she felt a little better when she looked over and saw that Hunter looked a little like she was feeling, kind of awed and overwhelmed all at once. She let Cut guide her out of the school room and into the kitchen, a short walk. A little work area was obviously set up waiting for her, a place mat with some testing papers laid out. Omega darted forward and booted herself up into the waiting chair without being asked, peering curiously at all the arranged booklets. 

She looked up when Cut cleared his throat. He was looking over his shoulder, towards where Hunter was stalled in the doorway to the kitchen, one foot still raised like Cut froze him. Hunter’s eyes flickered between Cut and Omega; Cut made another noise, jerking his chin, and Hunter dropped his foot, shifting his weight from side to side. 

“Uh,” he said, “I’ll just…” With a vague gesture over his shoulder, Hunter backed away out of sight. Cut nodded, then turned back to Omega. 

“So,” he said, and clapped his hands together, rubbing them rapidly. “The plan this morning is a math test, then a timed-reading test, then general science, and a reading comprehension test.” He glanced down at the top of the table, and if Omega wasn’t wrong, he winced— but he quickly tried to hide it by turning his back and reaching for where a cup of pens and pencils was on a ladder-shelf of other useful knick-knacks. “I know that seems like a lot,” he said over his shoulder, sounding apologetic.

“Not really,” Omega stepped in. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I took a lot of tests with Mother,” Omega informed him, just in case he didn’t know. “I know what to do.” She nodded, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility fall on her shoulders. She could do this, and well, too. She was good at taking tests. Cut wouldn’t be disappointed in her. 

Cut paused for a second, with his back still to her. Just as she was starting to get confused, he turned around, and moved the little cup of pens and pencils in front of her. “This isn’t like those tests,” he said, voice at a pitch she hadn’t heard from him before. “Okay? There’s no wrong way to do this.” 

Omega frowned, eyebrows coming together. “If there’s no wrong answers, how is it a test?” 

That got her a little grin. Cut tilted his head, hedging, and leaned his elbows on the tabletop, the picture of ease. “You got me there, champ,” he said. “What I meant to say is, no matter how you do on these, it’s gonna be a good thing. Some parts are gonna be harder than others, and that’s okay. If there’s a question you don’t know, or it’s hard to get through, go ahead and skip it. I don’t want you beating yourself up over this.” 

A bit of sweat prickled the back of Omega’s neck. “Just… skip it?” 

“Skip it,” Cut confirmed. 

Omega swallowed. “Okay.” 

Cut watched her face, his own unreadable. “Here,” he said, and straightened up. “I know you probably just ate breakfast, but you look like you could use a snack.” He wandered over to the pantry and thunked around. Omega watched him, mainly just confused. Cut wasn’t anything like any of the other adults she knew, and the part of her that was embarrassed at how he’d comforted her the previous week was quickly shrinking away to nothing.

He returned with a little chip bag, and he ripped it open for her. 

“What is it?” she asked, squinting at the picture on the front.

“Dried apples. My favorite.” As if to demonstrate, he took a wrinkled little apple slice from the bag and popped it in his mouth, crunching.

Following his lead, Omega tried one. The taste was good, a little sweet, but she couldn’t help a surprised “Whoa!” from coming out at the texture— after the first crunch, brittle, the dried fruit melted away on her tongue. 

“Good, yeah?” Cut asked, popping another. Omega eagerly nodded and took another for herself. “Tell you what,” he said, “how’s this— any time you hit a hard question, and you feel like skipping it, take a bite and think about it. Totally fine. I’d be surprised if there weren’t any questions you felt like skipping.”

Her unease returned, but at such a low tremor it was almost a relief. “Okay,” she said, and her tone must have convinced him of the change, because he nodded.

“Good. Here, get started on the math, this booklet.” He checked his watch. “I’ll be just in the other room for a little bit— when I finish up with Shaeeah and Gungi, I’ll come back, and we can do your timed reading test.”

“Okay.” Omega sat up a little straighter. In the other room, she could hear a low chatter of voices as some of the other kids all talked together. 

Cut smiled, giving her a nod. “If you need anything, or you have any questions, give me a shout, and I’ll run over.” She giggled a little at the earnestness in his tone. “Not joking,” he said, “I’m a record sprinter, just you watch.” With that, and a final comforting touch on her arm, Cut left the kitchen. Omega bent her head and got to work, the minutes passing by in a blur of math questions, some of them so easy she didn’t have to think, and a few that were challenging enough to give her pause. She wondered what Hunter was doing. 

At one point, a cascade of applause sounded from the other room, kids laughing and cheering. Omega could make out Shaeeah’s name in the mix— she wondered what the occasion was. Biting her lip, she glanced at the open doorway to the kitchen. She probably wasn’t supposed to get up in the middle of the test. It wasn’t like Mother’s tests, though, Cut had said so. And there weren’t any cameras (that she could see) that were tracking her movements…

Still. Better not risk it. Omega stayed in her seat and finished up the rest of the problems relatively quickly; she only had to skip two, and she probably could have taken the time at the end to at least try and guess, but chewing on the dried apple slices, the sweetness reminded her of Cut’s words. It was okay if she skipped them. She wouldn’t get in trouble. 

She had been finished with the math questions for a few minutes by the time Cut poked his head in, carrying some papers with him.

“Ah!” he said. “All finished?”

“Yes!” She straightened her shoulders, smiling at him. 

“Excellent work, Omega,” he said, even though he hadn’t checked her answers yet. He moved her papers into a second pile, adding in his new ones, and drew up a chair to the table. Glancing at her with a little sly grin, he peeked into the snack bag, like he was trying not to get caught despite her being right there. “Everything go okay?” he asked, picking out and crunching on an apple slice. 

“It went good,” Omega assured him. “I even skipped a few!” 

“Perfect,” he said, and she almost believed that he meant it. “Now we’ll do your reading test.” He moved a pretty big booklet forward on her little placemat. “I’m going to sit here, okay, and watch the time. I’ll start the timer, and you start reading. There’ll be a little quiz at the end, just checking that you’re not skimming. Really read it for me, okay?” She nodded, earnest. He smiled. “Great. When I tell you to stop, point at where on the page you’ve gotten, okay? The goal isn’t to finish, just to see how fast you can go.” 

Another round of nods, and she was off. She was halfway down the first page before a thought occurred to her, and she bit her lip, squirming a little.

“What is it, Omega?” Cut asked, tone quiet. He clicked the timer to pause it and she looked up. 

“Um,” she said, “is it okay if I— I mean, during the test, will I get in trouble if I look away? On accident, just for a second?” 

She couldn’t read his expression. “No,” he said, after a silent moment, “you won’t get in trouble for that, Omega. That’s totally fine.”

That got a little sigh of relief. She was about to turn back to reading when he spoke up again. 

“Did your mother ever make you do a test like this?” Cut asked. “A timed reading test, I mean.”

“Oh, no!” Omega shook her head. “No, not like that, but I’d have to write reports on science papers, you know, stuff she was gonna get published. And she says that giving in to distractions like that just breeds more trouble, so I’d lose privileges if I looked away.”

Cut swallowed, frowned down at the tabletop. Omega watched his face, frowning herself— had she said something wrong? Losing privileges wasn’t bad , it wasn’t the worst thing, and she usually got them back in a couple of days… She opened her mouth to try and get his attention, only to freeze and wonder what she was supposed to call him. Hunter called him by his first name, but he was an adult, and the rules were different for adults.

“Mr. Lawquane?” she ended up asking. 

His head snapped up, and he shook his head, blinking. “Call me Cut, Omega, please,” he said. 

“Sorry,” she replied, shoulders hiking up. Things had been going really well, she thought, but it felt like it was so surely sliding backwards. 

“No, I—” Cut put the timer down and put his hand over Omega’s. His palms were smooth and cool to the touch, oddly soft in the places where Hunter and Wrecker’s hands were rough. “Omega,” he said, tone earnest and sincere, “you’re family. Okay, your brothers mean a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

She believed him. It was suddenly very difficult for her to swallow. 

“If I’m gonna be your teacher, I just want you to know that. And know that… that I’m never gonna punish you for getting things wrong, or getting distracted. Okay?” She managed a nod, and he squeezed her hand, then let it go. “Good,” he said. “Here, go ahead and start at the beginning again.” 

The words passed easily through Omega’s mind. The story was strange, kind of interesting, but nothing like the science journals she was used to reading. After a little bit she stopped seeing it as individual words, just letting the sensations and images arise. The main character was at a beach, watching the waves, and Omega had never been to a beach before but she’d seen videos… her head started to dip, eyelids heavy… it was so quiet in the house, and Cut wouldn’t be mad…

With a start, she snatched her head back, inhaling as her body shrugged off a brief few seconds of sleep. For a second, she thought she might be able to shrug it off, but Cut was watching her. Had probably been watching her, she realized, the back of her neck prickling uncomfortably.

“You been sleeping alright?” Cut asked, voice gentle in the way adults talked when they knew the answer was bad. Shaak Ti talked to Omega like that, the first couple of times, though it had gone away or gotten harder to hear. 

“Yeah,” Omega fibbed. The force of Cut’s serene gaze made her drop her chin, studying the pattern of his shirt. “Wrecker let me borrow Lula,” she added, just to move the conversation along. 

“Ah, the famous Lula,” Cut replied. He paused, then spoke up, tone distracted. “Your brother Wrecker is a good guy.”

“Yeah,” she said again, only this time it came out easy. She glanced up at Cut, but he was looking off past her head. “He’s the best.” She turned her head to see what he was looking at, and Hunter was in the doorway, stalling, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Cut made a huffing noise. “Alright,” he said, “let’s take a break.” By the clock in the kitchen, it was nearly lunch. “You can eat lunch out on the porch with the other kids, then we’ll get back to work.”

She readily agreed, and hopped down from her chair. “Where’s Hunter going to eat?” she asked, and Cut made another noise, grinning. 

“Sorry, but your big brother has to help me with some things.” He led her outside, and before she knew it, she was approaching the gaggle of kids, the entire class gathered around where Stass Allie was handing out some juice boxes from a bin. 

Jek noticed her first. “Omega!” he exclaimed, scrambling over, “there you are!” 

“Hi,” she replied, breathless. 

“C’mon,” he said, tugging on her arm, “you have to meet Katooni, and Byph…” She trailed along behind him, over to where the kids from class were gathering around packed lunches. “This is Omega!” He introduced her with a grand sweep of his arm. “She’s my cousin!” 

She was sucked up in the chatter, Cut appearing at her elbow to pass a sandwich and little baggie of sliced carrots, learning everyone’s names, answering their questions, what was her favorite show, her favorite movie, then, oh had she ever heard of power rangers… She realized that she hadn’t said goodbye to Hunter, and when she looked up and over their heads to try and spot him, he was already watching her, a soft smile on his face, leaning in the doorway, Cut by his side. Omega’s chest flipped, and she waved. He waved back. Cut elbowed him, and the two disappeared inside the house.

Omega’s attention was snagged again, and as the minutes wore on, the tension left, until Omega was laughing, wondering why she had been so anxious in the first place. 

At the end of the day, Hunter paced while Cut graded Omega’s tests in the kitchen. 

“You’re gonna wear a dent in my floor,” Cut commented dryly, not looking up from the papers. Hunter stopped, worked his jaw, then walked over to the doorway and poked his head into the hall. He couldn’t see Omega and the other kids, but he could hear them all talking, laughing a little. “Hunter. Mate. Chill.”

“Sorry,” Hunter huffed. He abandoned the doorframe but continued to move restlessly through the room.

“Well,” Cut said, “for what it’s worth, you were pretty right about her scores.” He leaned back, took off his reading glasses, and used them to tap the thin stack of papers. “She’s two grades ahead in mathematics and the physical sciences, though she did a little worse on word problems versus pure numbers. Her reading comprehension is a grade behind. She sight-reads fine, got in under max time with the timed reading, but the multiple choice and short answers show she hasn’t done much, if any, critical analysis.”

Nala Se had never placed much stress on the liberal arts; Hunter and Wrecker both limped out of her care just literate enough to fail their science exams. Being assigned poetry to read in middle school felt like a cruel joke. 

Hunter must have made a face, because Cut continued. “I can start her out with Byph and Petro for reading, and I can express-order the next few grades of math materials. Oy!” Hunter had glanced away again; Cut lobbed an eraser at him. Hunter flinched, caught it as it ricocheted off his shoulder. “Hunter, come on, sit down. Here.” Cut indicated the chair next to him at the table. Without sighing, Hunter came over and did as he was told. 

Cut swiveled the test results towards him. “If you like, you can take this with you,” he said. “Not sure what kind of angle your lawyer is going for, but at the very least this proves her mother was letting her fall behind, school-wise.”

Every little bit helped. “Thanks, Cut. Really.” 

Cut shrugged, but smiled. “I do want you to relax a little, though. For my sake, and yours.” Gently, he squeezed Hunter's shoulder. “I’ll have you sign the forms I’ve got for enrolling Omega in the school, here. The state has an attendance requirement. You’ve gotta adjust to leaving her here for a few hours a day. Let her get some wings.”

Almost on cue, Omega’s laugh picked up, high and delighted, a few other kids hooting and hollering. Hunter’s chest clenched. He glanced from the doorway back to Cut, and he looked smug as hell, raising one eyebrow at what must have been one hell of an expression on Hunter’s face.

“The only reason I’m not hitting you,” Hunter said, shrugging off Cut’s hand, “is because it’s your house.”

“Suu’s house,” Cut corrected immediately.

Hunter smacked him. 

Laughing, Cut rubbed at his arm. “Alright, alright, I surrender. It’s just…” Hunter’s eyes bored into him, daring him to complete the sentence. “You’re vibing a little…” Cut poked at his midsection. “Henny.” 

“Henny?” Hunter questioned. 

“You know, like a mother hen.” 

“I am not .” And if he was, damn it, Hunter felt he had some justification. He’d tossed and turned during the night, running his conversation with Ninety-nine over in his head, Omega and Crosshair, the courts, everything . He felt a little frayed, and he wasn’t surprised that Cut had caught on. 

Cut clucked at him. Hunter hauled back to hit him again, but Cut dodged, standing and getting some distance. Hunter gathered up the papers and started to make for the door, but Cut stalled him, face taking on a bit of a serious cast.

“Uh, one last thing, though.”

“What is it?” Hunter asked, frowning. 

Cut looked towards the open doorway, and guided Hunter a little further inside the kitchen. He pitched his voice down low. “Is Omega getting enough sleep?” he asked.

Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just asking. I think I caught her dozing off during the reading test.” 

“Dozing off?” Hunter echoed, his brain kicking into overdrive as he tried to examine all his memories of the past few days. She always went to bed pretty early, without having to be told, and she was self-sufficient in the mornings, always appearing dressed and ready— and she’d fallen asleep quickly the previous night, huddled in his lap. At the time, he thought the day had just exhausted her, but now his mind was picking at threads. 

“I’m just asking,” Cut said, stepping into the overflowing river of Hunter’s mind, grounding him. “It might be nothing. Might’ve just been a late night. Nerves. Totally normal.”

“Yeah, well,” Hunter hedged. “Things are still a little tense.”

Cut nodded. “I figured. Do you check on her? At night?” 

A flash of panic shot through Hunter’s core. “I don’t want to invade her privacy.”

Cut sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay, I get that. I do. Especially considering…” he made a vague hand gesture. 

Cut learned about their upbringing pretty late; they’d been working for him for a few days, right after they got out of the service, when they finally presented the entire story. Until then, he’d only known the distant basics: four twelve-year-olds got dropped on Ninety-nine’s doorstep and he took them in. Hell, it wasn’t even an uncommon story for their family— when Rex’s mom passed, he ended up rolled into the messy nest that was Cody and his older brothers’ house. Fetts tended to get passed on to other branches of the family when immediate family couldn’t (or wouldn’t) care for them. 

Unloading to Cut had been kind of awful— as nice as Cut and Suu were, their sympathy had stung like acid. Growing up in Kamino, Nala Se’s abuse had been sort of an open secret, foggy but present. Ninety-nine knew about it, of course, and so had Fives and Echo, being in such close proximity in Ninety-nine’s little house. Cody and his brothers had gotten the story a little bit later, Cody and Rex especially once Cody’s dad kicked them out and they ended up with them at Ninety-nine’s. No one in the service cared enough to ask, and they never cared enough to tell. Opening up to Cut had been the first time in a long time that any of them had to put words to the shit their mother had put them through. 

Cut dropped his hand. “I get that,” he stressed. “But, you know, if it’s for her sake, I think she’ll forgive you a little midnight check-in.” 

Hunter worked his jaw, not conceding the point, at least not fully. Privacy was the one luxury they were almost never given growing up. Security cameras once they got old enough to cause real problems. Their doors locked, but only from the outside. 

“Take it or leave it, mate,” Cut spoke up, verbally shelving the conversation without making Hunter say anything more. He ducked his head, grateful. “Well,” Cut said. “Unfortunately, now you get to deal with one of the hardest parts of parenthood.”

Part of Hunter wanted to buck and deny that what he was doing was parenthood , she was his sister, after all, but the greater part of him balked, staring. “What?” 

“Trying to get her to go home at the end of the day,” Cut said, smiling. “C’mon. I’ll show you the ropes.”

Relieved, nervous, and more than a little exhausted, Hunter followed him out of the kitchen, taking the papers with him. Their next court date was at the end of the week. With Omega in school, he could meet with Obi-Wan in the mornings, get work done for Cid as well. After the tensions of the previous night, things seemed to be on an upswing.

So why didn’t he trust it?

Chapter Text

Crosshair jolted awake as the bedroom door flew open. 

“We have a problem,” Tech announced. 

Crosshair groaned, rubbing his face against the pillow.

Tech proceeded farther into the bedroom, his footfalls stopping by the side of the bed. “Wake up,” he ordered. 

Crosshair rolled over, turning his back. 

“I said ,” Tech stressed, “that we have a problem.” 

“Is that a you -we or an us -we?” Crosshair drawled, keeping his eyes closed.

“It’s a you -we, actually, but I am trying to be supportive.” 

“Support me by leaving,” Crosshair muttered into the pillow.

Two footsteps, a clink of glass, and Tech upturned the cup of water on the nightstand over Crosshair’s head, soaking the pillow. 

He sputtered, spitting, sitting upright, seeing red, “What the fuck , you bastard, I’m gonna—”

“Shut up,” Tech snapped at him, scowling. “ Shut up! Listen to me.”

Tech pointed his phone screen at him— the county courthouse website. When he spoke, it was at the low, serious cadence Crosshair hadn’t heard in some time, the tone of OPORD reporting and recited intel communiques. It cut through his lethargic haze and muscle memory took over, left him upright and listening. 

“The county has processed your misdemeanor for public intoxication,” Tech stated. “It has been listed on the open docket. I petitioned on your behalf for an expedited court date. You are going to the courthouse right now to pay your ticket in full and get it expunged.” 

His head, muzzy, swam. Why was Tech so on about this? It wasn’t his first rodeo with a misdemeanor, he knew how it worked. You went in, they banged a gavel to give you a price tag, or if you fucked up bad, probation or jail, and you worked with post-trial services to either convert it to community service, probation, or pay in full. The last time he’d gotten in bad with a cop, he had opted to pay it off by going on probation for six months. Then he’d petitioned for the expungement and all was well. 

Going by Tech’s tense shoulders, all was not well. What was he even doing here, wasn’t he supposed to be at work— the full ticket would be a thousand dollars , was Tech expecting him to just dump that out all at once? Tech’s evident urgency was unusual and only served to confuse Crosshair further. The clearest thought in his head was the presence of his own exhaustion, looming. 

“Tech,” he groaned, and started to tip over. He’d deal with whatever this was after another hour of sleep—

“ Crosshair!” Tech’s voice climbed a few dangerous octaves. Swaying, mind fighting off sleep, Crosshair felt distinctly unmoored. What the hell was even happening right now? He scrubbed at his face with his hands. Tech continued. “I have also confirmed the identity of Nala Se’s PI. Fennec Shand. Recently licensed, with advertised expertise in cyber crimes, stalking, civil litigation. If she goes to petition the courthouse for your record today before the misdemeanor is expunged, she will give that information to Nala Se’s legal team.” 

Suddenly, everything was crystal clear. Crosshair couldn’t breathe. 

“She has to petition in person,” Tech pressed on, voice thinning in the way Crosshair knew indicated desperation. “She may have an internet alert on all of our names, and it may have triggered with the county’s posting today. There is still time for you to fix this, but you have to go now .”

“Fuck,” Crosshair said, and lurched to standing. Wallet, jeans, socks—

“I’ll be in the car,” Tech said, heading for the door. 

“What about your work?” Crosshair asked, clutching at verbal straws. 

Tech’s answer was heedless and immediate, tossed over his shoulder as he headed out. “Irrelevant. This matters more.” He disappeared, Crosshair swallowing thickly. He got dressed in record time, swiping his phone as he headed out the bedroom door.

All in all, it looked like he’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep. His stomach dropped as he headed down the stairs— he’d left his phone on silent, and there were cascading missed texts and calls from Tech. One text summarized what Tech had communicated. “Shit.” 

Tech had the car running. Crosshair slipped into the passenger seat and they were off just as his leg cleared the door. 

“Sorry,” he had the mind to mutter, strapping in. 

No reply from Tech, focused on the road. White-knuckled. If it wasn’t for the frankly awful vibes in the car, he might have joked that getting a speeding ticket would not help their misdemeanor problem. He swallowed thickly. Their . No, his misdemeanor problem that he was so generously mopping all over everyone else in the house. Just the kind of brother he was. He slid lower in his seat.

“Don’t,” Tech snapped, shortly. Crosshair sat and waited for the end of the sentence. None came and he blew out a loose breath, turning towards the window. “ Don’t ,” Tech insisted. 

The seatbelt cut sharply across Crosshair’s chest as Tech had to hit the brakes hard, losing out on a yellow and landing a red. Stuck halfway through the crosswalk, he turned in his seat, pinning Crosshair with an unimpressed look behind his glasses. 

“Don’t start flagellating yourself,” he chided. “I said we have a problem, and we are going to handle it.” 

Crosshair sneered. “Don’t go doing me any favors,” he snapped, feeling cornered.

Tech rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

“ I’m the one who fucked up,” Crosshair shot back. “This is on me.”

“And you’re my brother,” Tech said, like it was so simple. In a perfect world, maybe it was. They all knew firsthand that perfect was the wrong word for their world by a mile. 

“If this doesn’t work,” he muttered, then couldn’t find the words. His mind happily supplied the worst-case scenario for him, free of charge: If this didn’t work, and Nala Se got hold of his record, say good-bye to Omega under the same roof, say goodbye to that inexplicable light in Hunter’s eyes, Wrecker’s so-obvious affection, hell, even Tech had been brighter with Omega around to chatter to. All of that, gone. All because of him . He felt kind of sick, and not just from his empty stomach and Tech’s driving. 

“ If this doesn’t work,” Tech stressed, “we regroup. No plan survives first contact with the enemy.” 

The light turned green, and Crosshair was thrown back in his seat by the force as Tech opened the throttle. One block and he hit a sharp turn at the same speed. Cursing, Crosshair clutched the grab-handle. Luckily for his sanity, Tech cooled off on the speed as they reached the outer radius of the courthouse. He pulled up sharp against the curb.

“Get out,” he ordered. He reeled off the particular wing and clerk he needed to check in with. “You’ll wait for a judge to call your docket number. Testify, don’t antagonize the judge, get your fine, then pay it.” 

Crosshair rubbed at his face with his free hand. Getting himself some coffee was nowhere on that list, and he was in no position to request Tech hit up a starbucks. “I don’t have the cash on me,” he muttered. And there was no way his measly little fuck-around credit card would be cool with him dumping four digits on it all at once. 

Tech scoffed. “Obviously,” he said, “I did not expect you have a thousand dollars plus the fees for the expungement petition on you.”

“Then what the fuck do you want me to do?!” Crosshair snapped back. 

Tech’s jaw worked. He kept his eyes forward. “I am going to go to the bank while you wait for your case to get called. I’ll meet you back inside.” 

Crosshair’s mouth went dry. Tech made the most out of all of them, sure, but he was the one with the budget, with the insurance, with the house payment, who was skipping out on his job for the day while already on thin ice— Crosshair only ever spent his money on cigarettes and bullshit—Tech sighed, relaxing a bit into his seat. Deliberately loosening his deathgrip on the wheel.

“Go check in,” he said, in a gentler tone. “You can pay me back later.” 

Swallowing, Crosshair got out of the car. Squinting in the piercing mid-morning sunlight. He felt fucking awful, from his unbrushed teeth to the thin sheen of sleep sweat he hadn’t been able to shower off. From the looming sense that a boot was about to come crashing down on everyone he cared about. All because of him feeling sorry for himself. 

“Crosshair!” Tech called as he turned to go inside. 

He turned. Tech had rolled down the passenger side window and was peering at him through it.

“We’ll figure this out,” Tech called. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Wordless, Crosshair lifted his hand. Tech returned the gesture and motored off. Giving himself a shake, forcing his breathing even, Crosshair turned and went inside to go check in and wait for the judge. 

Time melted in a blur. Crosshair dozed off a bit, standing up, in line for the clerk, but got a helpful poke in his back from the woman behind him when it shifted forward. He gave the docket number off his phone, showed his ID, and was directed to a courtroom. In there, he was grateful that the benches were wood and unpadded; the discomfort at the wet breath of the man slumped forward in the seat behind him kept him from nodding off. 

Thirty minutes. One hour. A woman had to be escorted out after trying to argue with the judge about her ankle bracelet. Crosshair wished her the best. He needed the goodwill. Tech texted Crosshair to let him know he was outside. He glanced at the judge, texting slyly from his lap the room number.

Can’t come in .

Crosshair frowned. Why???

Tech sent a picture of a carry-out coffee crib with two large cups. No food or drinks allowed inside. Crosshair’s mouth watered. He’d lick the bailiff’s boots if it meant getting out of here faster.

Finally, his docket number was called, and he walked up to the defendant podium. The benches behind him were half-full of lazy observers, and it rankled that he had to go through all of this in front of so many people. Last time he’d danced this dance, it’d been night court and he’d been the only conscious person in the room besides the bailiffs and the judge. 

“Crosshair Fett,” the judge, an elderly woman, read off of the file. “Public intoxication, misdemeanor. You filed for an emergency court date, why is that, Mr. Fett?” 

He should have brushed his teeth. Bought some gum. Something. “I… had a recent wake-up call,” he managed. Not a lie, in more ways than one. “I want to put this behind me as soon as possible.”

“Plenty of people want misdemeanors behind them, Mr. Fett, but there is a process in place…” She took her sweet time writing something down. “Are you employed, Mr. Fett?” she asked, glancing up. He gave the name of the security company. “Night security?” The woman’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Awfully late for you, then, isn’t it, Mr. Fett?”

It wouldn’t be quite so late if the court had sped things up a little. “Yes,” he ended up saying, just shy of a hiss, “it is.” 

“Will your employer terminate your contract with them because of this charge?”

Most likely. He hadn’t been planning on telling his boss, and he wasn’t due for another background check until end-of-quarter. He shifted his feet. If he said so, would that make her sneer at his excuse, or would that make her more lenient? She waited for his reply. 

“Probably,” he admitted. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Another amazed lift of the eyebrows— shit. Should have waited for the question. Sweat slid down his spine. “And why are you here, Mr. Fett? What is the emergency?” 

The answer was immediate in the back of his head. My abusive piece of shit mother is trying to take Omega from Hunter. Trying to take my sister from us. He swallowed. “I’ve… put my family through a lot,” he ended up saying. Every eye of the waiting court cases felt like a roving tongue over his skin. He suppressed a shudder. “I… want to make it up to them.” 

For a moment, the judge read his face, then made another note. “What was the intoxicant, Mr. Fett?” 

“Cannabis,” he admitted, and clenched his jaw as someone in the room behind him tried to smother a laugh. The judge made a sharp gesture, and the bailiff disappeared into Crosshair’s periphery to escort the asshole out. Good riddance.

“Have you had substance abuse problems with cannabis before, Mr. Fett?” 

Not strictly weed, no. But he doubted that she’d buy him saying no outright. “I’ve had substance abuse issues before. Ma’am.” 

“Can you elaborate, please?” 

Didn’t he have some right to keep his mouth shut? With everyone watching? He ground his teeth. “Underage drinking. Mainly.” 

“Did you ever seek professional help for these problems?” 

“My unit got shipped out before I could,” he answered, truthfully. He did not then elaborate that he and Tech were known a dozen forward camps over for their ability to work a sill up out of nothing but spare humvee parts. 

That made the judge pause. “You’re a veteran?” 

He almost lied out of sheer spite. “Four years active special naval forces.” 

“Why didn’t you remain in the military, Mr. Fett?” 

Because Wrecker almost died in front of them. Because Echo almost died thousands of miles away. Because Fives did . The thought of making Ninety-nine stand alone at his son’s funeral, of letting Wrecker wake up alone in the hospital, had been so like choosing between living and dying that there hadn’t even been a discussion.

The idea of telling the judge that, here in public, all of his soft guts and innards, made him feel like turning around and walking out. But this was his shitshow. His problem. His family.

“Bereavement,” he said, clipped. 

The judge eyed him. He stared gamely back. 

For a long, silent moment, the judge scribbled something on a piece of paper. She ripped something off the pad, stamped it, and held it out to a clerk. 

“This court moves to enforce a one-thousand dollar fine for public intoxication… Next on the docket—” 

Blinking, it took Crosshair a moment to realize what that meant and back away from the podium. The next defendant took his place. 

And that was it. Feeling dazed, he walked out of the courtroom, and immediately ran into Tech, who was sitting by the front doors. He probably heard Crosshair’s meeting. He gave no indication either way, wordlessly passing off a cup of coffee into Crosshair’s numb hands.

“Thanks,” Crosshair muttered darkly, very nearly chugging the entire thing. 

“No problem.” Together, they kept lockstep towards the bursar. Crosshair managed to not glance sideways at his brother’s face, throat thick. He knew that Tech wasn’t looking at him, either, not that Tech needed to. His presence was equal parts scathing and comforting. Crosshair finished one cup of coffee and was surprised when Tech wordlessly handed over the other one. Both for him. It was difficult to swallow.

They got a service number, and by the small LED sign over the desks, they had a bit of a wait. Crosshair bounced his leg. Sure, he had the ticket to pay, and could petition right after, but the doorway of chance was still open. Still enough time for the universe to prove them both fools. 

Like the universe ever needed an excuse. 

Finishing the second cup of coffee, he patted down his pockets and found a crushed box of cigarettes. He pulled it out, trying for slick, checking how many were still inside, but Tech sighed. “You can go quickly,” he said, checking his watch. He glanced at the waiting number once more. “I need to go feed the meter. Meet back here in ten.” 

Crosshair winced at how much of a relief it was to get out of Tech’s presence. Alone with himself, he could exhale a little. Walking through the halls, there were other people, but none of them paid him any mind. As soon as this finished up, good or bad, he needed a shower, and fast. 

The smoking area was outside, off towards the edge of the far parking lot, a few sun-drenched cement benches, a judgemental sign, and a big earthware pot filled with sand to toss your butts in. A woman was already standing there, idly standing, smoking. She slid a glance over Crosshair as he approached and stopped at the far side of the stretch. Two could play that game. He tamped down a slightly crooked cigarette and rested it in his lips, patting down his pockets for the cheap lighter he always—

Great. Of course. He sighed, dropped his head back on his neck. 

Well. Worse case scenario, she told him to fuck off. 

“Hey,” he said, catching the woman’s attention. “Got a light?” 

She gave him a bored once-over, decided he wasn’t worth spitting on, and passed him a lighter. A nice, heavy zippo. He lit up then spared a glance for the design carved onto the front. Not a mass-produced cut, you could tell it was hand-carved by the depth of the etching. Pretty fierce looking Krayt-dragon. Crosshair passed it back and then turned his shoulder. 

His lack of a thank-you was noted with a grunt. He ignored it. 

Deep, sucking pulls had his cigarette nearly finished in record time. As it burned towards the filter, he decided that he’d inhaled this one down fast enough that he could take the time for a second. Tide him over. He checked his watch, realized that he’d left it behind at the house, then checked his phone. Yeah, he had enough time. He got out another cigarette, tamped it, and started to lift it up to light against the one still stuck in his lips. Too late, the cherry kissed the filter and stuttered out. Stupid self-extinguishing fucking brand. Crosshair hissed in displeasure and tossed the butt into the ash-pot. 

No chance the woman, still slowly smoking her first, was gonna loan him the zippo again after he had literally turned a cold shoulder. Well, that was what he got for burning bridges. He tucked the unlit cigarette behind his ear. Maybe if he high-tailed it to the other side of the courthouse, they probably had another smoking area…

The woman made a noise. He glanced at her. She had one black eyebrow so deliberately arched. “Bad day?” she queried, and exhaled twin streams of smoke through her nose. 

“Bad week ,” he scoffed back. 

Unimpressed, she extended her arm out towards him, cigarette poised between her fingers. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was smoking a really good brand, a thin gold band clear against the filter. He still bought the cheap shit; force of habit.

The way she held her hand out was clear, and he only hesitated for a second. It was clear from her posture that she was expecting him to stoop down and light his cigarette from hers like he was kissing her hand. That’d be the fucking day. He took his cigarette out from behind his ear and stepped forward. Hoping to move deliberately enough that she wouldn’t cause a scene, he snatched the cigarette from her hand, holding it delicately between two fingers, and lit his own from it. 

Gratefully exhaling smoke, he passed it back. 

She seemed amused, which was better than pissed. “You’re lucky I’m not some bitch,” she noted, taking a puff. “Grabbing my shit like that.” 

“Sure you’re not some bitch,” he shot back, “or do you make everyone stoop to catch a light?” 

That got him a grin, not a slap, which was just nice, wasn’t it? He shifted his weight, looking at her a little more closely. For someone standing outside the county courthouse, armed with a hand-carved zippo, she was dressed kind of nicely. Blouse or whatever. Black clothes from head to heel. Black hair braided out of her face, laced with orange beads. Not willing to push his luck by checking out the undercarriage, Crosshair glanced away, bounced his leg. 

“Nice lighter,” he said, just to say something. He checked his phone. Yeah, he still had time. 

“Thanks. You make a habit of not bringing your own?” 

He copied her, exhaling through his nose. “No,” he sneered. 

“Just making conversation,” she breezed, all sugar. 

“If you’re waiting for me to ask if you come here often, you’ll be disappointed,” he hissed. 

She took a drag, exhaled, watching him with dark eyes. 

“Come here often?” she asked, then. 

That got a scoffing, short laugh. “Not recently,” he replied, dredging the bottom of his vocal register. He checked his phone for the time. 

“Waiting for a text?” she questioned. 

“I’m on the clock,” he lied. He was slipping his phone away when he felt it buzz. He glanced down at the screen. A text from Tech, all urgent caps. 

DO NOT REACT, the first one said. Crosshair disobeyed, frowning. 

The second text came cascading in, then the third, red-hot fast. 

YOU ARE TALKING TO THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. 

KEEP HER TALKING. PAYING YOUR FINES NOW. 

Smoothly, Crosshair locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. He did not scan the area around them to try and spot Tech’s back or his car or any other sign of his brother’s presence.

Okay. Keep her talking. He could do that.

“You don’t seem the type to come here often,” he noted. Far enough away from come here often that it didn’t do more than sting his pride. 

“What makes you say that?” she challenged. 

He shrugged. “Call it intuition.” He let his eyes flicker towards her hand, following it up to her mouth. “And the brand.”

She hummed, blew smoke. “You learn to splurge.” 

“Haven’t learned that yet.” He hoped that Tech had the bright idea to text him when he was finished, because he was running out of conversation. “You splurge on the lighter, too?”

“ That was a gift.”

Alright, he had a rough enough time playing along with shit like this on a good day. And today was not one of those. He took the plunge, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around stiff. “From a boyfriend?”

He couldn’t read her expression. “No.”

Well, shit. He gave it a real Marine try, as Hunter liked to say. Crosshair deliberated over the last half of his cigarette, watching from the corner of his eye as she finished hers. When they’d left there was a half hour, forty minutes maybe, before their number came up. Ten minute smoke, twenty minutes left on the clock.

They each had their strengths. Crosshair watched her from the corner of his eye, tossing the butt into the pot. He flicked the cherry of his cigarette out, pocketed the last half inch, and stepped into her way as she tried to pass him. 

She paused, just past arm’s length. All pretend sweetness gone. “Are you gonna get out of my way.” Not a question. 

“You gonna make me?” he replied in a growl. 

Something flashed in her eyes. Fennec Shand grinned. “I was wondering when you were gonna drop the act.” Shit. She’d known all along, asking him do you come here often, watching him sweat.

He bared teeth. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Again, something in her eyes moved, some kind of awareness. “Would’ve pinned the one with long hair for the pothead,” she said. “But I’ll give you this one.” She made a gesture. “You wouldn’t be stalling unless someone was handling your case for you. Congrats on the win.” Smirking a little, she started to turn away.

“Do you have any idea what the fuck you’re doing?!” he heard himself say. 

She stalled, pivoting a bit around to look over her shoulder. “You’re not the first target to feel like it’s personal. For what it’s worth, it’s not.” 

“It’s not personal ?!” he snarled. “You’re about to ruin a kid’s life!” 

Very slowly, she turned, one eyebrow raised. “Look,” she said, “This isn’t my first rodeo. Do enough custody cases, you hear every accusation in the book. If I let up for every sob story, I’d be out of a job.” 

“This isn’t just some sob story .” 

“It never is, to the people in it.” 

He shook his head. “You have no idea.” 

She sighed, and he ground his teeth. “If you want to hire your own PI to check out my client’s share of problems for you, I have a rolodex of recommendations. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. The only difference is having someone go digging.”

Skeletons in the closet. Wires. Charts and measurements and little paper cups full of rattling pills. Crosshair felt cold, very cold, and calm, as he took one step forward, two. “Stay away from my fucking family,” he heard himself say, voice pressed thin and bloodless. Fennec Shand did not back up, eyeing him emotionlessly as he closed with her. “Or I’ll give you a skeleton to dig up.” 

Something barred his path, suddenly, a hot brand of heat against his chest, fingers spread. For half a second, he could feel Fennec’s breath on his face, and then he was shoved backwards half a step.

“Crosshair,” Tech said, carefully, leveraging his weight to stop his forward momentum. Crosshair strained against his arm. “ Crosshair . Let it go.” 

Breathing through clenched teeth, Crosshair let Tech stop him, rocking back a little on his heels. Fennec Shand watched them, then coolly slid her eyes over to Crosshair. 

“Custody cases are messy,” she said. “You have my sympathy.” 

Tech got his words out before Crosshair could. “Your sympathy is valueless.” 

“It’s very expensive, actually, but consider this a free consultation.” Her eyes remained on Crosshair. “The client cares enough about the little girl to pay for me,” she said, tone neat. “What’s the animosity?” 

“We have nothing to say to you,” Tech cut Crosshair off again. “We’re leaving.” He tried to tug at Crosshair’s arm, but he dug his heels in.

“You should know who you’re working for,” Crosshair hissed. Tech muttered something, and Crosshair angrily shoved off his arm. He stayed where he was, staring down Fennec for all he was worth. “You don’t know what she’s done .” 

Fennec Shand’s eyes were calm and cool and collected, drinking him in. In his wrinkled fucking sleep-shirt. “From what I see,” she said, “it looks like she’s already done quite a lot.”

Crosshair could taste blood. He stood there, like a pillar, as Fennec Shand walked away, mounting and then roaring off on a sleek black motorcycle. The adrenaline drop hit him in an ebbing pattern, each heavy exhale leaving him minutely shuddering and unmoored. 

Tech nodded to himself. “That could have gone better,” he said. 

Strings cut, Crosshair sank down to sit on one of the benches. He sat there, scored a hand across his short crop of hair, the sensation off and tingling with afterburn. “Thanks,” he spoke up.

“For what?” Tech asked.

Crosshair kicked his leg, but not hard. If he wasn’t mistaken, Tech tried to hide a grin.

“A we -problem,” he said, damn near sing-song, “A we- solution.” He waited a beat. “I do want you to pay me back,” he added. 

Crosshair rolled his eyes. He stood up and started to walk away.

Tech called his name, jogged after him. “I’m not joking,” 

“I know you’re not,” Crosshair said, over his shoulder.

Tech did smile then, rolling his eyes. “Here,” he said, and passed Crosshair an envelope. “I paid the fine, but you need to file for the expungement yourself.” 

“Okay.” He spared a hard thought for Fennec Shand, who took the loss ten minutes earlier than necessary. “I can find my own way back,” he spoke up. “You should go make sure you didn’t get fired.” He meant it as a joke, but it came out stilted.

“Their infrastructure would collapse without me within a week,” Tech replied. He adjusted his glasses. “But, you’re right. I shouldn’t give them the excuse.” He checked his watch. “Wrecker should be off shift in an hour or so. He can pick you up.”

Crosshair rankled. “That your professional recommendation?” he hissed. Honestly. Like he needed a babysitter. 

Tech eyed him. “When you pay me back,” he said, smugly, “you can ignore me. Until then…” he saluted, and peeled off towards the parking lot. 

“You’re the worst!” Crosshair called after him. 

“I know!” Tech called back. Crosshair shook his head, pocketed the bank envelope, and headed inside to go finish mopping up his bullshit. 

Crosshair was standing by the curb when the work truck pulled up. A little far out from the curb, but Wrecker’s ecstatic grin made it hard to care. “Hey! Cross! Check it out!” He leaned over to pop the door lock so Crosshair could boot himself up into the cab. 

“Not bad,” he allowed, and Wrecker rumbled a laugh. He got them on the road, double and triple-checking his left hand blindspot before pulling out of the parking lot. Crosshair turned his head so Wrecker wouldn’t see his sharp grin. Getting the court sorted had taken a surprisingly massive weight taken off of his shoulders, and he was giddy with sleep deprivation.

Wrecker’s good mood was annoyingly catching.

“Gotta swing by Cid’s, first, she’s cashing my check for me,” Wrecker announced.

“Want to show off your driving skills?” Crosshair said, and luckily Wrecker took it for the compliment he’d meant it to be rather than the sneer it came out as.

“Maybe,” he said, grinning madly at his hands on the wheel.

Crosshair had no love for Cid, even with all she’d done (begrudgingly) for his brothers. For a second as Wrecker parked outside the bar (very crookedly), he considered staying and brooding in the truck. Wrecker sent him a backwards look though, almost pleading, and with a sigh, Crosshair slid out. 

It was nearly happy hour, so the bar was as full as it was going to get, people stuck to the bar and clustered around the gaming tables. The short woman was behind the bar with one of her servers, glaring at some poor son of a bitch and waving violently with his fake ID. Better him than them. They snagged two barstools. 

Cid noticed them and rolled her eyes before sliding over. 

“You’re not supposed to bring animals in here,” she told Wrecker, hooking a thumb at Crosshair. 

“Cute,” Crosshair growled.

She eyed him up and down. “Wish I could say the same, Toothpick.” 

“I’m here to get my check, Cid,” Wrecker cut Crosshair off. He turned. “Ya want anything?” 

He shook his head, although he would have killed for some food and a coffee. Wrecker looked a little downtrodden at that, like he’d been hoping Crosshair would say yes. Cid headed off towards the back room. Crosshair munched on some bar pretzels, cracking his neck. 

“So,” Wrecker spoke up. “Tech said you got super stoned?”

Crosshair froze. Sure, he wondered what Tech had told Wrecker about the pick-up, but when Wrecker hadn’t asked on the drive over, he thought the issue dead. He was dead sure that Tech wouldn’t tell Hunter, but he hadn’t considered the result of Wrecker getting in on the secret. He swallowed, pretzel crumbs like sand in his throat. “What did Tech say about it?”

Wrecker shrugged one big shoulder. “Just that you needed the pickup. Something about a ticket you had to pay.” Wrecker eyed him, sitting on his good side, and seemed to come to a conclusion within himself, rolling his shoulders back and sitting up straighter on the barstool. “We’ll go home after this,” he declared. “Y-you can go sleep or eat dinner or somethin.’”

Ah. So he had been hoping for a drink or some bar food. Time with Crosshair. Why he’d want to spend his fresh paycheck on him , Crosshair had no idea. He very deliberately picked up a pretzel and forced himself to chew on it.

Wrecker sighed, blowing out air. “Tech said that you’re… good now, yeah? Ya sure you don’t want anythin?” 

Crosshair closed his eyes. “Wrecker,” he sighed, “drop it.” 

He heard the barstool creak as Wrecker shifted his bulk around. “I’m just askin,” Wrecker pressed on, making Crosshair sigh a little, “cuz, ya know, you don’t seem… happy.” 

Four hours of sleep never made anyone happy, least of all Crosshair. Four hours of sleep, down four digits in his bank account, the PI breathing down his neck, their mother and Hunter and Omega and the court date around the corner. 

“Since when have I ever been happy,” Crosshair muttered under his breath. He cracked his eyes open, reaching for the pretzel basket, but frozen when he spotted the stricken look on Wrecker’s face. 

“Y-you have been, though,” Wrecker said, frowning. His eyes, the glassy one delayed by a fraction of a second, flickered over Crosshair’s face, thinking. “I mean… like when we went camping last month,” he said. “Uh. A-and that time in Daros the month before.” 

Crosshair matched Wrecker frown for confused frown. 

“You seemed happy then,” Wrecker said, weakly. 

Crosshair sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “Wrecker,” he started, stomach churning full of possible things he could say.

“There you go, Big Guy,” Cid announced, dropping a creased envelope in front of them. “Don’t spend it all in one place.” She made eye contact with Crosshair. “Choke,” she said, as a farewell, turning to go. Crosshair flipped her off. 

He stared at Cid’s retreating back. He could feel Wrecker’s eyes on his face. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he ended up saying, voice a hiss. “This shit has just been…” Too much. Too Little. Too close. Too far away. Omega asleep on the couch. Distant stars. Ninety-nine’s phone in his hand. Exhaling. 

He didn’t find the end of the sentence, and Wrecker made a noise, deep in his throat.

“Yeah,” he rumbled. “Yeah, I get that.” He elbowed Crosshair, and not likely. “Glad you handled whatever, though,” he continued, and of course it sounded like he meant it, because that was just how Wrecker worked. 

Crosshair forced a breath out through his nose. Handled whatever. Yeah. He could do that.

For a second, they sat in silence, but the longer it lasted, the better Crosshair started to feel. Wrecker could push his buttons like he was made for it, but he knew when to back off, too. Crosshair appreciated it in a kind of desperate way. He could do this. 

“Alright you two,” Cid called from down the bar, “order a round or free up the stools. I’m running a business, here, not a cabstand.” 

On a whim, the other bartender standing near them with a pinched expression, Crosshair ordered a drink for Wrecker, a big pint of pale ale. For himself, a tall shot of whiskey. Wrecker laughed, surprised and pleased. 

Sure, they’d have to camp out and sober up before driving back, but his sleep schedule was ruined for the day, anyway. And Wrecker really seemed to appreciate the gesture. It’d been a while since they’d been able to go out like they used to. During training, Fives and Echo were off in twin la-la land, and Hunter and Tech’d been too squirrely to try and use their fake IDs anywhere close to the base. That left Wrecker and Crosshair to go carouse and get into fights together. 

They got their drinks, but Crosshair cleared his throat before even touching his. 

“About the other night,” he started. Might as well rip the whole bandaid off.

“Aw, Cross,” Wrecker said, sounding off. “You don’t gotta. It’s okay—”

“It’s not,” Crosshair cut him off. He stared at the honey-colored liquid in his shot glass. “I know you’re okay with it,” he sneered, then tried to school his tone. “You’d forgive me whether I was sorry or not.” He swallowed, listening to the wood creaking as Wrecker shifted his weight. “I am, though,” he said. “And I don’t… wanna do that shit any more.”

He bit back on the sentence You deserve a better brother than me . Deserve had nothing to do with it— and besides, he had a better brother than Crosshair. He had Hunter and Tech and Echo, hell, considering that Cody’s father was Jango’s identical twin, biologically he was Wrecker’s brother, too. Crosshair was just the weak post in the tent. The rotting support beam. Lucky that there were so many other names on the roster to buoy his bullshit. 

“I don’t know,” he said when the silence became stiff. “I just wanted to. Make sure you knew that.”

“I know that,” Wrecker echoed, and Crosshair winced at his soft tone. “Cross…” 

“Don’t,” Crosshair cut him off, roughly. He squeezed his eyes shut.

One of Wrecker’s big hands came up and clamped down on the back of Crosshair’s neck. His hand was calloused from work, and shockingly warm. His fingers dug in and he shook him, just a little. “Yer so weird sometimes,” Wrecker said, tone just as warm as his hand, and fond. 

“Yeah,” Crosshair huffed in agreement. Marginally he felt a little better. Standing next to Wrecker on the porch the other night, everything he tried to say had come out sounding wrong. That feeling wasn’t real, he tried to remind himself. Just his fucked-up grey matter baring teeth. How had Tech put it? If you feel that you fall short in the eyes of others, and they give you leniency, you do not trust it. 

He trusted Wrecker. Trusted him with his life. One shitty mission out in a jungle somewhere with condensation-thick humidity, their primary target was on the other side of a janky age-old bridge, one ship-thick hemp rope for their feet and two thinner ones at about hip-height to brace their hands. Standard kit was just under eighty pounds but their team was anything but standard, Crosshair packing almost up to ninety thanks to some extra ordinance and the brace stand for his rifle. It’d never felt heavier, crossing that bridge, every sucking breath like trying to pull air through a wet sponge. 

The rope creaked and moaned as they started across, full black night, no moon. Behind him, Wrecker was trembling so hard they could all feel it, shivering the rope under their feet. They had no idea where his fear of heights came from; it welled up like blood from a stone sometime when they were teenagers, Wrecker going to pieces his first time up at the top of the county fair’s ferris wheel. Their trainers never loved that about him, but he was steady when he had to be, when there was the promise of endex on the other side. 

The bridge-rope was nearly as wide across as Wrecker’s bicep, no tightrope, no worry. For all the noise they were confident it would hold, even Wrecker’s bulk. That left no concern to keep Crosshair from leaning a little too hard on the left-hand rope, his only grip; Hunter and Tech had holstered their sidearms, both hands free to grasp the guidelines, while Wrecker was so nervous he’d strapped his semi-auto to the webbing across his chest to free up both of his hands to do the same. 

Crosshair hadn’t liked the idea of how top-heavy his kit would be, with his rifle stowed in its place beside the stand, and his webbing was hooked full of their spare rope and his bundled ghillie shroud— if you can’t wear it, you have to carry it , the old saying went, and wearing it while moving at top clip would’ve had him passed out from overheating, as they’d unfortunately learned day one of the op. Not good, considering their elevation. So he went with one hand on the rope, the other holding his rifle. One hand and one hot-shit sense of surety. 

So many things. The heat, the damp, the weight, the rope, the op, the chasm underneath them, peeling away towards fuzzy black nothing, his brothers and Wrecker’s shivering, panicked mumbling. Don’t look down , he’d been saying, over and over under his breath, and Crosshair can’t remember what it was he’d been preparing to say back. He had been half turned around to say something, though, he remembered that much, because turning had put just enough pressure on the left hand rope to snap it at the root, somewhere distant down the line—so suddenly gone slack that it felt like it was pulling Crosshair with it as it fell away into the free air. 

Half a second. Just hovering there mid-plunge. 

And then. 

A hard yank on his leg—brief worry that the knee was dislocated—a ripping-up sense of vertigo in his belly, and he was hanging upside down, looking up at Wrecker, holding him by the ankle. Hanging from the bridge by his linked knees, shockwaves rippling the rope from the force of his jump, his landing— Crosshair could hear his own breath, whistling in between his clenched teeth, heartbeat an adrenalized blur. Further up the rope, Hunter was hooked under his arms like that awful poster their high school tactics teacher had in his office— Hang in there, baby! -- Tech likewise was hanging by an elbow and matching knee. Both of them looking crazed and panicked at the sudden shift of gravity that came with one of their handholds snapping. 

Wrecker didn’t look panicked. He looked serene in his focus, brow and jaw set. 

“I gotcha,” Wrecker had said, then, one of the most incongruous fucking things Crosshair ever heard get said in such a fucked-up position. If it was him, he’d be spitting tacks and inventing new four-letter words to describe the idiocy of one-handing it, of not packing up his gun like SOP demanded, of putting them all at risk. 

Distantly, he started to realize that he had very nearly just died. 

Blood rushed down to his head, and his arm was jacked back at a bad angle (not broken, some sense told him) as he clung desperately to the grip on his rifle, and his knee got in some good complaints for being the linchpin between him and a long drop towards a short stop. Distant sirens told him that their field silence was blown, the op gone to shit (yet again), but then—Wrecker tightened his hand. Nothing between Crosshair and sweet oblivion but Wrecker’s arm. No tightrope. No worry.

“I gotcha,” he said again, like everything was gonna be okay.

So many worse things later, it still wasn’t a lie. 

Laughing at his no doubt hangdog expression, Wrecker shook Crosshair again. Crosshair, keenly aware of the attention his brother’s antics were starting to get from the other soaks at the bar, rolled his shoulders to try and get his hand off. Wrecker just held on tighter, pinching a little. 

“My weird little brother,” Wrecker continued, shaking harder. Crosshair grumbled, tried to throw an elbow, and was almost knocked off the backstool for his trouble. Something like a laugh came out of his chest before he could stop it as they just started roughhousing outright. 

“Okay, okay, fucking toddlers—either take it outside or simmer down ,” Cid shouted from the other side of the bar. Wrecker let Crosshair’s neck go; Crosshair elbowed him right in the choice spot on the side of the ribcage, making Wrecker wheeze and hunch over, so obviously pleased that Crosshair felt a wave of sudden affection almost swamp him. He picked his shot glass up with two lazy fingers and held it up, waiting. 

Wrecker scooped up his pint and they clinked glass. 

Crosshair made to toss his shot back, but Wrecker cleared his throat. He paused, glass halfway to his lips. Wrecker’s eyes, one deep brown, the other glassy, flickered significantly between his pint glass, still held out towards him, and Crosshair’s drink. He waggled his eyebrows. 

Huffing a short laugh as he caught on, Crosshair shook his head. “You’re paying for the rideshare,” he informed Wrecker as he dropped his shot glass in Wrecker’s pint, transforming it into a boilermaker with a small splash. Pale foam and bubbles rose along the inside of the glass, catching the light, and Crosshair felt himself smirking at the gleeful, delighted smile on Wrecker’s face. He waved down Cid for another pint and shot, the awful woman’s eyebrows shooting up towards her hairline. She brought them over, Crosshair matched with Wrecker, and then they toasted again with their twin boilermakers. 

“Race ya,” Wrecker said, and didn’t wait before he started to chug. 

What else could Crosshair do? A better brother might tell Wrecker to take it easy, but Crosshair had a reputation to uphold. It burned and threatened to come up his nose, gulping with as open a throat as he could manage—he slammed his empty pint down on the bar a half-second after Wrecker, who punched the air in triumph.

“Best two out of three,” he said then. Probably a bad idea. 

But it made Wrecker laugh. And that was a good sound.

Chapter Text

Hunter was sitting on the porch reading and re-reading the big pile of notes Obi-Wan had sent over when two cars pulled up. The first: the work truck, which was expected—Wrecker had sent a brief text (rife with misspellings) about grabbing dinner at the bar after getting his paycheck cashed. The second: Cid’s car, a battered and serviceable old jeep. That was unexpected on its own, even more so when Hunter squinted through the evening dark and spotted the two figures in the car. One was Cid, obviously, her short grey hair catching the light. The other was Wrecker, loudly singing along to the car radio, continuing to warble even after she cut the engine and the music clicked off. 

“Alright, alright, Brute Springsteen, lay off!” Cid shouted over the din.

The passenger door cracked open and Wrecker spilled out onto the lawn. 

“Hey!” he shouted, spotting Hunter. “Sarge!” He waved one big arm back and forth over his head, making Hunter chuckle, shaking his head despite his confusion. He returned the gesture. Drunk Wrecker was just as boisterous and jovial as regular Wrecker, just with more tilting. Judging by his progress up the lawn towards the porch, he was very drunk, listing from side to side with each loose step. 

More surprises as the work truck’s passenger door opened and Crosshair slid out, even more unsteady than Wrecker on the grass. Hunter blinked. He’d known that Crosshair wasn’t in the house, although his car was still parked in its usual spot. Tech, when asked, had said something about Crosshair getting a ride to go do something, probably having Wrecker pick him up. Too occupied with reviewing his notes for the custody hearing the next day, Hunter had picked his battles and let his questions go; now they all came rushing back. 

Bolo scuttled out from the driver’s side of the work truck. With a shouted warning for Crosshair, he tried to quick-toss the keys, his throw going horrendously wide. Crosshair had to almost dive into the grass to catch the key ring around one finger. 

“Nice throw, jackass!” Crosshair hissed, loud enough that Hunter could hear. Stumbling backwards up the lawn, Crosshair exchanged rude gestures with Bolo. 

“Idiot, stop playing with the clowns!” Cid shouted. Bolo, with one last choice motion for Crosshair, circled around and hopped up into the passenger seat of Cid’s jeep. Hunter stood, wondering if he should walk over and, what, thank her? But with one overhand wave, Cid motored off, leaving Hunter with two drunk brothers and a lot of questions. 

Wrecker tossed one big arm across Crosshair’s shoulders and took it on himself to get them both up the shallow porch steps. Lurching and swaying together, ruddy-faced, it took them a minute. 

“Looks like you two had a fun night,” Hunter noted, grinning despite himself. 

Wrecker started to babble, Crosshair and boilermakers and winning a darts tournament (Crosshair jabbing Wrecker in the side with his elbow, clearly the one responsible for the win). After a few minutes, Wrecker’s growling stomach took over his senses, and he shouldered past Hunter into the house. 

That left Hunter and Crosshair. Rather than follow Wrecker inside, Crosshair sat down on the other end of the bench from Hunter, groaning a little and rubbing at his forehead. Hunter’s lips quirked, taking in Crosshair’s flush, a little sheen of sweat on his brow. 

“Trying to keep up with Wrecker is gonna make your morning interesting,” Hunter said, grinning. 

“It’s gonna make the next few hours interesting,” Crosshair sighed. Right. Night shift—Crosshair was probably gonna have to stew for the rest of the night to keep his sleep schedule. Hunter didn’t always understand Crosshair’s dedication to working the night shift, especially as it went against his natural rhythms; sleep was something he did deliberately, not letting his body coast to it naturally. Hunter didn’t think he could survive the same schedule. Give Crosshair that one: he knew what he wanted and he could tough it out.

What Hunter wouldn’t give for some of that resolve. 

For a second they sat in companionable silence. The dark coolness of the evening was a balm. Back when they were teenagers, in Ninety-nine’s little house, nightfall usually meant him and Cross out on the back porch. Supposed to be doing homework, really, but usually that just turned into them scratching around the stations on Ninety-nine’s battered old vacuum-tube radio. Watching the black outline of the trees. Getting some fresh air. Hunter slid his eyes closed for a second and indulged in a deep breath. Then a rustle made him glance over at Crosshair. Hunter watched him pull out a cigarette carton and shake it.

“Hey,” Hunter chided sharply, frowning. Then, hearing his tone, he bit his tongue, wincing. Crosshair knew that Hunter didn’t like him smoking for a dozen different reasons, and the moment hadn’t arisen yet in the past few weeks to tell him not to smoke anywhere the secondhand could make it to Omega.

The sharp rebuttal he was expecting never came. Crosshair put the cigarettes away and leaned over his knees, watching the dark street. Hunter leaned back against the wall and tried to be okay with the silence. Better than a blowup. Better than a fight. It didn’t sit well, however, and he cleared his throat.

“There’s food in the fridge,” he spoke up, a verbal olive branch. “Leftovers. If Wreck hasn’t demolished them by now.” 

Crosshair scoffed. “I wouldn’t take that bet.” 

One minute of silence. Two. Hunter wondered why Crosshair didn’t go inside, but bit down on any questions he might ask. Crosshair’s head tilted, just slightly. Eyeing the pile of papers Hunter didn’t have the heart to dive back into. “Studying?”

Hunter sighed an affirmative, moving some papers around. Stacking them together. 

“Obi-Wan’s notes and stuff from legal discovery.” All just as harrowing as expected. “Tech already looked over them, but I’m the one on the docket tomorrow.” And wasn’t that a terrifying thought. 

Crosshair nodded aimlessly. He looked back to the street. “Tomorrow, huh,” he said, voice impassive. 

Hunter nodded. Before he realized what was happening, he made a decision with himself. “Obi-Wan says the judge probably won’t decide anything tomorrow,” he said. “It’s just preliminary. It might take two or three hearings before anything gets decided.” 

Crosshair said nothing. 

“Wrecker and Tech are gonna be there tomorrow,” Hunter continued. Obi-Wan had told him earlier in the week that they were allowed immediate family or possible character witnesses to be with them in the courtroom. Hunter hadn’t let himself ask outright—he’d just told Wrecker and Tech and Cody that fact as part of a summary of the meeting. Wrecker and Tech had immediately volunteered to take the time off and accompany him. It’d made Hunter’s head spin. Cody, of course, had asked Hunter if he’d like him to come, and when Hunter tried to demure, Cody had informed him sternly that he’d be there anyway. 

Crosshair said nothing.

“They’re probably not gonna get called to speak,” Hunter continued. At least this time. “But,” Hunter said, tone stilted, “If… you wanted. You could come, too.” 

He listened to Crosshair breathe in and out. Slowly. 

“She’s going to be there,” was all he said. 

Not a question. No need to clarify.

Hunter forced out a long, slow breath. “Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly. “She’s gonna be there.” 

Oddly enough, he recognized that his body was shifting him into the detached mode he sometimes used to lean on for especially long missions in the field. Sure, he could worry and fret and work himself up into a froth—but that wouldn’t help any of them. No, he was at peace with it. Seeing Nala Se at the first hearing hadn’t been fun, but he anticipated being reasonably okay with her proximity. 

Another long breath in, a steady exhale.

“I have work tomorrow night,” Crosshair said, lightly. 

Hunter had to concede that that was the most tactful refusal he could imagine coming from Crosshair. He needed his sleep. He couldn’t make it. Didn’t have to be there. Wouldn’t be there. Hunter found himself nodding even as a fresh knot tied itself in his stomach.

“Okay,” he said, just to say something. He shifted his weight. “Same time as usual?”

“Yeah,” Crosshair said, dragging the word out across gravel. 

“Okay,” Hunter said again. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, willing the short hairs to lay flat. The sigh escaped him before he could reign it in. 

“You should get some sleep, Sarge,” Crosshair said. “Big day tomorrow.” Hunter glanced at his profile, but he couldn’t read the firm line to his jaw, the ghostly shadow-on-shadows texture to his neck. He nodded, knew that Crosshair was watching in his periphery, and stood. He gathered up his discarded papers and turned to go. 

He paused in the doorway. “If you want to smoke,” he said over his shoulder, “I’d appreciate you going out to the curb.” 

“Don’t want Omega picking up my bad habits?” Crosshair drawled, and Hunter’s stomach dropped. He’d meant it as an offer of peace after cutting him offer earlier— it wasn’t that Hunter didn’t want him not to smoke (although that was true), he just didn’t want him smoking so close to the house. He opened his mouth to apologize or justify himself, only to come up short as Crosshair aimed a loose grin over his shoulder at him. “Should get your tattoo lasered,” Crosshair said, smirking, reaching up to cut through his eyebrow with his thumbnail. “Don’t want her following your bad example.” 

“Hey, come on,” Hunter said, feeling kind of giddy as he grinned back. “You’re just jealous I won the bet.” 

That made Crosshair scoff. “Long game, I come out on top.” He scratched at the black line at the bottom of his tattoo with his middle finger. “Less of an idiot.” 

“Visibly, at least,” Hunter returned. 

That made Crosshair chuckle just like Hunter knew it would. A burst of affection hit him, then, probably half a result of his own giddy anxiety, but it was still nice. Talking to him the night he called Ninety-nine had been strange and stiff. Here was the Crosshair Hunter knew; his little brother. Comrades in stupidity.

“Have fun staying up,” Hunter said. “Uh, actually, that reminds me… I wanted to ask you something.” Crosshair hummed a questioning noise, one eyebrow arching. “While you’ve been up at night, have you… heard anything?”

“Heard anything?” Crosshair echoed listlessly.

“Cut seems to think…” He didn’t finish the sentence, Crosshair’s disinterest cowing him slightly. He doubted Crosshair would have noticed anything. 

His silence went on a beat too long. Crosshair scoffed. “Cut? Think? That’ll be the day.” 

Hunter rolled his eyes and took the plunge. “Omega nodded off during one of her tests with him,” he said, making a gesture with one hand. “It might be a fluke, but I’m worried about her sleeping.” 

Crosshair’s eyes flickered unreadably. He turned and looked out over the street. “You’re up on the second floor,” he said, tone thin. “You’d hear anything before I did.” 

“Right,” Hunter said. “I figured.” He sighed, rubbing at his face. If he was lucky, his exhaustion would drag him into sleep quickly. “Anyways. Night, Cross.” 

“Night, Hunter.” 

Hunter went inside the house and tucked away his stack of papers where he wouldn’t forget them in the morning. Wrecker had gone upstairs to pass out, leaving a bit of a mess in the kitchen. Some food was still left for Crosshair, at least. Hunter stacked up the dishes in the sink and finally dragged himself upstairs.

He paused on the landing. He walked slowly up the back stairs to the attic landing and paused in front of Omega’s door. The line under the door was dark. The air was still and noiseless. He reached out and rested his hand on the doorknob, the metal cool under his palm. 

After one heartbeat, two, he snatched his hand back and pressed it to his forehead. The thought of barging in on Omega made his skin crawl, the way it often crawled when Nala Se would open a closed bedroom door. He always wondered, later on, why she hadn’t bothered to just get all the doors removed. No safe haven for any of them. Nowhere she didn’t have access. 

Rustling, from inside her room. The creak of a bedspring.

Forcibly exhaling, Hunter dragged himself back downstairs. One problem at a time. One mission then another. He got himself in his pajamas and into bed. Staring at the ceiling. Listening to Wrecker snore. He would be fine. They would all be fine.

Fast enough that it would have frightened him, sleep sucked him under, deep and dark and endless. 

Crosshair waited until the lights from the second floor went out, plunging the far reaches of the front lawn into velvety darkness. Then he waited a little while longer, drifting and feeling drunken exhaustion ebb and flow him back and forth. 

As much as he wanted to smoke, the very thought of the taste of a cigarette had his stomach churning and sloshing. What he needed was some food, some coffee, and at this point probably a decade of intensive therapy, so he went inside and got the coffee maker going.

Wrecker had generously left him some food. Bland and tasteless; perfect for Omega and his leering hangover. After chugging one cup of coffee and fixing another, he retired to the living room, ready to force himself to endure the slow shift from drunk to hungover before he could sleep the entire day through. 

Sleep the entire day through. While his brothers stood in the same room as their mother. Their mother. Crosshair buried his face in his hands, colors popping behind closed eyelids. 

The trick was not to think about it. The trick was not to think about it. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

For an hour he paced. Back and forth through the living room. Every inch of the house cool and dark and still. 

What kind of brother was he, to leave them all alone? What kind of brother was he, the only one still who would rather drown than have to see her again? Sometime in the past decade he’d slipped behind the pack and now he was chasing their dust. He wanted to call Ninety-nine. He wanted to get in his car and drive and never see any of them ever again. He wanted to go upstairs and tell Hunter about. About what he’d done. All of it. So many things. 

He forced himself to drink another cup of coffee and sat down on the couch. He took out his phone; it was almost dead but he could numb his brain with some stupid videos, see what other pathetic people were awake in the middle of the night, swiping left or right. 

A creak on the wood. Crosshair, heart in his mouth, lowered his phone and turned to look.

Omega stood in the doorway, wrapped in her quilt, carrying Lula. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

He swallowed. “You should be asleep,” he managed to croak out. He probably looked as awful as he sounded. Even if he did, Omega didn’t seem to mind. She came over and sat down on the couch. Too far away and somehow still too close. The back of Crosshair’s neck prickled. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Omega said, voice muted. She kept her eyes on the coffee table, nervously kneading Lula between her hands. 

He waited for her to elaborate. She did not. 

He watched her face. Her familiar little face. Hair mussed with sleep. The crease-marks of her pillow still pressed fresh into her cheek. Is this what he’d looked like, to Ninety-nine? What all of them looked like? 

It was difficult to swallow. Not enough moisture in his mouth to speak. Somehow, he managed it, low and gravelly. “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders. Sank back a little more into the couch cushions. “I don’t know,” she said. 

He couldn’t force himself to look away. “I think you do.”

Her eyes flashed, glancing at him, and then back away. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Ducked her head and buried her nose in the top of Lula’s head. That was how Wrecker used to sleep; burrowing his face into the plush, curled up around it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Ninety-nine had sewn that thing. With his own two hands. Crosshair’s hands were empty and slack, hanging open at his sides. Watching her. Trying to find the words.

In the end, he only found one. 

“Nightmare?” he asked. 

She went rigid, every inch, shoulders locking hard into place. Still not looking at him, she managed a nod. “It’s okay,” she said, then, quickly. “It’s… it’s okay.” 

“If it’s okay,” he replied, “then why can’t you sleep?” 

Her breath was shaky. Miles across the city, Nala Se was probably awake. She only slept a few hours each night. She was probably awake, and going over a stack of papers like Hunter’s. In her empty house. Did she have any idea, what she’d done to this kid? To all of them? 

Omega wouldn’t be in the courtroom the next day. Crosshair knew that much without having to be told; she was a child, after all. Not an agent of the custody fight. Just the goal. He wondered what she thought about it.

“It’s not,” she spoke up, before he could. “It’s not a scary nightmare. Not really. So it’s okay.” 

“Not a scary nightmare,” he repeated, and arched an eyebrow. 

“There’s no monsters in it. Or anything. I just keep… waking up and I think that I’m still…” 

Still. 

“Yeah,” Crosshair heard himself say.

She glanced at him again, frowning a little. “Yeah?” she queried.

His throat was tight. “Yeah,” he said, “I know that nightmare.”

She studied his face. He couldn’t take the scrutiny and glanced away, glaring at their foggy reflection in the television’s black screen. On one side: the blur of himself, twenty-three years old, pale hair and a defeated set to his shoulders. On the other: the blur of Omega, eleven years old, pale hair and a defeated set to her shoulders. Her, so clearly turned to look at him. Black curve of void between them.

“Hunter’s worried about you,” he said to their reflections. “He knows you’re not sleeping.” 

He felt through the couch as she jolted a little. “Did you—”

“No,” he cut her off. “I didn’t tell him. He just…” He couldn’t find a neat way to put it. “He just suspects.”

“Oh.” 

Silence for a minute. He took in and released a breath, then glanced at her. She was frowning at the coffee table again, brows furrowed. Thinking her way through something. 

He shifted his weight. “Why don’t you want to tell Hunter?” he asked. Another jolt: he’d guessed right. She squirmed a little. 

“I don’t want to bother him,” she mumbled, eyes downcast.

He made some kind of fucking noise. “So instead you come down here and bother me,” he said, aiming for teasing but landing someone else entirely.

Her shoulders hiked up. She glanced towards him, just barely, then stood off of the couch. “Sorry,” she muttered, and turned to go.

“No. Wait—” Flinging out his arm, he managed to secure a handhold on the trailing end of her quilt, pulling her up short. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, and his stomach tied itself up in knots. “I was just kidding,” he said. “It was a joke.” 

“How is that funny?” she whimpered, whimpered, and her eyes were big and shiny and her lip was trembling and— and Crosshair was going to be sick. “I don’t wanna b-bother you, either,” she whispered, voice so tiny and brittle. 

He could only sit there and stare at her. This kid. “You’re not bothering me,” he heard himself say, matching her pathetic little tone. He swallowed, all thickness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

She sniffed, blinking rapidly. He gave a little tug on the quilt, and she let herself get pulled back one step, two. Crosshair dropped his hold and she stood there, glaring glassy-eyed at the middle distance between them, unfocused. 

Feeling big and lanky and foolish, he got up and went into the kitchen to get her a glass of water. On his return, she was perched on the edge of the couch, rubbing at her eyes, and a stupid cascade of relief threatened to drown him. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the glass of water.

Blinking, she took it from him with two hands, taking small, careful sips. As the water disappeared, she seemed to relax, sinking a bit farther back into the cushions. Careful not to crowd her, Crosshair circled around and sat back in his original place. 

Silence smothered them for a minute.

“Sorry,” Omega croaked, setting down the empty glass.

He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.” 

She drew her knees up into her chest and held onto her ankles. “Maybe,” she said, voice tiny, “it would be better… if I just…” 

If she just. Crosshair’s mind careened into the silence at the end of her sentence. Completing the thought. Going downstairs in Ninety-nine’s house. Their mother’s glacial silence. The other end of the line. 

“No,” he heard himself say, voice raspy, “no, that wouldn’t be better.” 

She chewed on her lip and wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Omega,” he said, and hesitated. Only for a moment. Then he moved, sitting closer at her side, waiting until she glanced up at his face. He shook his head, so slowly. “That wouldn’t be better. You shouldn’t go back.” 

She sat there. Silent. It was far too easy to read her silence; it came echoing back up from somewhere deep in Crosshair’s chest. A depth he’d long tried to paint over.

“I’m not lying,” he heard himself say. Voice like it was traveling down a long hallway. “It’s the truth.” 

Her curling silence wasn’t a concession, but he let himself read it like one. He matched her, leaning back into the couch cushions. For a while, he let the silence burn. He should tell her to go upstairs. Go back to sleep. Go talk to Hunter. So many things. If he told her those things, he would have to hear himself say it. While he ought to go upstairs. Tell the truth. Get some sleep. Go talk to Hunter. Too many things.

He said none of those things.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked instead.

She nodded, so quickly and eagerly that it made his head spin. He got up and silently picked through the shelf of movies they kept downstairs. He had more, upstairs, still unpacked from the month he’d left. He didn’t know why he bothered; he had no means of watching them, living out of shitty weekly-paid motels and his car. It was the principle of the thing. Leave no footprints.

He came up with Spirited Away and held it up for her to see. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced between the DVD case and his face, brow furrowed. It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. She nodded, softly, and he nodded back, then loaded up the movie. 

They sat together in silence as the movie played, volume turned down damn near zero. He didn’t dare glance aside to look at Omega’s face, all of his energy focused on keeping himself still and quiet. Still and quiet. As the movie wound down towards the ending, Omega slowly stretched herself out, and by the time the credits were rolling, she was asleep on her side of the couch, Lula cradled in her chest. 

Feeling like he was in a dream, Crosshair listened to Omega’s soft, deep-sleep breathing. The gentle chimes of the credit music.

He could leave her down here, like he’d done the last time. Left her there, like a coward, high-tailing it as soon as he could, damn the consequences. He realized that she’d probably woken up alone and had to slink back up to her bedroom, otherwise someone would have noticed, would have said something.

Long day tomorrow. She needed the rest. They all did. 

Crosshair stood up off of the couch. Turned and looked at her. Still bundled up in her quilt. He stepped up, close, and reached for her shoulder, then froze and pulled it back. He ought to go upstairs and wake Hunter up. Anyone else. 

But she'd come down here. Down to talk to him.

He took in and released a steadying breath, then very carefully, very slowly, gathered Omega up, blanket and all, into his arms. 

Her weight was shockingly real. Warm against the chill in his veins. He was careful, maneuvering her, cradling her up against his chest, her head on his collarbone. 

If the rattling of his heart in his ribcage didn’t wake her up, nothing would. He walked slowly towards the stairs, mind floating somewhere outside of his body. Shifting Omega’s weight in his arms. Ninety-nine’s arms circling around his back.

He got up the stairs to her bedroom without thinking. The blankets on the bed were kicked around and tangled, like she’d wrenched herself awake. Heart in his throat, he gently lowered her to the cool mattress. She moved, and he froze, but she only curled more tightly around Lula, bundled in her quilt. 

Crosshair stood there, silent as the grave. Opening and closing his empty hands. Omega stirred, shifting a little, and he jumped like he was electrocuted. Turning tail, he fled back downstairs as fast as he could without making too much noise. 

He stood in the living room, the movie’s menu still flickering colorful light. Moving in fits and starts, he jabbed the off button, plunging the room into dimness as he paced. Fingers laced behind his head. 

The more they gave her, the more she had to lose. The more all of them had to lose. The thing with feathers. The way they were all raised. He paced, and he paced, and he paced, and he was surprised when the red, bloody warmth of dawn started to sneak grasping fingers in through the windows. 

Crosshair finally let himself sit down. He laid down. He stared at the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

Hunter rested his elbows on the wooden partition between their table and the gallery. Echo, Wrecker and Tech, all dressed in their best (Hunter and Wrecker wearing ties borrowed from Tech’s collection), were doing their best to distract him as the minutes ticked by. 

“Ya got this, Hunter,” Wrecker said. “Oh, and you, too, Obi-Wan.” 

“Thank you, Wrecker,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. At the very least, he looked perfectly at ease, but Hunter doubted he ever presented any other way. “Remember, you three are here for support. It is highly unlikely you’ll get called to testify today. Please try not to interrupt the proceedings unless it’s an emergency.” 

Cody, while he volunteered to be there, had ended up taking charge of Omega, watching her so Crosshair could get some sleep, and Omega wouldn’t have to spend the afternoon in the courthouse’s childcare area. So it was just Hunter, Obi-Wan, and the three of them. 

The three nodded back at Obi-Wan, faces triplet masks of serious intent. Hunter let that be a comfort. He reached up and tugged at his collar. Clicking his tongue in displeasure, Tech reached out and fixed the knot of his tie. 

The door opened. 

They all snapped into attention, watching as Nala Se and Lama Su entered. Both silent. Nala Se’s eyes passed blankly over their little group, then ignored them entirely as they set up at the other table. Besides their two camps, the only other living people in the room were two bailiffs, posted up on the intake and outtake doors for the judge’s chambers and the holding cells. 

Hunter’s throat was tight. Without needing to signal anything, no one spoke while Nala Se could hear. Echo reached out with his hand and gave Hunter’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. He tried to give Echo his most confident look over his shoulder, and judging my Echo’s small, amused grin, he failed. 

“All rise,” one bailiff spoke up, “for Judge Wollf Yularen.”

The same judge as their first meeting entered from the chamber door. This time, his robes were properly done up, only the collar of his shirt and the knot of his tie visible above black cloth. He carried a stack of folders and papers with him, and he mounted his podium with nods for them all. “Please,” he said, “be seated.” 

They all sat down, and reintroductions were hashed out. Another person entered from the admitting doors— Omega’s social worker, Shaak Ti. She took a spot up by the podium, where Hunter supposed a stenographer usually sat, or some other aide. Though they were all familiar with her, the judge introduced her anyways, specifically outlining her role. 

She was there as Omega’s child advocate—although Obi-Wan had told Hunter that she would be there in such a capacity, it still brought a breath of fresh relief into his system. He could try all he wanted to go against Nala Se, but while not strictly his ally, Shaak Ti would likewise be scrutinizing their mother on behalf of Omega’s best interests. 

A small voice tried to tell him that that same level of scrutiny might work against him , but he shoved it down, hard. 

Proceedings began. 

“We are here to hear the case of primary custody for Omega Se, age eleven. We have her biological mother, Nala Se, and her older brother, Hunter Fett.” He folded his hands over the top of his desk. “I presume, because I have not received filings to the contrary, that no other arbitration has been reached before this hearing?”

“No, your honor,” Obi-Wan and Lama Su said together. 

“My client will not settle for less than the reestablishment of her full parental rights, so arbitration would be unfruitful,” Lama Su added, oozing. 

“If your client were to lose her parental rights, she would be bound by court order to, as you say, ‘settle,’” Obi-Wan shot back, tone surprisingly light. 

The judge’s eyes flickered between them both. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I like to keep a tight courtroom. Let’s keep unsolicited comments at a minimum.” 

Two muted agreements settled the issue. 

“Now,” Judge Yularen said, a verbal clearing of the air, “I understand that the girl’s biological father is not in the picture?” 

Nala Se nodded. “Jango Fett signed away his parental rights before she was born.” 

A not inconsiderable amount of acid moved through Hunter’s veins. Their fucking father. Tech had floated the idea of trying to track him down and wring some answers out of him, but Obi-Wan’s inquiries hadn’t turned up anything except for a brief prison stint sometime when they were in middle school. Parole completed. No trail. 

Hunter had considered (again, thanks to Tech’s musings) whether Jango was even aware of Omega’s existence— his name was on Omega’s birth certificate, but the courts hadn’t been interested in trying to find him when Hunter was right there and willing to take Omega on. 

“Before she was born,” the judge echoed, making a note. His eyes flashed up towards Hunter. “How long was your relationship with this Jango, Dr. Se?” 

“There was no relationship,” Nala Se said, clipped. 

Hunter didn’t blame the judge’s momentary look of confusion. Hunter and the rest of them were Omega’s full-blooded brothers, same father and mother. Over a decade of separation between the births. No love lost. “What was the nature of your relationship with him, then, Dr. Se?” 

“I met Jango Fett when I was working as a lab technician at Tipoca Bio-Pharmaceuticals. He was a paid participant in a blind trial for performance enhancing supplements. When the trial was finished, we remained in touch. I offered to pay him for… samples ,” she said, tactfully, “so that I could have children of my own. We agreed that he would have no part in raising the resulting children, no legal claim. My lawyer has the entire contract.” 

“You… retained these samples after the birth of your sons?”

“Yes.” 

Behind him, Hunter heard Wrecker make a grossed-out sound, muffled. 

“Your honor,” Obi-Wan spoke up. “May I ask Dr. Se a question?”

“If it is tactful, counselor, you may.”

Lama Su jumped up. “My client is under no obligation to answer inquiries not officially—”

“This court is aware, counselor. Mr. Kenobi, what is the nature of your question?”

“Through discovery, we did find the contract between Mr. Fett and Dr. Se,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing with the clump of papers. “As she stated, it predates Omega’s birth by over a decade. My client and his family have testified that they met Mr. Fett on several occasions once they were out of their mother’s care, and he had been aware of their births and indicated no knowledge of any plans for more children. My question is whether or not Mr. Fett is even aware that since then he has fathered another child.” 

Lama Su leaned close to Nala Se and muttered in her ear. They separated. “I have had no contact of any kind with Jango Fett since the signing of that contract.” 

Well. Point one for Jango. Echo muttered something under his breath. 

“I fail to see what relevance this provides for this case,” Lama Su spoke up. He spread his hands, palms up. “Here, I thought we were in an enlightened age. Millions of families in this country are headed by single mothers. Just because there is no father in the picture does not make Dr. Se any less capable of caring for her daughter by herself. In fact,” Lama Su oozed, “I wonder whether Mr. Kenobi will be attempting to use outdated, backwards societal views to wrench Omega away from her mother.”

“I am not,” Obi-Wan answered, tone clipped. He turned to the judge. “I raise this point to indicate that Dr. Se’s history of obfuscation and deception should show her unsuitability to remain Omega’s primary caregiver.” 

“Obfuscation!” Lama Su scoffed mockingly. “Deception! Counselor, please, have some respect for the decorum of this court. My client wished to have children as a single woman, and single she has remained. Jango Fett signed away parental rights in full understanding of what that entailed. Why, should she have harassed him against his wishes, for what? To let him know that he has another child he has no intention to raise?” 

The judge tapped the gavel, cutting Obi-Wan’s rebuttal off before he could get a word out. 

“We,” the judge stressed, “have established that there is no father in the picture. For our purposes, let’s consider this vein of inquiry closed.” 

“Yes, your honor,” Obi-Wan said. Lama Su leered in triumph. 

“Dr. Se, besides Omega’s father, what other familial support network do you have?” 

“I have colleagues and collaborators in my work, but no other close family.” 

“Again,” Lama Su leapt in, “not necessary to properly raise a child. What does this channel of inquiry serve?”

“It serves me to have a picture of what Omega’s life would look like, either way,” the judge said. “You will refrain from interrupting me further without due cause, Mr. Su.”

“Of course, your honor.” 

The rest of the meeting went in much the same manner. The judge asked questions, less about Omega’s life with Nala Se and more about their proposed parenting plans. Calling what Hunter was doing parenting made him start to sweat under his dress shirt, clammy on the back of his neck. Lama Su did his best to politely interrupt, with statistics and pivots away from anything that might make Nala Se look like anything less than perfect. During it all, she sat, still and silent. Obi-Wan did a hell of a job hitting back Lama Su's jabs at every turn. Hunter deliriously realized that they really ought to be paying him double what they were. 

The judge seemed a little awed by the sheer size of the Fett clan, as reported by Obi-Wan. Hunter wasn’t the type to preen over military honors (between not only him and his brothers, but the rest of the immediate cousins), but there was something especially pleasant about watching Lama Su grind his teeth in frustration as Obi-Wan outlined their prestige. 

The time passed in fits and starts, at the same time too fast and too slow. 

Shaak Ti passed the judge a note. He read it, silently, nodding, and then stowed it away. 

“Well, everyone, I have heard a lot this afternoon,” he said. “As you both express no desire to share custody in any way, we want to be as thorough as possible in investigating the manner of your households and Omega’s own desires.” 

Hunter felt a thrill of relief wash through him, only for it to curdle as Lama Su stood up.

“Your honor,” he started.

“Counselor,” Judge Yularen acknowledged him, warningly. 

Lama Su folded his hands together. “My client does what she believes is best for her daughter’s health and wellbeing. We do not hesitate to call it a relatively sheltered existence.”

Tech muttered relatively under his breath, disdain in every syllable. 

“Children can be so fickle,” Lama Su continued. “Children, of course, desire treats and toys and other indulgent things. They rarely know how to balance between what they want and what is good for them.” 

The implication wasn’t lost on Hunter. That he and the others were spoiling her against her mother, like they were luring her or—

Obi-Wan’s hand closed down on his forearm. Squeezing. Hunter forced a breath out and slowly unfolding his clenched fingers, palm stinging from where his nails had dug in. 

Lama Su opened his mouth to continue, but Shaak Ti spoke up. “If I may,” she said, and checked for a nod from the judge before continuing, “in this state, children’s rights are respected in family court. I am here to have an unbiased perspective on what is best for Omega’s wellbeing.”

“Of course,” Lama Su said. He glanced at Hunter, smile curving just so. Hunter glared. 

“We are adjourned for the day,” Judge Yularen declared. “This court will meet again on Friday to hear secondary reports, all witnesses must be filed in advance. Thank you.” He brought the gavel down with a loud crack, and a spell broke. Rustling and other short noises, the creaking of wood, all assaulted Hunter’s senses at once. He leaned back, suddenly exhausted. 

Echo and Obi-Wan spoke as Obi-Wan packed up his notes and papers. Tech and Wrecker were shooting back and forth, Tech trying to soothe Wrecker’s mounting ire at the runaround of the whole situation. Hunter left them to it, hanging back a little as they streamed out of the courtroom, Nala Se and Lama Su left behind them. 

The courthouse was awash with noise. Opening and closing doors. Shoes on tile. People talking on phones or two each other. Hunter winced. Hopefully they were headed home soon, because he wanted nothing more than to hug Omega and swallow a painkiller. A rude cluster of men in suits cut between Hunter and the rest of the party. He waited, glaring, wincing, when he suddenly felt the field-awareness touch of eyes. Watching him. The back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder, falling back to a slower stroll, and was pinned by his mother’s cool, pale gaze. Far closer than he expected. 

“Hunter,” she greeted him. He’d almost forgotten what it sounded like when she said his name; it was the first time he’d heard her say it in over ten years. “I would like to speak with you,” she said. Then, in the same tone: “Privately.” 

His mouth was dry as cotton. A quick glance over her head confirmed that her lawyer was nowhere to be seen. A glance back over his own and he could see Obi-Wan holding out some papers, talking over them with Wrecker and Tech. 

He turned back. “Make it quick,” he growled. 

Nala Se’s eyes flashed, minutely, but she nevertheless led him around a corner to a meeting room, the door standing open. He had no idea of they were allowed free use of the courthouse’s facilities, but he didn’t say anything as he watched his mother close the door behind her. 

“What’s this about?” he demanded. 

“I want to speak with you,” she repeated. Movements so slow and deliberate, she smoothed one hand along the impeccable line of her hair. 

“Where’s your lawyer,” he spat.

“I don’t think we need him here,” she said. Unreadable for a beat of silence. “Do we?” 

Grinding his teeth, Hunter conceded the point.

“You have proven your spine quite admirably,” Nala Se said, moving around the room, tone clipped. “But it is time to stop serving your own goals and start thinking about Omega’s best interest.”

“Her best interest—”

“You claim that you care for her,” Nala Se cut him off, voice dangerously even. “I will not question you on that. Your intentions are beyond my perception. Taking you at your word, then, stop this sham. Omega belongs with me.” 

“Omega belongs as far away from you as possible!” he shot back. 

“She is my daughter,” Nala Se returned, with a conviction that surprised Hunter. Just beneath her impassive mask, something was roiling, rising up to a froth. “I am her mother. I am the only family she has ever known—”

“We are her family!” Hunter jabbed his hand towards his own chest, right over his heart. “Tech, Wrecker, Echo, Ninety-nine, we are her—”

“You’re strangers. You know nothing about her.”

Crosshair. Standing on the porch. The memory of smoke filled Hunter’s lungs, and something in him snapped. 

“And what do you know?!” he thundered. Pacing mindlessly towards her, she refused to flinch or move backwards, landing him so close that he could smell her perfume, clean and icy, see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes that hadn’t been there when he was a kid, peering up at her face. Peering up at her. Vertigo hit him.

They were the same height. 

The words just kept coming. “What the hell could you possibly know about Omega, all you care about are numbers and measurements and experiments —”

“How dare you!” she exploded. He managed not to flinch. Her eyes were fiery— like Crosshair’s sometimes were, like Tech on the warpath. The resemblance made Hunter sick. His jaw clicked shut. “I love my daughter!”

“The way you loved us?!” Hunter demanded. Nala Se sealed her lips together. “You gave us up, like we were nothing, after a decade of treating us like nothing!” 

“You wanted to leave,” Nala Se said, primly. “You made that very clear.” 

“And what about Omega?” he shot back. “Have you asked her what she wants?” 

Nala Se stared at him. Face impenetrable. “Omega’s path is different.” 

Hunter felt dizzy, unmoored from his body; he could feel his head, shaking, the brush of his hair against the back of his neck, but he wasn’t aware of the mechanics of shaking his head, the muscle groups stressing and uncoiling. “You’re fucking delusional,” he breathed.

Nala Se’s nostrils flared. “Please,” she said, tone stern, “do not insult me. I have been civil, and I will continue to be civil.” 

Civil. Yes, give her that much, for all her abuse— the deprived meals, the endurance tests, the long nights left alone and whimpering in the dark of the isolation tank, head trailing waterproof nodes, the self-doubt and the palpable disappointment— she had never stooped so low as to verbalize how they all felt she thought about them. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d ever raised her voice at them. A full hand, now— fingers curling into a fist. 

“I want to negotiate with you,” Nala Se continued. “If you will not speak civilly to me, then I will leave.” 

Hunter rocked back onto his heels. “Negotiate?” he echoed, voice raw. 

Smartly, she nodded. Her hands came up, steady as stone, and adjusted the neck of her blouse. Moving so smoothly, she backed up, away from Hunter’s harrowing bulk, and strolled back to her seat, lowering her body down like it was a throne. Hunter stood and stared at her.

Nala Se spread her hands out, palms up. “I recognize the unusual nature of my parenting strategy,” she stated. “I intend to cooperate fully with the court-mandated monitoring and education proposed by CPS as grounds for Omega’s return to her home. Omega has been safe with me. She will continue to be safe with me.” 

Hunter stood and stared. 

“You won,” Nala Se said, rolling her shoulders lightly. “I fold; I rearrange. You have intervened in her life, and her life will be changed.” 

Hunter couldn’t swallow. 

“Think about Omega’s future,” Nala Se continued. “What kind of life can you give her? Run-down houses, public schools? Have you thought about what you will need to say to her when she wants something and you cannot provide it? The things she deserves?”

Hunter opened his mouth to bark that that would never happen, but Nala Se cut him off, all cool, rounded corners. “With me, she could go on to do such amazing things. Private schools, higher education— think. She could change the course of the world with her mind.” 

His answer was immediate. “Fuck the rest of the world! She’s my sister.”

“And she is my daughter,” Nala Se insisted, retaining her calm. “That means I want what is best for her.” Her pale, iron-slate eyes bored twin holes through Hunter’s skull, right where the grey matter was bunching and knotting, threatening to pull him under. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, but even as he said it, he could see satisfaction blooming on Nala Se’s features—exactly the answer she had wanted. Their agreement threatened to pull him under. 

“Think logically,” she said. “If you object to my methods— they will change. What remains for you to base your intercessions on?” 

“This isn’t— you aren’t—” So many things. Hunter managed to gather enough moisture in his mouth to swallow. His vision was fuzzy at the edges. “Omega doesn’t just need a place to study or sleep. She needs a family. She needs—” Saying affection out loud made it sound childish, effusive. As truthful as it was, suddenly he couldn’t find the voice to say it. He’d learned quickly as a child that calling out wouldn’t make his mother come back down the hallway and let him out of the sensory deprivation tank. All he could do was lay there, floating in black silence, and try to sleep. Affection was never the necessity it truly was.

Nala Se’s eyebrows arched, lightly. “She needs security,” she said. “Protection. I have kept her safe, and I will keep her safe.” 

He could only scoff, shaking his head. Trying to use security and safety as an excuse to him, head of a house of some of the most highly decorated spec op squads in the military—

As if she could read his mind (cold dread slithered through his core as he recognized that), she continued, intoning oh so carefully, “PTSD is a very difficult mental illness to manage.” 

The implication in that short sentence made his blood boil. “If you think I would lay a single finger on Omega—” 

“Who’s to say what will or will not happen in the future,” she said. “We can only speculate.” 

In the back of his traitorous mind, Hunter started to do just that. 

He shook his head, but the thoughts wouldn’t leave. 

“All you need to do,” Nala Se’s voice slithered in amongst his grey matter, “is tell the judge you renounce your custody. This can all be over.” 

A moment of— hesitation? Stillness, and then movement, as Nala Se took one step forward, two. She lifted her hand, and made to place it on Hunter’s arm. 

He did flinch, then. 

Nala Se lowered her hand. “There is no shame in conceding,” she said, unruffled. Hunter’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. “For what it’s worth,” Nala Se said, and he took one step backwards. Two. His mother, falling further away in his vision. “From what you’ve shown me so far, you’ve earned my respect.”

Hunter could feel his heartbeat in the roof of his mouth. 

His back hit the door. She watched him. So calm. So perfect. 

“Fuck your respect,” Hunter heard his voice like it was echoing down a long hallway. The hallway in Nala Se’s house. So long and empty and pristine. A throat, swallowing. Swallowing all of them up. “You’ll take Omega back over my dead body.”

If she had any response to that, he didn’t hear it. He turned, shoved his way out of the room, and hit the courthouse hallway, blinded by sound and smell and light and sensation. Doubt, sick and twisted, flooded his system, filling from his belly up to neck-height.

Hunter tried to calm his racing mind; he could feel a pressure building up just behind his eyes, threatening to crack. Breathing in shallow gulps, he pushed his way through the light stream of people, half-blind. He couldn’t get a migraine here, he couldn’t— his mother’s voice— the sick, backwards pride that’d crept like a spider up his spine at her words—he clung to the memory of Obi-Wan’s office, the bottle of green tea, the green post-it note in his wastebasket— he couldn’t— he wouldn’t— 

Hunter pushed into a men’s restroom, collided with a sink, and threw up. 

Cold sweat blanketed him from the back of his neck to the backs of his knees, clammy and awful; his fingertips buzzed as the blood rushed up to his head, eyes swimming as the automatic sink gurgled on and washed his sick away. 

He splashed some water on his face, but it didn’t clear the fevered churning of his mind. Hands shaking. Legs trembling. Hunter stumbled towards a tiled wall and leaned against it, eyes closed, and then when it became too much, he slid down until he was sitting against the floor. 

He had to— he needed— they were waiting— Omega—

His fingers fumbled his phone, almost losing it on the tile before he caught it. Dialing the number was thoughtless. Mindless. All instinct. The phone was blessedly cool against his cheek. 

The line rang once, twice. 

“Hunter!” Ninety-nine’s voice was warm as always. “What’re you—”

“Ninety-nine,” Hunter heard himself gasp, and a strangled, choked noise fought its way out of his throat before he could clench his teeth. He had to breathe. He had to breathe. The pressure in his head was building and he should be breathing—

“Hunter,” Ninety-nine’s voice cut through the haze. Distantly, Hunter recognized that Ninety-nine had said it a few times already, growing in concern and pitch. “Son, listen to me, I need you to take a deep breath for me. In.”

The breath he sucked in was shallow, and it hurt. 

“Good, now breathe out— slowly, Hunter, okay, slowly.”  

The breath he pushed out of his lungs was horrendously shaky. 

“Good. Good. Now breathe in again, okay, with me.” 

Over the phone, he could hear Ninety-nine breathing in and out in the four-count cadence that Echo and the guys over at the shelter taught to other vets. Hunched in on himself, Hunter followed along, choking on the exhale here and there as it came out damp. 

When Ninety-nine decided that he’d calmed down enough, he spoke up, voice comfortingly close in Hunter’s ear. “Hunter, where are you?” 

“‘m at the— at the courthouse.” Shit, he had to get himself together. Obi-Wan was probably looking for him. He took in and released another breath. 

“Are you alone? Is anyone there with you?”

He knew that Ninety-nine didn’t mean in the room. “Yeah. Yeah— our lawyer, and Echo’n Tech’n Wrecker.” 

Pathetically, he wished Crosshair was there, too. Crosshair always knew how to snap him out of it. 

“I’m, um,” his head started to clear, “I’m good. I’m okay.”

“Good. Good, kid.” Some rustling on the line. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I. I met with. With Nala Se.” His hands were shaking, but prickling as the blood started to flow back into place. “Ninety-nine,” he said, voice faint, “tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

The answer was immediate. Like a small part of Hunter knew it would be. “Of course you are, Hunter. You’re doing the right thing. Omega needs you.” 

It cleared through the bulk of the panic in a soothing sweep; like a palm drawn across a window, foggy with condensation. Omega needed him. Omega needed him. For what felt like the first time since Nala Se said his name, Hunter exhaled, deeply.

“Ninety-nine,” he spoke up suddenly, swallowing thickly, “can— can you—” 

He couldn’t make himself finish the sentence, mind overloaded. Ninety-nine’s limited mobility, the distance, the packed house, Nala Se, the courts, Omega. It all wound itself around his grey matter like a tourniquet and tightened. 

“It’s okay, Hunter,” Ninety-nine said, so surely and so gently, cutting through it all. “I’ll be there. You’ve got nothing to worry about, kid, okay, I’ll be down there as soon as I can.” 

Chapter Text

Ninety-nine, as always, was true to his word. 

Bright and early the next morning, Wolffe’s van pulled up against the curb; Ninety-nine had apparently called him as soon as Hunter had hung up the phone the day before, asking if he might come up to Kamino and bring him down to Ord Mantell, if it wasn’t any trouble, of course. Although Hunter hadn’t been there to see it, the bare knowledge that Wolffe had immediately stopped whatever he was doing and drove for hours to fetch the old man made his head spin. 

The van shifted into park and the passenger door opened. Hunter was already there, helping Ninety-nine out and onto his feet, while Wolffe came around the back of the car and pulled out Ninety-nine’s walker. A bare wince passed over his face as he straightened his bent knees out to stand on the sidewalk. 

That wince disappeared in a flash as Ninety-nine smiled up at Hunter. He sighed a little, lifting his arms, and Hunter melted down into an embrace without needing to be pulled. 

“Ah, Hunt,” Ninety-nine mumbled, patting Hunter’s back. He was careful not to squeeze back too hard; under his hands, he could feel the bony protuberance of Ninety-nine’s spine. He smelled like Kamino, like home, the spice of cedar bark and Ninety-nine’s favorite peppery handsoap. 

The sudden weakness that drenched Hunter’s body surprised him. He bit down to try and get some iron back in his spine, but Ninety-nine, in that special way of his, took it in stride. 

“There,” he murmured, squeezing Hunter a little tighter, “there, son, you’re alright.” 

Hunter breathed out a shaky laugh. “Yeah,” he managed to mutter. Ninety-nine clapped him on the back and released him. Hunter leaned back, a bit reluctantly, and Ninety-nine just shot him one of those indulgent just-between-us smiles that he always had at the ready. Hunter tried his damn best to return it. 

“Hope the drive wasn’t too bad,” he said, half directed at Wolffe, who was sporting a good going-on-fourty-eight-hours shade of stubble on his jaw. 

“Barely any traffic,” Wolffe grunted. As close to a positive as he was going to get.

“Thought about stopping by Cut’s to say hello,” Ninety-nine said, and secured a hold on his walker, “but Wolffe says he’s going to be at court, too.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter confirmed. “He’s gonna be one of our witnesses.” 

Hunter started to lead the way up the front walk— almost none of them ever used it, as it trailed the long way along the side of the yard and then cut up to the porch— but Ninety-nine stopped and craned his head up. Hunter turned back, a thrill of happiness invading as he took in the old man’s glittering eyes, looking up at the house. Their house. He’d never seen it in person.

“Pictures don’t do it justice, Hunter,” he said, shaking his head. “It looks fantastic!” 

A flush threatened to creep over Hunter’s face. He shrugged. “Wrecker did the heavy lifting. And Tech and Echo helped, too.” Without them handling the paperwork, at least, none of the exterior work they’d done on the house would be up to code. 

“You boys did an amazing job,” Ninety-nine insisted, shaking his head with a fond twinkle in his eye.

“Careful, old man,” Wolffe spoke up. “Hunter’s head’s gonna get too big for his hair.” 

Ninety-nine got moving again, stiff-legged up the path. “Don’t get me started, Wolffe,” he said over his shoulder. “Plenty I could say about you, too! Just wait till you show me this catering business of yours.” 

“Not my business,” Wolffe tried to deflect, but he only managed to wrangle his pleased smile into a tight, sharp grin. 

Wolffe had never lived with them or Ninety-nine like Cody and Rex, but the kindness he’d shown Wolffe’s brother and cousin in their time of need, taking them in and caring for them, had a profound impact on him, and his respect was evident in the tender way he put his hand on Ninety-nine’s back, helping him up the short porch steps. 

Echo slipped out onto the porch. With a watery grin, Ninety-nine nudged his walker aside, and reached up with two well-worn hands, framing Echo’s face. He smiled down at his father with a matching look of bittersweet affection. It was hard for Echo, Hunter knew, having lost his identical twin and being reminded with every odd glance in the mirror. Ninety-nine had lost Fives, too. Looking at one son would always remind him of the one he’d never see again, this side of the grave, at least. 

“Hey, Dad,” Echo said softly. 

“Hey, kid,” Ninety-nine replied in the same tone. “C’mere.” Echo obediently bent down so Ninety-nine could lay a paternalistic kiss on his forehead before pulling him into a hug.

Looking aside to give them a bit of privacy, Hunter spotted Omega, half-hiding in the shadow of the doorway, Wrecker right behind her with a steadying hand on her shoulder. She looked nervous, wan and big-eyed. Watching Echo and Ninety-nine. 

Instead of her old dull-toned clothes, she was wearing a long-sleeved top Tech had bought her. On one hand, seeing her in clothes a kid her age would actually wear was forcefully good , satisfying to see. On the other hand, the bold color, a deep purple, washed her out, made her look all the more sun-deprived and anemic. Her hunted, pressed look made his stomach knot in sympathy.

Echo and Ninety-nine parted. Ninety-nine froze, pulling back, as he spotted Omega; she likewise fell very, very still, leaning back against Wrecker’s bulk. 

“Now, who’s this?” Ninety-nine said, in a tone that said he already knew. So damn soft. Hunter swallowed, throat tight. The old man moved past Echo, and Wrecker nudged Omega forward, out onto the porch. 

“You must be Omega,” Ninety-nine said then, all warm softness, and Hunter felt a matching feeling of warmth come bubbling up in his chest. “I’m Ninety-nine.” 

“Hello,” Omega said, peering curiously up into his face. 

Ninety-nine shook his head in wonder, smiling all the while. “Force, but you look like your brothers.”

That made a pleased, blotchy blush come roaring up in her cheeks. “Echo said the same thing,” she said, looking away and grinning. 

“Well, he was right,” Ninety-nine breezed. “Always is.” He winked up at Echo. 

“Hear that, Hunter?” Echo grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

They all ambled inside, and Wrecker gave Ninety-nine a quick tour of the bottom floor of the house. Omega was standing on the bottom of the stairs when they circled back around to the central hallway. Her excitement was evident in the bouncy way she stood, toes hanging off the edge of the step. 

“D’you want to see my room?” she asked Ninety-nine, eyes twinkling. “Wrecker decorated it for me!” 

Hunter winced, but Ninety-nine beat him to any kind of excuse. 

“Lot of stairs between me and that room, Omega,” he said, gently, like it was a joke, just between them. “Rain check, alright?” 

“Right,” Omega said, quickly, “of course.” She bit her lip, glancing aside and squirming. 

Ninety-nine’s face softened and he limped up to her. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand, “I want you to sit next to me at lunch. Got a lot of stories you oughta know about your big brothers.” 

She brightened right back up, grabbing his hand and hopping down off the steps. She walked slowly next to Ninety-nine as he got himself into the kitchen. Hunter, hanging back, exchanged a silent look with Wrecker. The big man did his best to give Hunter a supportive smile, clapping him on the back with one broad hand hard enough to have him stumbling.

The day, hell, the week passed by in a pleasant blur. Omega was still in classes over at Cut’s; Ninety-nine accompanied her one day, Wolffe playing chauffeur, to get his hours in with Cut and Suu, listening intently as she toured him through her magnificent gardens. The rest of the mornings and afternoons were spent in Ninety-nine’s company, at Cody’s house or their own, luxuriating in the closeness of the nearest thing any of them had to a father. 

Omega was always at Ninety-nine’s side, rapt on his words with such clear adoration that it made Hunter’s head spin. Ninety-nine wasn’t unaffected by her attention, either; Hunter sat with him out on the porch one night after dinner, Echo on his other side, and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek as the old man just shook his head, rubbing at his face with one hand. 

“S-sorry,” Ninety-nine managed to say, voice misty as he choked back tears.

“Don’t apologize, Dad,” Echo said, rubbing his one hand on his bowed back. His own voice was rough, jaw clenched tight against his own sympathetic tears. “You don’t gotta apologize to us.”

Ninety-nine sniffed. “Don’t like letting you boys see me cry,” he huffed, knuckling at his eyes. That had been true in their childhood, as well— the first time Hunter had ever seen the old man let tears fall freely was when he was handed the folded flag at Fives’s funeral, hands clutching it hard to his chest, white-knuckled. 

Blowing out a cleansing breath, Ninety-nine dropped his hand and stared at the bare wood of the porch. He shook his head and blindly patted around until he found Hunter’s hand, giving it a hard, shaking squeeze. 

“I’m sorry, Hunt,” he sighed, still not looking at him. “Th-the thought of Omega, all alone with your mother… What I w-wouldn’t give to go back in time… do things differently.” Leave it to Ninety-nine to blame himself for not somehow intuiting Nala Se’s replacement plan.

“Ninety-nine,” Hunter spoke up. His throat was noose-tight, and he barely managed to squeeze his fingers, hand shaking. “You didn’t know,” he said, echoing what Omega had said to him, the evening out on the back porch. “None of us did.” 

Echo nodded his support, eyeing Hunter with approval over Ninety-nine’s hunched form.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Ninety-nine said, tone wistful. He shook his head again, and dropped Hunter’s hand, clusmily patting it. “Ah,” he sighed. “There I go. The emotional old man. How you two put up with me, I have no idea.” 

The two of them cascaded over each other in trying to refute him, only for Ninety-nine to laugh, waving his hands, sandwiched between their affection on the porch bench. “Alright, alright!” he laughed. “Message received.”

The rest of the week unfurled. Hunter did a few odd jobs for Cid at the apartment complex; really easy fixes, replacing some blown fuses, taking a door off the hinges then reinstalling it at a better hang. For dinners, most nights they all congregated at their house, the same bland hospital food as they had been eating. Ninety-nine, plus Wolffe and Rex and Cody, when they tagged along, said nothing about it, chewing in dutiful silence. 

Crosshair didn’t show.

He worked, most nights, slinking in late in the morning with excuses, passing out upstairs without much to say. Hunter missed him, a desperate, clinging feeling that refused to vacate. He knew Crosshair was probably having a hard time, but it rankled that he didn’t try and spend more time with Ninety-nine during what few daylight hours he was awake. 

The tension finally returned when their next court date arose. 

Witness day. Cut canceled classes and drove down with Suu and the kids; Omega went with them for the day, giving Hunter one final squeezing hug on the porch before bounding off. Without her arms around his middle, Hunter felt frazzled, frayed at the edges. He waved Suu’s eco-friendly car goodbye. 

Ninety-nine touched his elbow. 

“You ready to go, kid?” he asked. 

Hunter forced out a breath. “As ready as I can be,” he answered truthfully— that is, not very ready at all.

They made it to the courthouse early, in a mix of different cars. Cody and Rex were there, as well, possible witnesses but again, perhaps they wouldn’t be needed. Tech and Wrecker had taken another day off of work, though Obi-Wan assured them that they wouldn’t be needed unless the judge had questions about their victim impact statements they’d written up for the first hearing, what felt like lifetimes ago. 

“This sucks,” Wrecker muttered under his breath, chin jutted out as Tech fixed his tie in the atrium. “‘s too tight, Tech.”

“It’s supposed to be this tight,” Tech shot back.

“Shoulda got a clip one.” 

“As expected, they don’t make clip on ties in Wrecker sizes,” Tech scoffed. He finished up and nodded. “Don’t mess with it.”

Wrecker, immediately messing with it, ignored him. “It’s all th’ state’s fault,” Wrecker continued, rambling to no one. Hunter recognized that it was mainly from nerves. Better he get it all out now instead of in the hearing room. “If it weren’t for th’ parent-rights bullshit Omega would be ours already.” 

Something flickered on Obi-Wan’s face. “Not to be the devil’s advocate,” he said, tone even, “but such laws and protections also kept my brother’s biological father from taking him from my stepmother. Unfortunately, the law that protects the innocent may sometimes be used by the guilty.” 

Cowed, Wrecker ducked his head and mumbled an apology. 

Obi-Wan winced and rested one hand on Wrecker’s forearm. “No apology necessary,” he said. “If anything, I apologize. I’m letting my personal experiences intrude on your feelings.” 

Hunter’s respect for their lawyer just swelled ever higher. Wrecker showed his forgiveness by pulling Obi-Wan into a one-armed hug, the man going red in the face as Wrecker’s bicep clamped his airway shut.

Cut arrived, dressed in his best, hair combed back out of his face. Together, with Ninety-nine leaning on Wrecker’s elbow, they filed into the courtroom. Hunter felt a little unmoored as he stepped ahead of the short barrier and took his place at the table with Obi-Wan. He spared a backwards glance, and the sheer amount of bodies filling chairs on his side of the courtroom had something dangerously close to hope come welling up in his chest.

Nala Se and Lama Su entered. Alone. They walked past the Fett clan without a sideways glance. They set up at their table, the room dead silent.

Hunter watched his mother’s profile. Bile threatened to rise up his throat, but then a soft touch to his shoulder had him turning. 

Ninety-nine. He locked eyes with Hunter, squeezed his hand, and nodded. So much in such a small gesture. Hunter nodded back, reaching up with one hand to touch at Ninety-nine’s worn old fingers. He could do this. He had to do this. 

The judge, Shaak Ti, and the bailiffs all arrived and took their places. Judge Yularen read the summary report of the previous meeting, asked once more for confirmation that outside arbitration had not been reached, then called them into session. 

“For today, gentlemen, we want to establish some secondary witnesses to your claims. I have my list of witnesses here. Is there… any last minute additions to the roster I should consider?”

This said with a lingering look to where Nala Se and Lama Su stood alone in front of a dozen empty chairs. 

“No, your honor,” Lama Se intoned. “You may proceed.” 

“Indeed.” The judge made a note. “You will not come forward unless called by me, and you will swear in with the bailiff— to lie or obscure the truth in this courtroom will result in a charge of perjury…” 

The rules set up, the judge called up the first witness. Nala Se, technically, had initiated proceedings to reclaim her parental rights, so it was their first pick for witnesses. Lama Se demurred. 

“Your client does not wish to address the court?” Judge Yularen enquired.

“My client has written a parental impact statement, but beyond that, declines.” 

“In that case… for the defense, send in your first witness.” 

Cut mounted the witness stand and was sworn in. 

“Please state your name for the record, and your relationship with Mr. Fett.” 

Cut, and all of Hunter’s side of the courtroom, stared at him.

“Ah,” Judge Yularen said, after a beat of silence. “Right. Your relationship to Mr. Hunter Fett, please.” 

“My name is Cut Lawquane, and I’m a… second cousin? To Hunter and his brothers.” 

Obi-Wan walked Cut through a basic outline of his experience with Hunter and the rest, their first jobs with him, his understanding of their work ethic, familial ties, and his own firsthand account of how happy and well-cared for Omega was in their household. 

Hunter noticed that Shaak Ti was taking copious notes. 

For evidence, Omega’s tests were presented to the court. Obi-Wan guided Cut to start discussing the disparity between the scores, but Lama Su stood up from his table.

“Objection, your honor!”

“Grounds, counselor?”

“The witness is beginning to encroach on accusations that, I must repeat, my client has been cleared of in a court of law.” 

Obi-Wan gave him an unamused look. “I am unaware that I was making accusations of abuse, counselor. Please, to ensure I don’t give you more grounds to object, can you please tell me where I misspoke?” 

“I object to your tone!” 

Judge Yularen banged his gavel. The once casual man seemed to be getting more and more tired of the entire case. Whether that was in Hunter’s favor or not he didn’t dare guess. 

“Mr. Kenobi,” Judge Yularen said, “do you have any more questions for your witness?”

Obi-Wan hedged for a second, considering, before shaking his head. 

“Then he’s all yours, Mr. Su.” 

The ice-pick thin lawyer glided forward to take Obi-Wan’s place. He steepled his hands together and studied Cut, looking as unimpressed as ever at what he saw. 

“You said you were Mr. Fett’s second cousin,” he began, “but you sounded unsure. Which is it?”

“Hunter’s paternal grandfather is my great-uncle. However that shakes out cousin-wise is what I am.” 

“A distant relation,” Lama Su said. 

“A good friend,” Cut replied sharply. 

“Gentlemen,” Judge Yularen said, stern. “If I wanted to preside over volleys I would have become a tennis referee. Relevant questions and answers only.” 

They both voiced their agreement, and Lama Su paced to one side. “As a close friend, I frankly question your objective status as a witness.” His lack of a question had Cut arching an eyebrow, Yularen unimpressed alongside. “If you are, as Mr. Kenobi claims, not here to speak on the outlandish accusations against my client, or as an objective observer of Mr. Fett and his extended family, why are you here?” 

“For the past two weeks, now, I’ve been Omega’s teacher. I proctored some grade-placement exams and the results I found were worrisome.”

“Worrisome,” Lama Su echoed, grinning. “Mr. Lawquane, how did Omega do in the STEM subjects?” 

“Perfectly well,” Cut said. His further reply was cut off. 

“It worries you that my client has provided her daughter with an advanced scientific education?” 

“It’s the manner of that education that concerns me,” Cut replied, skillfully side-stepping the bait. “Omega told me a little about what it was like, getting homeschooled by her mother.” He shook his head. “The casual way she spoke about losing privileges, just for not paying attention…” Cut’s voice momentarily wavered, and he coughed. “Sorry,” he said, rough. “I’m a father myself, and the thought of treating my children that way… it’s difficult to stomach.” 

“Mr. Lawquane,” Lama Su intoned, “thank you for your informed opinion.” 

Cut gamely stared the lawyer down, silent. 

“You homeschool your own children?” he asked, then. 

“Yes, and six other children from surrounding farms.” 

“And that makes you an expert in child development…” Lama Su opened his mouth, drawling his way into a question, but Cut leaned in towards the microphone and cut him off.

“No, but my bachelor’s in early childhood development, master’s in special education, plus my state teaching certification in elementary and secondary education do inform my opinions.” He blinked, then aimed a coy smile at the judge. “Apologies— that was a question, yes?” 

“No further questions,” Lama Su spat, cutting Judge Yularen off before he could speak up. He stalked back to his table and sat down. Cut winked at Hunter as he passed him to return to his seat. 

Cody came up, both as another relative and as their once-commanding officer. Lama Su did less with him, though Hunter guessed it was less out of respect for Cody’s service and more because he offered much less for him to prod and pry at. He attempted, briefly, to get Cody to speculate to their mental health post-combat, but Obi-Wan shut that down quickly. 

Tech came forward and read his victim impact statement, Lama Su interrupting him every other sentence that his accusations of abuse were past the statue of limitations and so had no bearing on the case. Tech’s ire mounted, getting redder and redder in the face as he had to cut off sentences, and it was a relief when Obi-Wan and the judge released him.

For a moment, settling down by Ninety-nine, Tech glared at nothing. Ninety-nine leaned over and whispered in his ear, and after a moment of hesitation, Tech quietly slipped out the back door of the hearing room. Hunter sent some good feelings after him— he knew his brother hated being the center of attention, and he didn’t doubt that Tech needed some time alone to defuse his temper. 

The same could not be said for Wrecker, who had some trouble reading his prewritten letter aloud. Hunter winced in sympathy as he stumbled over a few longer words, squinting down at the paper. 

“Enunciate, please,” Lama Su interjected, failing to hide an amused grin. 

Wrecker, red-face, crumpled up his letter in his two big hands before smoothing it out. He went back to reading. “And even now as an adult…” 

Hunter had helped Wrecker write his letter, typing while he dictated. He knew what it said. Which meant he knew when Wrecker started to go off script. 

“I don’t know much about teachin' and medicine 'n stuff,” he said, aiming for the judge, “but I know what’s good for kids and what isn’t, and Nala Se shouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of any kid!” He glared, tugged at his tie. “Anybody should see that if they spend ten minutes with Omega.” 

“I am not on trial here, Mr. Fett,” Judge Yularen said sternly. “Mind yourself.” 

Wrecker’s enraged glare swept over Nala Se’s table, then landed on their side, past Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter did not need to turn to know that he was looking at Ninety-nine. Wrecker softened. He finished reading, answered a few questions from Obi-Wan, and grunted some syllables in reply to Lama Su’s pointed inquiries. 

Finally. Finally. Judge Yularen called for their last witness of the day. Obi-Wan shared a look with Hunter that needed no explanation. He stood, and called for Ninety-nine to come forward. 

Rex helped him up to the podium; he’d eschewed his walker so there would be more space in the car, but he had been sitting for a few hours by then and his bad leg was stiff. Lama Su scoffed under his breath, and Hunter’s breath caught on a snarl, head turning to glare. The lawyer hid his hand behind his mouth but his eyes were mirthful, amused. Hunter’s hands curled into fists.

Ninety-nine swore in and gave his name. 

“And your relationship to Mr. Hunter Fett?” 

“He’s my son.” 

The immediate simplicity of his answer had all of Hunter’s anger gone in one fell swoop. He blinked, eyes stinging, and gave Ninety-nine his best try at a hard, grateful smile. 

“I would like it clarified on the record that Mr. Hunter Fett is his adopted son,” Lama Su said, not even bothering to stand. He made a vague gesture. “As mentioned in our documentation, my client surrendered her parental rights to him only eleven years ago.” 

“Only,” Obi-Wan echoed. “With all due respect, counselor, eleven years is a very long time.” 

“Respectful or not, counselors—commentary.” Judge Yularen glared them both down for a beat. Then he gestured. “Proceed, Mr. Kenobi.” 

“Thank you. Mr. Fett, you are the father to six children, yes?”

“Yes. Hunter and the rest of the quadruplets, plus Echo… and Fives.” 

“All adopted?”

“Yes. I adopted Echo and Fives when they were a year old.” His eyes looked off into the middle distance. “Rambunctious. But they’re all good kids.” 

Obi-Wan’s tone was gentle; he’d warned them all of his line of questioning, but for all its softness it still bruised. “One of your sons has passed away?” 

“Yes.” For all his preparedness to speak on the topic, Ninety-nine’s voice still cracked, even as he suffered up a watery smile. “Fives. My eldest. He was killed in action, nearly two—”

“Relevance?” Lama Su drawled, cutting him off. “Your honor,” he started, drawling, then stopped as wood screeched across the linoleum floor behind Hunter; he didn’t turn, watching the judge, but he heard Echo’s heated mutterings get tamped down by Rex’s low, insistent whisper.

Not the time, brother, Rex muttered. Echo, relax. 

The judge watched the scene over Hunter’s shoulder, then swung around to Lama Su. 

“I would advise you to respect the decorum of my courtroom, counselor,” he said, tone forcibly even. “The ice you are skating on is wearing awfully thin.”

Lama Su spread his hands. “I simply question this line of inquiry.” 

Obi-Wan faced the judge directly. “I only want to establish the character of my client’s family. Mr. Su and his client have proposed that he is unsuitable to take care of Omega because he is her brother, not a parent, because he had no familiarity with her prior to this case, and so on.” He nodded at Ninety-nine. “When in fact he was raised in similar circumstances by Mr. Fett, who not only provided the basic necessities of life, but nurtured and protected my client, his brothers, and countless others.” 

Ninety-nine ducked his head, getting a little red in the face. Always so humble, old Ninety-nine.

“You can proceed, Mr. Kenobi,” Judge Yularen said. 

Shaak Ti rested her pen on her pad of paper and watched, intently, hands still.

Obi-Wan asked Ninety-nine about raising the lot of them, and he was complimentary without being too efficacious; they weren’t easy kids to work with, traumatized and carrying far too much baggage. But they’d gotten through it all, with his help. Obi-Wan was very, very good at his job, slowly leading a careful series of questions to paint a wider picture by the whole. 

Then it was Lama Su’s turn. 

“Mr. Fett,” he said, enunciating. “Or, excuse me, is there a military rank perhaps I could use instead?” he gestured towards their camp; for ease of reference, Cody had been addressed as Commander, Echo as Corporal. 

“I’ve never had the honor, no,” Ninety-nine answered. He was watching Lama Su’s face, intent and serious. “As you can probably imagine.” He shrugged his tilted shoulders. 

“Of course. Mr. Fett, what do you imagine your relationship with Omega will be, if Hunter Fett were to retain some degree of custody?”

His answer was ready and immediate. “Whatever she needed me to be. Uncle, grandfather, anything.” 

“Not father?” Lama Su asked. “You’re ‘father,’ as you say, to her siblings.” 

“I’m a little old to be watching over a girl her age. She needs someone who can keep up with her. Hunter’ll do the job perfectly.” 

Hunter pulled his shoulders back just that extra inch. He could feel Nala Se’s eyes on him, but didn’t turn to acknowledge her. 

“Do you have any children of your own?” Lama Su pivoted. 

After a pause, Ninety-nine answered slowly, like he thought Lama Su had trouble hearing him. “As I said earlier, I have six sons.” 

“Ah! My mistake.” Lama Su made a gesture that made Hunter want to break his fingers. “I meant biological children.” 

A furious beat of silence fell over the Fett half of the courtroom.

“No,” Ninety-nine said, voice tight, “I have no biological children.”

Behind Hunter, Echo muttered something darkly under his breath.

“Such a shame,” Lama Su said, “since you’re such an impeccable parental figure.”

“Do you have a question for my witness, Mr. Su?” Obi-Wan spoke up. 

“A theoretical question, yes.”

“Is it a pertinent theoretical, Mr. Su?” 

“Yes, your honor, I believe it is. Mr. Kenobi has brought Mr. Fett here today as an example of Hunter Fett’s personal upbringing; I would like to expand on that.”

Judge Yularen turned to address Ninety-nine directly. “If the question is not pertinent, you are not required to answer.” 

“Your honor.” Ninety-nine looked to Lama Su, and even nodded at him. Go on. 

Lama Su flashed teeth. “If you had biological children of your own,” he asked, “how would that have changed your relationship with your adopted children?”

Obi-Wan stood up. “Your honor—”

“Would you still have taken them in?” 

“Of course I would have!” Ninety-nine was aghast with conviction. He gaped at Lama Su. “They needed family, a home, what else could I have done? Let them go back to—” 

He closed his mouth. His eyes flickered significantly towards Nala Se. 

“Your honor, this line of inquiry is hardly appropriate,” Obi-Wan cut out through clenched teeth. 

“I agree. Counselor, one more misstep from you and you’ll walk out of here with a fine for contempt of court.” 

“A theoretical question,” Lama Su said, all feigned innocence. He spread his hands. “One final question.” 

“One final question,” the judge allowed. 

“Merely establishing certain characteristics, of course…”

“Mr. Su, a question.” 

“If you were not there to, as you say, ‘take in’ your adopted children.” He had the audacity to use air quotes. “Do you think that this… touching familial structure would still be standing?”

“Your honor, Mr. Su is asking my client to speculate on matters not relevant to this case.” 

“All too relevant,” he tried to press. “Why—”

Ninety-nine leaned forward into the microphone on the podium. “I-I would like to answer the question,” he spoke up, turned towards the judge. “If that’s alright.” 

Judge Yularen looked to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked intently at Ninety-nine for a moment, reading him, and then nodded his consent. The judge made a motion, and Ninety-nine shifted to face down Nala Se’s lawyer. 

“I guess that you’re asking this to imply that Omega will lose all of this support once I’m dead,” he said frankly. Lama Su opened his mouth to disagree, though Hunter read annoyance on his features at getting found out. Ninety-nine kept talking. “If that’s a sincere concern, it’s unfounded. I don’t tell the boys what to do. They do it because they’re good boys, and it’s the right thing to do. If I died tomorrow, I’d die happy knowing that my kids would take care of each other as best they could without me. Not a single doubt in my mind about that.” 

Hunter bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. 

“There’s an old Mandalorian saying,” Ninety-nine continued. “Aliit ori’shya tal’din. Family is more than blood.” 

Lama Su oozed, tone patronizing. “I thought you and the defendant's camp are all related by blood,” he said. “Fett, as it were.” 

Ninety-nine’s gaze didn’t falter for a second. Endless in his sincerity. “It’s not the blood that makes us family,” he declared.

A beat of silence. Lama Su frowned, like he wasn’t sure he understood, and he ambled back one step, two, hands behind his back. “No more questions,” he said, and returned to his table. 

Judge Yularen thanked Ninety-nine and dismissed him. 

Their next meeting was scheduled for the very next day— no witnesses or further arguments, just final deliberations. Nala Se’s visitation with Omega was scheduled for that morning. Then Omega would meet with the judge. Then it would all be over. Hunter breathed in and out on a four-count, let Cody reel him into a keldabe just for the hell of it. Cody could be a real sap when the mood hit, but the touch of his forehead to Hunter’s lent him a surprising amount of strength. 

They packed up and booked it ahead of Nala Se and Lama Su, who stood together, heads bent, conferencing. 

Obi-Wan caught Tech up with the proceedings in short, economical sentences as they made for the courthouse door. Hunter half-listened, feeling some pressure build up behind his eyes. When they got back, he’d take an excedrin. Anything to keep the pain at bay for… he didn’t dare voice the thought, but it hovered, ephemeral, right where his grey matter was knotting. Keep the pain at bay for what might be their last night together.

“Counselor Kenobi!” Lama Su’s voice cut through the hallway chatter.

The whole party paused and looked back, Hunter and Obi-Wan closest at hand. 

Nala Se and her lawyer glided up, Lama Su one step ahead of his client. Nala Se’s face was her usual mask of indifference. Lama Su’s an effacing grin. 

“May we have a word?” he asked. 

Obi-Wan stepped in. “You can contact us in writing.”

“Oh, we will,” Lama Su smiled indulgently. “For convenience’s sake, and as a show of goodwill, of course, we’d like to open arbitration again.”

Hunter and Obi-Wan shared a glance. “Why the change of heart?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Lama Su spread his hands. “Not a change of heart— my client’s aim remains, as it has been, Omega’s best interests.” 

He paused, waiting for some kind of agreement. Obi-Wan and Hunter eyed him in chilly silence.

After a moment became a minute, Lama Su cleared his throat. “That is, we would like to offer a potential custody agreement. Fifty-fifty. One week alternating households.” 

Obi-Wan and Hunter shared a look. Obi-Wan crossed his arms. “Why the change of heart?” he asked. 

“Prolonging this trial overmuch has been of no benefit to Omega,” Lama Su replied, all oil. “It is better for both parties to come to an agreement, rather than deprive Omega of one household.” 

Hunter looked to Nala Se. Her eyes were past him. On Ninety-nine. Hunter saw a momentary flash of red, but Obi-Wan’s hand on his arm stopped him from taking an enraged step forward. 

“We will consider your offer once we’ve received it in writing,” Obi-Wan intoned. “Counselor.” He started to tug Hunter backwards.

“I would consider it quickly,” Lama Su replied, flashing teeth. “We make this offer with the hopes of not needing the final hearing tomorrow. If you do not reply with some swiftness, well…” 

Hunter got a vague sense-memory of his head tilted backwards looking up at Nala Se’s tall lawyer in the living room of Ninety-nine’s house. Smiling, all white veneer. 

He felt eyes on him. Nala Se was watching his face. His rage burned out into something low and sneering. Eleven years ago she’d made the same offering threat—one night to consider whether to take her free-of-charge offer to give them up, or try and fight her for it. All unsaid but clear: fighting would do nothing but ruin a hell of a lot of lives. Theirs included.

He shook his head, meeting her stare. “Still playing with the same bullshit deck.”

“Excuse me,” Lama Su sniffed, peering down his nose at Hunter. “Such language.” 

“No deal,” Hunter said, louder. “You’re only offering because you know that we’re going to win tomorrow.” 

Lama Su raised his eyebrows. “Do we know that?” he drawled. “Are you confident in that assessment?”

For all he knew, the judge might go with that very same agreement—Nala Se still swore to uphold CPS’s dictated rules and regulations. And she was still Omega’s mother.

“Hunter,” Obi-Wan said in an undertone. “Don’t engage.” 

“Let’s get outta here, Sarge,” Wrecker added from the back of the pack. 

“Think on our offer,” Lama Su said. “With fifty-fifty shared custody, we might be able to justify further child support. For Omega’s sake, of course.” 

Hunter sneered, but Obi-Wan’s hand became an insistent tug, and he turned his back. 

Nala Se’s voice carried, light and so drillbit sharp. “For Omega’s sake,” she echoed, and her words drifted, following on their heels like a ghost, all the way out of the courthouse, then all the way home. 

Crosshair stood out on the bleached-bone rib-stretch of curb and smoked, one cigarette after the other, lighting them off of each other. He paced, heel-toe, heel-toe, back and forth. Tech had texted that they were picking up enough food for everyone, dropping Cut back off with his kids, and fetching Omega back. 

Back. For now. For tonight. For today. He lit up again, and was halfway through it, when he spotted the cavalcade of encroaching cars. He tamped out the cigarette against the bottom of his shoe, then backed off and watched as Rex pulled his car up to the curb. Ninety-nine in the passenger seat. Crosshair’s throat clenched. He’d said hello, here and there as he dodged around the house, picking up as many extra shifts at work as they’d let him. 

He was due in in a few hours. But getting the update from Tech had kept him from running. Somehow. Maybe he was running in the other direction. No matter which way he went there was something awful; pick your battles. 

He helped Ninety-nine out of the car. 

Ninety-nine smiled his appreciation. Crosshair didn’t have it in him to return it. 

Omega and Hunter looked twin kinds of awful. Clinging to each other’s hands as Hunter helped her down from the cab of the work truck and into the house. 

Wrecker stalled next to him on the lawn, watching people and food containers stream inside. 

Crosshair exhaled, slowly, savoring the last whispering tastes of nicotine. “That bad?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t good,” Wrecker rumbled back. Crosshair shot him a glance. Wrecker’s face was twisted up, glaring at nothing, hands knotted at his sides. 

Without much he could think to say, Crosshair lightly elbowed him. Wrecker, luckily, seemed to take it as a comfort, which had Crosshair’s head spinning a little as the big man smiled sadly down at him. “You staying for dinner?” Wrecker asked.

He hadn’t been planning on it. “Sure.” 

“Good.” He sounded like he meant it, half relief, half comfort. His hand clamped down on the back of Crosshair’s neck, like he thought he was gonna try and wrangle out of it. He steered him towards the house. “Thanks, Cross,” he spoke up as Crosshair hit the porch. 

“For what?” Crosshair demanded, twisting free to glare at Wrecker.

He only shrugged. “For stayin,’” he said, and Crosshair couldn’t find his voice in time to reply. 

Crosshair barely absorbed anything that was being said at dinner; he sat there and moved food from his plate to his mouth, glared when addressed and nodded when questioned. Everyone was trying to ignore the elephant in the room, and everyone was failing. Before Crosshair knew what was happening, dinner had more or less ended, and he escaped out onto the front porch. He sank down onto the bench with a barely suppressed sigh. Soon the nightmare would be over. Soon the nightmare would start again. 

The door creaked open. Crosshair knew who it was before he spoke, the distinct sound of Ninety-nine’s cane pressing down on wood. He remained staring forward. 

“Ah, Crosshair,” he said, like he always said it. “Are you heading off?” 

Crosshair nodded, hesitated, then shook his head, wordless. Ninety-nine came over and sat down next to him on the bench, sighing a little as he took his weight off his feet. “It was nice, seeing you tonight,” Ninety-nine continued, warmth so evident in his tone that Crosshair didn’t need to turn his head to know the old man was smiling, indulgent, content. It made his head swim, and not unpleasantly.

There were too many things Crosshair could possibly say. He closed his eyes and let himself list sideways, until his temple was resting on Ninety-nine’s curved shoulder. 

Like he knew he would, Ninety-nine made a little sound and lifted his arm up and around Crosshair’s back, holding him to his side with a hand on his opposite shoulder.

“What’s wrong, huh?” he murmured quietly.

He just shrugged, listless. Eyes closed. Just darkness and the sound of Ninety-nine’s voice. “Just me,” he grunted. 

“Hey, now,” Ninety-nine said, as close as he ever came to chiding, “don’t talk about my kid that way.” He squeezed Crosshair closer, and he turned his face further into Ninety-nine’s shoulder. With a little noise of humor, Ninety-nine leaned his cheek against the top of Crosshair’s head, and his throat constricted painfully at the gesture. 

“Since when are you so tall?” Ninety-nine muttered, reaching up further with his arm, and Crosshair managed to crack a little smile. 

“Since always, old man,” he replied, muffled. 

Ninety-nine chuckled. The rumble passed through Crosshair’s body and left something in its wake that felt suspiciously like peace. A little sigh escaped him before he could bite it back, and Ninety-nine echoed the sound right back, a pleased hum. 

They sat in silence for a moment. A minute. Crosshair knew that he had to hit the road, have a pre-shift smoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. 

Ninety-nine mindlessly moved his thumb. “You know I love you a whole lot, yeah?” he murmured, apropos of nothing. 

Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut, tightly. He didn’t move or make a sound. Yeah, yeah he knew that— he didn’t always believe it, but somehow, someway, he always knew it. Ninety-nine defied logic at every comforting turn. 

“And that means… that I want you to be okay,” Ninety-nine continued in a low pitch. “I’ll always be there for you. If you ever need anything.” 

Mute and wordless, yet comforted beyond belief, Crosshair just bit his tongue and leaned closer. Words kept forming in his chest, snaking along up his throat, and then dying right at the sharp edge of his teeth. One after the other after the other. Ninety-nine kept moving his thumb in little comforting circles on Crosshair’s shoulder, content to sit with him in silence. 

It was impossible to tell how much time passed like that, languid with quiet. Crosshair stirred, about to mumble something about having to go to work— although frankly he wouldn’t flinch from quitting his job just to keep sitting on this porch forever— when the door opened. 

Crosshair snatched himself back to sitting upright. Omega stood in the doorway, hands linked over the doorknob, leaning a little bit forward and back with the swing of the hinges. Her eyes flickered between him and Ninety-nine. Heat crept up the back of his neck. 

“Sorry,” Omega said after a half-second of staring. Her cheeks likewise started to color. “Uh—”

“I should go,” Crosshair said, clipped, and stood. 

Ninety-nine’s eyes tracked him up to his full height. “Alright, Crosshair. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Crosshair grunted wordlessly and dragged himself off the porch and onto the lawn. He shook out a cigarette and cursed as his shitty backup lighter only threw sparks. He stood there, a few feet ahead of the porch steps, and tried to make the piece of shit give him a flame. 

Behind him, he thought he’d left enough of a goodbye, but Omega cleared her throat and asked, tentatively, “Crosshair?” 

Some part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard. Keep walking away without looking back. A few weeks ago, back when he still had more of his pragmatism, he might have done just that. 

Instead he turned around, unlit cigarette still poised in his lips. 

Omega was standing there at the top of the steps, playing with the sleeves of Wrecker’s sweatshirt. Visible over her shoulder, Ninety-nine’s eyes were on her, the side of her face, the back curve of her head. 

She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it, and clicked her jaw shut. He watched, frowning, confused, as she swallowed, so deliberately. “Bye,” she said, the single word deflated and cautious and—

This might be the last time he ever saw her. 

The realization was awful, full-body, scouring and smothering and electrifying all at once. He’d been skipping breakfasts at the house, the entire time she’d been there, avoiding her and Hunter and the whole lot of them— and tomorrow— if they lost—

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he heard himself croak. Not a promise against hope, but the only withered olive branch he had left to give at this point. “I’ll be back for breakfast.” He’d rather go back into combat. But here he was. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, an exhalation of relief that had his head whirling. She tried for a smile, didn’t quite manage it, and turned to go and sit down next to Ninety-nine on the bench. Crosshair’s vacated spot. 

For an overlong moment, he stood there, stupidly watching her kick her feet. Ninety-nine smiled at him, and Crosshair refused to read the look in his eye as the only man lifted a hand for a final wave. Crosshair returned it, all mechanical instinct, and then finally got control over his senses and stalked away to his car, cigarette forgotten.

The interior of his car still smelled a little like potsmoke. Crosshair ground his teeth and got himself on the road. 

His last backwards look— he wasn’t looking back like that, he told himself, he was glancing in the rearview, that’s all— was of Ninety-nine and Omega, heads bent together, sharing twin sweet smiles as they talked, looking so much like a snapshot of a life that Crosshair thought he’d left behind him ages ago. 

Then they were too far away to be seen, and he had to turn back to the road. 

Crosshair had never been good at begging. Still. 

He gave it his best try, anyway.

No one wanted to admit that time was moving as fast as it was; even though dinner was over they remained slumped around the kitchen in various poses, occasionally passing around a plate or two, picking at the bits that were left. Just shooting the shit; Rex talked about the gym, Cody about his work, Wolffe trying his best to get through a story about taking one of his buddies from work to get his first tattoo without dropping any curse words, glancing towards the window that pointed to the porch. 

In the end, Wolffe ended up folding first. He had an early shift to cover before joining them at the courthouse. He shook Hunter’s hand, one brown eye and one white saying far more than Hunter could ever appreciate. Then he was gone. Cody went next, and since Rex was Ninety-nine’s ride, he tried to hover. But time was short. They all had to try and get some kind of rest. Rex mentioned as much to Hunter, then went to go chat to Echo. Giving him the opening. 

Leaving them to it, Hunter went over and rested one shoulder against the jamb of the front door. Omega and Ninety-nine, sitting just to the side on the bench, didn’t even register his presence, deep in conversation. 

Hunter stood and watched for a moment. Omega moved her hands, gesturing widely, and Ninety-nine’s eyes were just so damn soft, watching her. Hunter’s throat tightened, and he cleared it, hesitant to interrupt but sure that any more time would wither his resolve.

They both looked up at him. Matching Fett eyes. Hunter had to clear his throat again just to speak. “Rex is making noise,” he said. “Think that means he’s looking to head out.”

“Ah! Right. Didn’t realize it got so late.” Ninety-nine planted his cane and leaned on it, getting his weight up onto his feet with a grunt. Omega stood as well, hovering a bit, hands held up but not out. “You go on inside, huh, Omega— wanna talk to your big brother for a bit.” 

“Okay,” Omega said, but she hesitated. 

Ninety-nine caught on quick, shaking his head and laughing. “Where’s my head gone, how’re you supposed to say goodbye without a hug?” He moved his cane to his other hand, arm held out invitingly, and Omega practically threw herself at him, eyes squeezing shut as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Ninety-nine hunched down over her, arm draped across her shoulders. “Oof! You’re almost as strong as Wrecker, kid.” 

Looking a little bashful, and eminently pleased, Omega let him go, said a quick good night, and slipped past Hunter into the house. Ninety-nine watched her go, shaking his head a little. 

“Reminds me a lot of you,” he commented to Hunter.

Hunter blinked. “Me?” 

“Yes, you .” Ninety-nine’s eyes twinkled. “Another little kid I once knew had trouble asking for a hug when he wanted one.” 

Hunter felt his face heating up. “That’s— I was—”

Ninety-nine chuckled, waving his hand. “The word you're looking for is adorable , but I’ll save you the embarrassment. Here, before we go and drag Rex off of Echo.” He shuffled a little to one side, and Hunter shadowed him, about to protest that maybe he should sit back down when he continued. “Hunt, I’m worried about Crosshair.” 

“You and me both,” Hunter sighed. “He’s been doing a little better recently. We talked. I think he’s still… afraid of getting attached to Omega.” Hell, he was getting a little afraid of the depth of affection he’d carved out somewhere deep and vital inside him. 

“Yes, there’s that.” Ninety-nine looked out over the lawn. “But it feels like it goes a little deeper. I know you have so much going on, but can you keep an eye on him for me?” 

The answer was easy and immediate. “Of course I will.”

Ninety-nine smiled. “I knew you’d say that, but it’s always nice to hear.”

A knocking on wood behind them made them both turn. Rex stood in the doorway, keys in one hand and fist raised. His eyes flickered between the two of them. “Ready to head out?” he asked Ninety-nine. 

“If you are,” he replied. Rex nodded and slipped out of the house, ambling out towards where he was parked along the curb. Ninety-nine hung back for a moment, laid his hand on Hunter’s arm. “You’re a good man, Hunter. I’m… just so proud of the man you’ve become. You and all the boys.” Hunter had to blink a little fast, eyes stinging, at the sincerity in the old man’s tone. “Trust in yourself. That you know what to do. You’ve done a fantastic job.”

“I’ve just been guessing,” Hunter protested, weakly.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Ninety-nine said, grinning. He leaned in, Hunter matching him. “I was just guessing, too,” Ninety-nine whispered, and a sort of half-delirious laugh came bubbling out of Hunter’s chest, equal parts relief and humor. Ninety-nine always seemed so sure — like a glacier, like gravity. 

With a little squeeze and a pat, Ninety-nine released Hunter’s arm. “I’ll see you and the boys at the courthouse tomorrow, okay? Try and get some rest.” 

“I will. See you.” Hunter trailed him to Rex’s car, held the door for him as he got inside. “Drive safe,” he said to Rex through the passenger side window. Rex saluted him with two fingers, and they were off. Leaving Hunter standing on the curb, in the calm street. Hands in his pockets, he ambled back inside. 

Omega was out of sight; Tech and Echo were chatting as they shoveled a few scraps of leftovers into containers, adding dishes to the sink with no real pressure or willpower there to properly wash them. Hunter ended up idling with them, not really listening to Echo and Tech’s voices. Echo gave Hunter one of his patented you’ve-got-me-worried-Sarge looks, Hunter pretending that he didn’t see it. 

Hunter ended up breaking ahead of the pack, not wanting to knock elbows with Tech while brushing his teeth. Instead, he paused at the base of the stairs leading up to the attic. Wrecker’s laugh echoed down the narrow ascent, and after taking in and releasing a steadying breath, Hunter followed the noise up. 

Omega’s door was half open, golden yellow light spilling out. Hunter crept up and nudged the door aside, leaning in the doorframe to take in the scene.

Wrecker was sitting on the side of Omega’s bed, in the middle of some story, hands up and gesturing. Omega, laying back against the pillow, was cradling Lula in her arms. Though her exhaustion was clear on her face, her eyes were bright and adoring as she watched Wrecker talk. 

When he paused for a breath, Hunter cleared his throat. “Saying goodnight?” he asked, the question a hint that Wrecker easily took. He finished up quickly, fixed Omega’s blankets around her feet, then leaned in to kiss the crown of her head. Hunter’s chest clenched. His little brother. His little sister.

“G’night, kid,” Wrecker mumbled, sweetly bashful.

“Goodnight, Wrecker.”

“Night, Sarge.” Hunter gave his elbow a squeeze as he edged past the doorway. With an acknowledging nod, Wrecker ambled downstairs. Leaving Hunter and Omega. 

Hunter came over and sat in Wrecker’s vacated spot. Omega looked even more tired up close, Lula snuggled up against one cheek.

“Long day,” Hunter said, figuring that he ought to say something, anything. He played with a loose thread on her blanket, just to keep his hands busy. Omega nodded, but managed a tiny smile for him. 

“It was nice,” she said, so quietly. Hunter blinked a little rapidly, eyes suddenly stinging. 

“I’m glad you had fun,” he managed to say, and cleared his throat. Different but equally useless platitudes all presented themselves as possible options for things to say. He picked none of them. Instead he said, “You gonna get to sleep alright?” 

She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth and nodded, but her eyes slid off of him. He frowned, then schooled it away. Some instinct in him had him leaning forward, brushing back and odd cowlick in Omega’s bangs. Sinking back a little into the pillow, she let her eyes fall closed, all but inviting him to keep petting at her hair, and his chest clenched. His thumb outlined the tiny hollow of her temple. His baby sister.

“If you need anything,” he heard himself say, voice low and quiet, “I’m right downstairs. Okay?” He could feel her heartbeat under his thumb, delicate as a bird’s. “Anything.” 

Omega didn’t say anything; she only tucked her face into Lula, eyes still closed, and nodded, a tiny, tight gesture. Her knees pulled up, under the blankets, and hit his hip. It immediately withdrew, not a nudge to try and get him to move, but Hunter stood anyway, pulling back his hand with him. 

Hunter felt like he was drifting, somewhere outside of his body, as he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss against Omega’s temple, right where he’d outlined with his thumb. It felt equal parts incongruous— imagine, him , Staff Sergeant Navy SEAL Hunter Fett, giving a good night kiss to his little sister— and natural. Like he’d already done it a million times. 

She exhaled, a little sighing breath, almost of relief— and Hunter came slamming back down into his body. Tomorrow. Their mother. Something hollow was opening up inside him, just expanding, deeper and deeper and deeper. 

“Goodnight, Omega,” he whispered. 

“Night, Hunter,” she mumbled into Lula. 

He made himself stand up and go over to the door. Hit the light. Step into the hall. He looked back into her room, the curtains that Wrecker had bought, the extra blankets and pillows they’d all found excuses to sneak up into her bed. Such a different room than any of them were used to, at her age. 

He’d go through it all, again, ten times over, a hundred times, if that meant letting her stay up here where she belonged. 

When his hesitation became too much, he slowly closed her bedroom door and forced himself downstairs. The whole house was heavy with anticipation. Echo and Tech were already out, or pretending to be, the line under their door dark. Likewise Wrecker was curled over himself in his bed, still and quiet. Hunter wondered how he was faring without Lula— though he also knew the big man would rather rip his arm off than try and take the plushie away from Omega, tonight of all nights. 

Mechanically, Hunter got himself changed and in bed. He stared up at the ceiling. If sleep was gonna come, it would come, but he didn’t have the heart or the energy to go searching for it. The house was quiet and still in the darkness. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Those first three nights they were at Ninety-nine’s had been an exquisite agony of anticipation. It was the longest they’d gone, running away— they’d gotten picked up by cops before, trying to overnight it in a local park, taken home with a lot of finger-wagging and a general air of distrust that kept them from saying anything. Nala Se hadn’t said anything, either, just looked down on all of them as they stood, silent and weary, in the hallway.

It had been Tech that found out that they had more relatives—a file palmed out of the special locked cabinet, outlining the medical history on their father’s side. All healthy, save for one highlighted name, a great-uncle, born with a rare degenerative bone disease. Kamino. It’d burned like a beacon in their minds for months until they got the nerve to finally commit. 

Ninety-nine had been a blessing. In so many ways. They’d shown up on his doorstep in the grey light of dawn, heels bleeding from the night-long walk, miles and miles away from their mother’s house, out into the woods and beyond. And he’d taken them in. Found old mattresses for them to sleep on, stretched out on the floor. Every night Hunter had tried to stay awake as long as he could, listening to the scratch of tree-branches on the roof tiles, the distant hooting of owls. The howl of a coyote.

He stared at the ceiling. Listened to the scrape of the tree on the roof. To Wrecker’s gentle snoring. If he let himself slip an inch, he would hear Nala Se’s hand. Knocking on the door. Come to take Omega back.

He closed his eyes. You can do this . He exhaled, breathed in. Hands gripping uselessly at the sheets. You have to do this. 

Dreamless sleep sucked him down without warning, between one breath and the next.

A rustle. His name. 

Hunter jolted awake, on his side, adrenaline flooding into him in sudden panic.

“Wh—what is it?” he managed to grunt, rubbing at his eyes as he got up on one elbow. “Wha’s going on?” 

His vision cleared, adjusted to the darkness—and Omega was there. Wrapped in her quilt. Standing beside his bed. Trying to bite back whimpering little breaths. “Hunter,” she managed to whine, repeating his name again, now that he was fully awake. 

“I’m— I’m here, Omega, what— what’s wrong, are you okay?” He kept his voice low and quiet, although he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Wrecker was asleep, like a log, as usual. Once asleep, he could sleep through an airstrike. 

Hunter swung his legs over the side of the bed, and as soon as he put his hands on Omega’s shoulders she moved, clambering up into his lap like she had that evening on the back porch. All he could do was wrap his arms around her, quilt and all, and hold on. 

“I h-had a n-nightmare,” she gasped and choked against his chest, like it was a confession, like she’d tried so hard not to let it slip. Her back was shaking, trembling under his arms, and he held on tighter. She dissolved into sniffles and little hiccuping sobs, and he rubbed comforting circles in her back, rocking a little, not shushing her, just letting his breathing fall into a steady cadence. Omega’s breathing evened out. Matching him. 

For a moment they sat together, in the deep, heavy silence of night. She stirred a little, like she didn’t want to go, but knew she might have to. He didn’t have it in him to bring her back up the stairs to her bedroom, so far away from them all.

“C’mere,” Hunter muttered, and gently pulled Omega over so she was laying on the outside edge of his bed, cuddled up against his chest as he pressed his back against the cool line of the wall. Still bundled up in her quilt, still within the protective circle of his arms, her head tucked under his chin. She sniffled, tilting her head just so, her ear above his heart. 

His hand stroked mindlessly at her shoulder, feeling the tension start to slowly bleed out. She could probably fall back asleep, just like this. They didn’t need to speak. He could protect her in the dark silence and that would be that. 

But.

Something in Hunter refused to fall back. Some small part of him that had risen up that day at the carnival, watching Omega’s little figure through the car window, disappearing out of sight with her hand raised. 

“If you want,” he whispered, hesitating, “if you want… you can tell me. About the nightmare.” 

After taking in a shaky breath, she did. 

The words came spilling out, muffled and rough, spooling and unraveling. The observation room. That’s where Nala Se kept them, when they were waking up from sedatives. Where they had to sleep after endurance tests. Where Omega kept waking up, night after night, afraid and so sure that the past few weeks were nothing but a pipe dream. 

His mind gathered and cataloged odd, unnoticed moments the past few weeks. Omega, awake before he even got downstairs for breakfast. Getting a little dewy-eyed and tired in the early evenings. Falling asleep on his lap that evening on the porch, nodding off at Cut’s. All so carefully hidden from them all, from him especially.

“Omega,” he asked, so carefully, when she had finished, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

She hiccuped. “I didn’t want… I didn’t want to bother you,” she whispered. 

“You don’t—” Hunter forced his breath even. “You could never bother me, Omega.” 

She made a little noise and curled up closer. 

Rage and anger kept rising up in Hunter, then swamping out into sorrow and regret. For weeks, she’d been struggling with this, keeping herself up in her room, hiding her fears and her problems away. Too afraid that this thing was too delicate, too fragile, to handle one more crack. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, reaching up to lay his hand on the back of Omega’s head, feeling the soft strands under his work-rough palm. “For telling me.” 

She rubbed her face against his chest, hidden from view, and he tried not to let his breath catch as he felt dampness spread across his shirt from where she was hiding her eyes. He inhaled to say something more, anything, but she beat him to it, voice wavering and thin.

“If…” she said, and nothing else. Clenching her jaw so hard he could feel the knot of muscle against his sternum. Far too much on that one word. Crosshair, that first night Omega was with them. Sneering. Do you think Nala Se is saying if to her lawyer right now? 

Hunter pulled Omega into a tighter embrace, and she burrowed into it. “Listen to me,” he whispered, voice rough. Eyes closed. Nothing but his voice, the darkness, his little sister. “No matter what happens tomorrow,” he whispered, “no matter what happens. You’re always going to have us. No matter what Nala Se does. No matter where you have to go. We’re always going to be here, and you’ll always have a place with us.” 

She started to tremble again. 

Hunter swallowed. Opened his mouth. Closed it. He screwed his eyes shut even tighter, colors popping off behind his eyelids. 

“I love you,” he whispered, voice so fucking raw. 

The noise Omega made against his chest would haunt him till his dying day.

“You’re my sister,” he croaked. “I’d do anything for you. No matter what. Always.” 

“Hunter,” was all she said, was all she needed to say. 

“Get some rest,” he whispered into the top of her head. She started to relax, inch by exhausted inch, as he kept up his breathing, the slow, deliberate drag of his hands against her spine. The beating of his heart. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Chapter Text

Omega woke up slowly. Warm and heavy-limbed, every sensation came slowly washing over her—including two hushed voices that quieted as she stirred. Still half-asleep, Omega resettled against the warm presence at her back, and just drifted, feeling well-rested and at peace.

“See,” Wrecker said, hushed, “don’t wake her up.” 

“It’s almost nine, Wreck,” Hunter whispered back, his breath stirring the hair on the back of Omega’s head. He shifted, and his weight moved the mattress— Omega rolled a little more against his chest, and she opened up her eyes. 

It was still pretty dark in the room, only a little bit of light slipping in through the window shade. Wrecker was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his pajamas. There was a pretty wide stretch of Hunter’s bed still visible past where Omega was lying on her side; she was using his bicep as a pillow, lightly holding onto his elbow, his arm stretched out towards the edge of the bed. 

When she stirred, waking up fully, he brought his arm up into an embrace, touching her shoulder, draping his free one back over her. 

“Omega,” Hunter said, tone quiet, “You awake?” 

“Mmph,” she said, and closed her eyes. 

Hunter rubbed at her shoulder. “We gotta get moving, Omega.” 

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, holding tighter to his elbow. 

Hunter sighed, breath stirring Omega’s hair. “Five minutes,” he conceded, relaxing. “Then we need to get up.” 

She made a noise of agreement. The other mattress creaked as Wrecker stood up, and a brief shot of hallway light was quickly snuffed out. 

For a few minutes, Omega just lay there, eyes closed, breathing. Listening to Hunter breathe. The thump of his heart against her back. 

He stirred—probably their five minutes was up— but Omega wasn’t ready to go yet. She let go of his elbow and rolled over, pressed her ear against his chest, cuddling up as close as she could. He sighed a little noise, carefully brushed his hand through the sleep-sweaty hair at the back of her head. 

“You okay?” he asked, voice rasping a little. She screwed her eyes closed and tried to memorize how it felt for his work-calloused fingers to pet through her hair. The sound of his heart. The home-detergent smell of her pajamas, the bedsheets, Lula, somehow squished between them. 

“I’m okay,” she said, even though she wasn’t. 

The way his arm tightened around her told her that he caught the fib, but he didn’t say anything. She wanted to say something, anything. Wanted to tell him about how when Mother left for a long conference, it was so quiet and lonely and empty in the house, all alone— about how when Mother would come back, Omega would want to be close to her, feel the realness of her, just to make sure that it wasn’t a dream— about how as she got older, Mother would dodge her embraces, stop her with an extended arm and a reprimand that she was too old for that sort of thing. 

She wanted to tell him that every time he let her hold his hand, or gathered her up in his arms, it was like some raw, open wound that she never knew existed inside of her was healing over, all at once. Like his presence alone could cure any illness. Her eyes prickled. 

“I love you, too,” she managed to squeak out, instead of anything else she could have said.

A shaky, rough breath worked its way out of his chest. “Always,” he promised. 

How long he let her stay curled up there, she couldn’t say. Wrecker came and poked his head into the room. “Sarge,” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” Hunter replied in a sigh. “We’re getting up.” 

They both sat up and wrangled their way out of the blankets. Hunter stood up first, gathering his court clothes, hanging on the door to the closet. Omega stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at her eyes, and Wrecker circled around to kneel in front of her.

He’d changed in another room; his tie was undone, tight shirt collar unbuttoned away from his neck. His eyes traced the outline of her face. For all the gentleness, she knew that he was trying  to memorize her face, the same way that she was desperately trying to catalog his. The starburst of his scar. The happy turn of his mouth, muted now. 

“Morning, kid,” he rumbled, and his breath caught. He exhaled, forcibly. “Sorry,” he said, looking away. 

She reached out and touched his cheek. The unscarred side. “It’s okay,” she said, because it was, because she didn’t want to see him this sad. 

He let her turn his face, smiling through the misty look in his one eye. “You’re a good sister,” he said quietly. 

Omega did her best to meet him watery smile for watery smile. “Wouldn’t trade me for a million bucks?” she prompted.

Wrecker broke into a smile, just like she hoped he would. “No way.” 

“Million and one?” she giggled, moving to drop her hand. 

He covered her small hand with his big one. Against his cheek. “Not for anything,” he said, voice rough with sincerity. It was hard to meet his eyes. Omega let her gaze drop.

Hunter made a noise. Wrecker gave himself a shake and stood, keeping hold of Omega’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Let’s get you some breakfast,” he announced, tugging her gently towards the bedroom door. “Let Hunter get ready.” 

Downstairs, everyone was awake— and Crosshair was there. With how late she and Hunter had slept in, he must have arrived earlier and hovered around. He loomed in the background, a tall, silvery presence as Omega listlessly moved food around her plate, Tech bouncing his leg and Echo rubbing endlessly at the back of his neck with his hand. If anything was said, Omega didn’t absorb it. Her stomach clenched, the thought of eating anything making her feel sharply nauseous. 

She pushed back her chair and stood, her breakfast untouched. Tech stirred, and for a moment she anticipated him saying something— telling her she ought to eat, for the nutrients, for the calories. Whatever it was he was preparing to say, it cut off in a surprised huff of air as Omega gently leaned against his shoulder. Not a hug, because the one time she’d tried to hug him, he’d gone all stiff and weird, and she didn’t want to make him feel that way on what might be their last day together.

To her pleasant surprise, he managed to circle his arms lightly around her shoulders. He patted her back, twice, firmly. “There,” he said, sounding the most unsure she’d ever heard him sound before, which just made her lean against him a little harder. Another pat on the back, softer now, as he relaxed a little. A sigh escaped him. 

“You should get dressed,” he croaked as the moment elongated into a minute. She nodded against his shoulder. Backing up, she shot him a grin. He tried to return it, looking kind of sad, kind of confused. 

Before she could ruin the morning more by blubbering, she high-tailed it for the stairs. 

Behind her, she caught wind of Crosshair saying “Don’t glitch out on us now,” Tech replying sharply, Echo soothing. She got dressed quickly, in one of the outfits Tech and Echo had bought for her, a striped sweater she’d picked out herself, and real jeans, made of denim. 

AZI sat up on the dresser. Omega took a moment to arrange him just so, eyes positioned so he could see out of the window, and the afternoon light would charge his solar cells. Maybe, if she had to go back with her mother, Tech could finish the code for him. She hoped so. 

Dressed, with her old clothes all packed up in Mother’s suitcases, Omega hesitated. She turned in the doorway, taking one final look at the bedroom Wrecker had made for her. The star stickers along the wall. The patterned drapes. The extra blanket, folded at the foot of the bed.

A creak on the stairs had her turning around. Echo waited, a few steps below her, hand on the railing. He was wearing long pants again, trousers for court, but the thin, sharp angle of his artificial kneecap through the material gave him away. 

“I’m all packed up,” she said, then hesitated before saying, “Just in case.”

A now familiar look crossed Echo’s face before he schooled it away. “Just in case,” he echoed. She easily read in the lines of his face that he was keeping himself from saying the same thing like he meant it. Not making promises he couldn’t keep. She didn’t want to put him in that position, so she stepped away from the doorway and squeezed in next to him in the stairwell; the railing was only on one side, so on the way down, he usually had to brace against the wall. She took his hand in hers and let him lean on her as they made their way slowly down the stairs.

Echo’s breathing was rough, like he’d been running, when they reached the second floor, and she kept holding his hand. He squeezed her fingers, shaky. 

Hunter emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready. He tugged at the lumpy knot of his tie. “Ready to go?” he asked. 

No. Omega nodded anyway.

They all trooped downstairs. Tech and Wrecker were standing by the door, Tech tut-tutting as he retied Wrecker’s tie. Wrecker only got released when Tech found a better target in Hunter; Echo went out the front door as two honking car horns announced Rex’s arrival with Ninety-nine.

Omega hung back a little. Just watching the chatter.

A sound on the wood floor made her turn. In the shadow of the staircase, by the hallway that led to the back porch, Crosshair stood, uneasy in every inch. 

“Hey,” he said. Omega trailed closer to him. He hesitated for a moment before dropping down onto one knee in front of her. He cleared his throat; his eyes skittered around, like he couldn’t force himself to look her in the eye. “Remember what I said,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

It wouldn’t be better. You shouldn’t go back.

Omega swallowed. “I will,” she said, voice sounding small in her ears. 

He nodded, the motions tight. He was clenching his jaw, the lines of his neck stark and sharp. 

“Omega?” Hunter called out. Crosshair flinched. 

“I’m coming,” Omega called back. She looked at Crosshair. Opened her mouth. Closed it. “Thank you, Crosshair,” she croaked. His eyes snapped to her face, froze there. “For everything.” 

Whatever reply he might give disappeared in a puff of air as Omega dove in for a quick embrace—backing away before he could move. He knelt there, arms by his side, staring at her like he didn’t understand what she’d just done. 

With nothing else, and too much, left to say, Omega turned on her heel and ran towards the front door. She managed not to look back, and far too soon she was crammed into the car between Hunter and Ninety-nine. She tried to pay attention to his comforting old voice, but couldn’t manage it. Hands gripping her knees, white-knuckled. 

They got to the courthouse. They all got out of the car. Omega clung to Hunter’s hand as he walked her through now-familiar hallways towards the visitations room. They could do this. She would always have them. Always. 

Ms. Ti was there in the doorway. She gave Omega one of her patented enigmatic smiles, but it didn’t work to quell her mounting anxiety. 

Omega turned to look at Hunter as he knelt down to be at eye level with her. What else was there left to say? 

She tried for a smile. By his face, she barely managed it. “It’s gonna be okay,” she said in a quiet voice.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and matched her rough grin for rough grin. One crooked knuckle dragged down her cheek. 

One last, quick hug. Then he was gone. 

Shaak Ti ushered Omega into the visitations room. It was, like all the other rooms Omega had been inside in the courthouse, bland and austere by accident. One half of the room was professional enough, a wooden conference table with chairs, the walls hung with motel wall art. The other half was carpeted, with small, padded chairs for little kids. A single beanbag chair. A small crate of toddler toys. 

Nala Se was sitting on the conference side of the room. Looking at her palm pilot. She glanced up at the sound of the door closing, Shaak Ti’s low heels on the linoleum. 

“Ah,” she said, standing, “there you are.” 

Two very different feelings warred in Omega’s chest. Here was her mother, familiar and stable—Omega recognized her sweater, knew the exact stroke of the hairbrush that smoothed her hair back into a neat bun at the back of her head. At the same time, here was a stranger—someone who lied to her and treated her not like family but like a lab assistant, a specimen, something divorced from herself. None of her brothers treated her like that; Dr. Dorme said that parents weren’t supposed to treat her like that. 

Nala Se smiled coolly and glided over to Omega. She petted at her hair, pushing back her bangs. “You haven’t brushed your hair,” she said, chidingly. 

Omega swallowed. Her mother’s hand moving through her hair wasn’t unpleasant , but it still felt mechanical. She dodged backwards, shaking her head to make her bangs fall forward again. “I did,” she muttered, because she had— she just hadn’t brushed it the way her mother liked. 

Slowly, Nala Se drew back her hand. She said nothing to Omega. Instead she looked over her head to Ms. Ti, who was settling down in her customary chair. Her role was not to “eavesdrop,” as Nala Se had tried to hissingly insinuate during their first meeting. Just the opposite, she was only there to monitor, and nothing she saw would be used in the court room. Supervision, not observation. 

“I will have to leave early,” Nala Se said to Shaak Ti. Omega bristled, thinking she ought to be told that as well. “My lawyer would like to meet before our court date. It is very inconvenient to schedule the two so close together.”

If Nala Se was expecting Shaak Ti to apologize, she did not get the satisfaction. The tall woman merely inclined her head. 

Hunter wouldn’t leave Omega early. Just the opposite; he’d stayed in bed and was almost late, just because she asked him to stay. Omega felt herself start to grind her teeth as Nala Se led her over to the two chairs they normally sat in. She stayed standing as Nala Se settled down. 

“Soon,” she said, sighing, “things will go back to normal.” 

Omega swallowed. Her hands knotted into fists. “No, they won’t,” she said. 

Her mother shot her a sharp glance. Even as she was opening her mouth, Omega knew that it would only be to pivot, so she pressed on. 

“You have to do what the court says,” she said. “And CPS.”

Nala Se pressed her lips into a tight line. “Other than that,” she said. “Won’t that be nice?” she asked, then, and reached out again to fix Omega’s bangs. She dodged again, Nala Se’s pale eyes flashing. 

“I like my hair like this,” Omega said, and ruffled her bangs back down. 

“It makes you look untidy,” Nala Se returned. She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Omega, please. You’re acting like a child.” Another extension of her hand, only this time Omega stepped so the other chair was between the two of them. 

“I am a child,” she said, voice much stronger than she felt. 

Oh so deliberately, Nala Se glanced over to where Shaak Ti was sitting. She lowered her hand. “You really are behaving quite unlike yourself today,” she sniffed. “Where is this coming from?” Her eyes flashed again. “Have… they been telling you to act like this?”

“They have names,” Omega hissed, blood boiling. All the lies Nala Se had felt so comfortable telling her their previous meetings—about Hunter, about the house, about all of them— was burning in her, begging to get cut out. “They don’t tell me to do anything.”

“Hardly parental,” Nala Se sniffed.

Omega could taste her heartbeat in her mouth. “I don’t like it when you talk about them like that.”

“What you like is not under discussion today.” 

Omega closed her mouth. It was difficult to swallow. 

Nala Se sighed. “Come here,” she ordered, tone subdued. Omega obediently circled around the chair until she was standing in front of her mother. “I understand that this has all been very stressful for you,” Nala Se murmured. “But I forgive you.”

As sick as it made Omega feel, she still crumbled a bit in relief. 

“Such a change of circumstances must be very stressful,” Nala Se continued. She didn’t look Omega in the eye, drawing her gaze with no uncertain level of distaste over Omega’s clothes. “You’ll feel better once you’re back home with me.”

The very thought made Omega feel sick and angry in equal measure.

“If,” she said. “If I go back with you.” 

“You are being unnecessarily rude,” Nala Se snapped. 

The words just kept coming. She hadn’t had the nerve to talk like this before, but now she had nothing to lose. “If I go back with you, I’ll never talk to you again,” she said in a burst. “I won’t help with the lab or cook or clean anything.” She took in a shaky, sucking breath. 

“Omega,” Nala Se gasped, affronted. “How could you say that?” Before Omega could say more, her gaze hardened. “This is their influence,” she accused. “It must be. My daughter would never speak to me this way.” She sighed. Her long, pale fingers played with the uneven hem of Omega’s sweater. It was designed that way; Nala Se frowned at it. 

“They wouldn’t want me to talk like that, either,” Omega said quietly. Nala Se glanced up at her. “You don’t give them enough credit.”

That made Mother sneer. She dropped her pinching hold on Omega’s sweater, sitting up, imperious. “When they have earned my regard,” she said, “they will get it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why you are so enamored with them, I have no idea. I imagine it is why you are so against me this afternoon.”

Because they let me hug them. Because they ask me what I want to eat for dinner. Because they tuck me in at night. Because they care about the things I care about. 

“They’re my brothers,” Omega said, hearing her own voice like it was very far away. “They’re my brothers and you did all those things to them.” It had been a shock, breaking into the file cabinet and finding their old files. Mother never made Omega run miles and miles on the treadmill, in oxygen saturation tests. Never made her endure the cold, the intense heat. Never made her sleep for the night in an isolation chamber. Thick black nothingness. She’d had nightmares of the photographs of Wrecker’s knees, his swollen knuckles. His big gentle hands.

Nala Se imperiously drew her shoulders back. “My relationship with them has no bearing on my relationship with you.” 

Omega looked up at her. A strange kind of serenity moving in her veins. “Your relationship with them is important. For my relationship with you,” she said, quietly.

“I am your mother,” Nala Se snapped in reply. 

“You don’t act like it,” Omega croaked.

Nala Se looked like she’d been slapped. Face bloodless, jaw slack. Then she hardened. 

“They told you to say that,” she accused.

“They didn’t!” Omega shot back. “Why do you think that everything that I say that you don’t like I’m only saying because I’m following orders?! They don’t order me to say things like you do! They believe me when I tell them things!” Tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked them angrily away, sniffing.

Nala Se stared at her. 

“I want to live with them,” Omega croaked. “I want— I want to stay with them. Please,” she begged, the tears spilling over, “please let me stay with them.” 

Nala Se stared at her. Omega sniffed and mopped at her face with her sleeves. Nala Se flinched, and then Shaak Ti was at Omega’s side, offering a purse-package of tissues. 

“Thank you,” Nala Se said, tone cutting, “that will be all.”

Wordlessly, Shaak Ti tucked the tissues into Omega’s hand and returned to her chair. Omega wiped at her face, blew her nose. Nala Se watched her, working her jaw. Neck-tendons jumping. 

“I think I understand,” Mother said, calmly and clearly, in the tone she used when she was very, very angry. “There is a misunderstanding. I did not explain myself clearly enough. Why I have raised you the way I did.” She shifted in her chair, like she was about to go into the explanation.

Omega cut her off. She knew every excuse her mother might try to give, knew it by heart. It was the answer to every dreamy question Omega had asked, growing up. Mother, why can’t I go to school? Mother, why can’t I have dinner with you? Mother, why can’t I go outside? 

“I don’t care,” she said, voice thin. “I don’t care why you treat me like this. I don’t like it.” The words, truthful and raw as they were, sounded needy and pathetic to her ears. Distaste churned in her gut. “I don’t like it and it's not right.” 

For a long, long moment, Nala Se sat there and stared at her. All surety, suddenly gone. Now all that showed on her face was a kind of dull surprise. Awe, maybe. Maybe not. It felt, for the first time in a long, long time, like Nala Se was really looking at her. At the edges of her. Omega sniffed. 

The silence stretched. Nala Se’s eyes flickered. Desperately looking for something to say. Some final justification. After a minute, she found it.

“I love you,” she said— and it sounded so different than how Hunter had said it the night before.

Omega didn’t blink. She stared gamely at her mother and said, so clearly: “Then prove it.” 

Nala Se pulled her head back as if she had been slapped. 

Her phone rang. 

Blinking, Nala Se snatched up the high-end electronic and hit a button on the screen. “What?” she demanded, and Omega flinched. She pulled out another tissue, hoping Shaak Ti wouldn’t mind her using so many, and blew her nose again. “No. Yes. I’m not—” Nala Se looked at Omega. Omega couldn’t read her expression. 

Nala Se worked her jaw. Lama Su’s oily voice drifted, tinny, from the phone. 

“Enough,” Nala Se barked. She stood up, towering over Omega. “I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone with a decisive click. Stowing her phone in her handbag, she smoothed both hands down the front of her pencil skirt. Looking down at Omega. It used to feel like her mother was miles away when she had that expression on her face. Disappointment and confusion, like Omega was a problem she didn’t know how to solve, and was all the more distasteful for being so. 

It used to. Now Omega just looked up at her. She was Hunter’s height. Not that tall, really. Just distant. Maybe, one day, Omega would feel sorry for her. Today, she felt nothing at all. 

“Omega,” Nala Se said.

“Mother,” she replied.

Nose in the air, that was that. Nala Se drifted out. Omega stood there, numb. The used tissues she kept in one fist got damp with the sweat from her palm. She turned, muted, looking for a trashcan. 

“Here,” Shaak Ti said, gently taking them from her hand. She went and tossed them in a small bin, then returned. Omega tried to offer her the remaining ones. “You can keep these, Omega.” 

“Thank you,” she remembered to say, pocketing the half-full packet. 

“You’re welcome.” Shaak Ti’s cool assurance was a balm. She knelt in front of Omega. “May I give you a hug, Omega?”

Numbly, Omega nodded. Shaak Ti’s embrace was soft and cool, gentle. Omega leaned into it, swaying a little. Shaak Ti pulled back, studying Omega’s no doubt blotchy face. “Would you like something to drink? A snack?”

Omega shook her head. What she wanted was for all of this to be over and go home with her brothers, but that wasn’t something she could have just by wanting it.

“Okay. If you change your mind, please let me know.” Shaak Ti squeezed her arm, gently. “We have some time before you speak with Judge Yularen. Would you like to go outside? We could stay here, if you like.” 

The last thing she wanted was to stay in this room. “Do I have to wait?” she asked tentatively. “Could I… speak to him now?”

Another squeeze. “I’ll see if he’s free.”

Omega ended up drinking a juice box, sitting on a bench while Shaak Ti went to ask if Judge Yularen was ready to speak to her. Apple juice— the shock of sweetness made her wish that she could have one of the bag of dried apples that Cut kept stocked in his pantry. 

Shaak Ti brought her into the judge’s offices. The room was much warmer than Mother’s offices in her house— the walls all dark wood and loaded with binders and books. Judge Yularen had a nice face, creased as he smiled at Omega.

“It’s nice to meet you, Omega,” he said, shaking her hand. “Here, take my seat.” He gave her the big leather swivel chair behind his big wooden desk, pulling up a much smaller chair for himself off to one side. Omega swiveled the chair from side to side, looking at all the stuff on his desk—a framed photograph showed him in a casual polo shirt, laughing as a toddler yanked on his hair. 

“My grandson,” he said, noticing her attention. “That’s an old photograph. He’s almost five, now.” 

Omega tried to match his relaxed demeanor. Probably failed. 

He nudged his chair a little closer. With his judge robe all open, it kinda looked like a bathrobe, even with the suit underneath. “I’ve heard a lot from your mother and brothers over the past few days,” he said. “But I want to hear from you, Omega. Tell me about how it’s been for you, these past few weeks. I’ll never tell anyone what you tell me. Judge’s honor.” 

Shaak Ti, sitting in an armchair against the back wall, gave an encouraging nod. 

Omega took in and released a breath. She could do this. She had to do this.

And she did.

Hunter hunched over in his seat, hands buried in his hair. Focusing on his breathing. Either a panic attack or a migraine was on the horizon— so long as his vision remained clear and steady, he was in the clear. In the clear. 

He leaned a little harder against Ninety-nine, who had taken Obi-Wan’s seat for the time being, one arm rubbing comforting circles in his back. Part of Hunter wanted to feel bad about eating up Ninety-nine’s attention; he could hear the rhythmic clicking of Tech bouncing his leg into oblivion, Wrecker’s nervous mumbling, Echo’s forced-even breathing. He wasn’t Ninety-nine’s only kid, but a selfish part of him lavished in the extra support. 

The minutes ticked by. 

Nala Se and her lawyer had yet to appear. 

So far, they had always been early, ahead of the curve, but their start time approached, and nothing. Hunter breathed carefully even. Obi-Wan whispered something to Ninety-nine, and the old man patted Hunter’s back.

“I gotta go sit with the others, now,” he whispered towards Hunter’s hidden face. He sounded honestly apologetic, because that was how Ninety-nine operated. “Okay, Hunt?” His hand rubbed a final quick circle.

“Yeah,” Hunter managed to grunt. “Yeah, okay.” He straightened up. Ninety-nine patted the top of his head, then chased the gesture with a brief kiss. Hunter let a brief moment of relief flood his system at the gesture. Then Ninety-nine shuffled back to join the gallery.

The bailiffs announced Judge Wullf Yularen. 

Still no Nala Se.

The judge, when he arrived, looked just as surprised as Hunter felt to see the other table empty. He was opening his mouth, for a question perhaps, when the door to the rooms burst open, and Nala Se swept in, Lama Su hot on her heels. 

The sight of his mother, all pent up rage, made Hunter’s mouth go dry, knees locking into attention as he stood. 

“Apologies, your honor, apologies,” Lama Su shmoozed, half out of breath.

“Please sit, counselor,” Judge Yularen said. They both sat, Lama Su looking agitated. Hunter felt some sweat slip down the back of his neck as he eased into his chair. “Well, today is our final day together, barring any unusual circumstances. I have heard from both parties, have spoken to Omega’s social worker, and to Omega herself. This court…”

Nala Se stood up. Lama Su jolted up to standing next to her, and tried to put a hand on her shoulder to make her sit back down— Nala Se snarled and shook him off. 

“Order in my courtroom,” the judge barked. “What is this?” 

“Apologies, sir, allow me a quick word with my client—”

Nala Se said something angrily under her breath to Lama Su— he replied in kind—Nala Se lifted her lip in a snarl and turned to the judge even as Lama Su continued to try and whisper to her urgently.

“Your honor,” she said loudly, “I dismiss my counsel.” 

Lama Su shut his mouth. There was a beat of silence. 

Judge Yularen leaned forward. He said, carefully, “Dr. Se, that is your right. But please note, that here in family court, you are not guaranteed a court-appointed lawyer. We are on our last meeting, here; you will need to represent yourself.” 

“There is no need,” she said. 

The judge frowned. “You still have final arguments.” 

Lama Su turned his shoulder and tried to whisper to Nala Se; she shrugged him off once more. Hunter had never seen her so agitated. “I decline to give a final statement.” 

“Decline?” his frown deepened. “Dr. Se, are you well?”

“Perfectly,” Nala Se said. She glared at Lama Su. He sank down into his chair, face a mask of barely suppressed fury. “I withdraw my suit for full custody.”

Hunter couldn’t breathe.

The judge leaned back in his chair, confusion and suspicion warring on his face. He shared a silent glance with Shaak Ti. “Why the change of heart, Dr. Se?” 

She didn’t answer the question directly. “I only wish to retain visitation rights. At whatever capacity the court allows.” 

“This is quite a change, Dr. Se.” The judge’s eyes coolly passed over Hunter’s encampment before landing on Nala Se. “Please approach the bench— without Mr. Su, as he is no longer your counsel.” 

Sneering, glaring, but trying to make it look like a smile, Lama Su sank down into his chair but did not leave the room. 

Nala Se’s heels clicked on the tile floor as she approached the bench. Although the judge tried to keep to a whisper, the conversation was all too audible to Hunter’s keyed up senses.

“Are you alright, Dr. Se?” he asked her, surprisingly gentle.

“Quite alright, I assure you. I wish to surrender my rights.”

“You wish to maintain visitation.”

A moment of hesitation. “That’s right.” 

“Before you wanted full custody. You understand my confusion.” 

“I wanted full custody because I believed it was best for Omega.” 

“And now?” 

A beat of silence. “Now I believe that she is beyond my abilities to raise as I would prefer.” 

“You don’t think yourself capable?”

“On the contrary. I am a very busy woman. Omega’s behavioral problems would be best addressed by a household not burdened with my academic pursuits.” 

Another moment of silence as the judge digested her words. 

“I have had no reports of behavioral problems beyond the usual emotional responses to such custody cases.”

Nala Se was silent.

Judge Yularen sighed a little, shifting in his seat. “You have already surrendered your parental rights to four other children.”

“They are not children any longer.”

“Even so,” the judge insisted, “I would hate for an impulsive moment of self-doubt to sever you completely from your last child. More accurately, Dr. Se, I would hate to see all of us here be put through another such case— which you would very likely lose—should you try to re-sue for custody rights.” 

“I understand.”

“You said before that you were willing to comply with CPS’s requirements to have Omega returned to your care? Is that still the case?”

“It is.” 

“To put it bluntly, Dr. Se, what do you hope to gain by retaining visitation rights with Omega? Why not surrender her completely?”

A final, long moment of silence. 

“She’s my daughter,” Nala Se said. “My only daughter. I want to see her grow up. In whatever capacity I can cope with while retaining my focus on my studies.”

Judge Yularen leaned back in his chair. “I see,” he said. He nodded, aimlessly. “Please return to your seat.”

Nala Se did not thank him. She turned and walked. Her eyes met Hunter’s, and he didn’t look away. Unable to read her as ever, but this time, it was because something on her side of the equation was lacking; nothing was there to read, and she was all the smaller for it. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, if there’s no more to be said, I have my decision.” 

Obi-Wan checked in silently with Hunter. He just nodded back. Best to rip the band aid off, and the conversation left him feeling tentative. On the edge of a cliff. Just waiting to jump. 

“This court hereby appoints primary custodial rights over the minor Omega Se to one Hunter Fett, effective immediately, with one Nala Se retaining rights of visitation no more than ten hours once per week as health and circumstance allows…” 

Hunter was so lightheaded he didn’t hear the crack of the gavel. 

Suddenly Wrecker’s arms were around him, constricting tight as Wrecker squeezed and picked him up from behind, toes skittering across the floor for half a second, Wrecker’s triumphant, crowing laughter like the roll of thunder. 

Nala Se walked out, quickly, without looking at them. Lama Su sneering and spitting on her heels. Wrecker let Hunter go so he could breathe, and he turned, panting with relief, to Omega’s social worker gliding over to their celebrating party. 

She did not say ‘congratulations,’ and a distant, somehow still rational part of Hunter’s brain chalked that up to professionalism; but he could easily read how pleased she was in the line of her smile, the glitter in her eyes. 

“All forms you need to sign and authenticate are with the clerk down the hall,” she informed him. “It should only take a few minutes. If you like, I can fetch Omega, and you can meet her in the atrium.”

Somehow Hunter or Obi-Wan or Tech managed an affirmative, and Hunter felt like he was floating out of the courtroom. He was herded to the clerk. He signed where indicated. Tech took charge of a big folder of papers. 

And then they were in the hallway. Going to get Omega.

As they turned corners, Hunter opened and closed his hands. His mouth was dry, and his head was swimming, but it didn’t summon a sense of panic— it was all just this side of unreal. They’d done it. They’d done it. Despite all the odds. 

His brain finally caught up with the rest of him, and a new thoughtline began to unspool.

Shaak Ti was going to fetch her. Would she tell her? Would he turn the corner and see Omega’s face, already aware of the court’s decision? 

Or would Shaak Ti wait? Would he tell her? His mind was going so fast he had no idea how he’d get the words in the proper order, turn the heightened fluttering of his heart into something as substantial as words— there, at the end of the pathway, Shaak Ti and Omega stood together. He remembered that first time at the courthouse, walking down the hallway towards them had felt like he was in some kind of nightmare. Now it felt like a dream. 

Shaak Ti noticed him first, turning. He barely registered her, though, as Omega likewise turned and saw him and— and Shaak Ti hadn’t told her. He read there, for half a second, a look of hesitation, anticipation, the unknown—

Whatever it was Omega saw on his face, she understood immediately. 

She sprinted towards him, wordless, and he fell to his knees on the shitty courthouse linoleum to catch her in his arms, holding on as tightly as he dared. She looped her arms around his neck and tucked her face against the collar of his shirt. His breath rushed out of him, half a sigh of relief, half triumphant laughter. 

“I’ve got you,” he heard himself mutter into Omega’s hair, “I’ve got you.”

The touch of wetness on his neck sent him for a loop.

“Hey,” he soothed, gently pushing Omega back so he could peer at her tearstained face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, gently wiping away tears with his thumbs, framing her face with his hands.

She sniffed, eyes big and shiny, looking up at him. “N-nothing’s wrong,” she managed, and her little hands came up to gently circle around Hunter’s wrists. Not pulling his hands away. Holding on. “I’m… I’m just r-really h-happy.” She sniffed again, lip trembling even as she smiled, watery, and Hunter’s heart was about to burst. 

“Me, too,” he huffed half laughing, half choking, vision going a little blurry. He pulled her back into the tightest hug he could, pressing his shaking hands into her back. “Me too, kid.” 

They knelt like that together for a moment— then Wrecker crashed into them, circling his big arms around them both in a bundle and lifting until Hunter was back on his feet, swaying, toes dragged across the tile as Wrecker blubbered and swung them around. Omega, crushed against Hunter, giggled, hiccuping, and the final bit of worry fled Hunter’s system. 

Even after Wrecker finally put them both down, it still felt like Hunter was floating— all the way out of the courthouse, and even as they somehow managed to roll through the grocery store in an oversized pack. They were way past their eating-out budget for the month, but Hunter read in the glitter of Tech’s eyes that bringing that up now of all times would get him smacked. 

Hot deli food and bakery-section cupcakes, a whole two dozen, ended up getting selected to be their winner’s feast. Rex and Ninety-nine bowed out, Ninety-nine promising to be in for breakfast the next day. Toting their spoils high, they all returned to the house, Omega nothing but smiles that made Hunter breathless in a way he could get very, very used to. 

They pulled up to the house, and Crosshair was standing on the porch. 

Tech had texted him, Hunter knew, but he easily read Crosshair’s doubt in the hard line of his shoulders, straightening up as they all parked and started streaming out of the cars— a hard line of tension that snapped with relief as he spotted Omega, hopping down from the high cab of the work truck with Wrecker to guide her. He slumped back against the porch railing and just stared like he was on the firing line as they all came up. 

Hunter might have said something. He didn’t catch whatever it was. Wrecker swept Crosshair up in a hug, spinning with him a little, then dropping him to hold the door open for Omega. Hunter was buoyed along by Echo and Tech, laughing, feeling lighter than air as he went. They did it. They did it. 

Omega was theirs, and so long as Hunter could draw breath, that would never change.

Crosshair stood on the porch and listened to his family move through the house. First, to the kitchen. He could hear the running of the water, the opening and closing of the fridge. Wrecker shouting something, then laughing, Tech crowing out in disagreement. 

Then they moved, a big happy party, until it was all just a faded jumble of noises lost as the night breeze made the trees rustle. They must be in the backyard, or the back porch; he could hear them, but not echoing through the house. Lost on the breeze. Crosshair stood there. Just stood there. Echo had told him to come along, but he didn’t. He just stood there. Listening.

When he did finally move, he didn’t think much about it, not in any real depth. He just went upstairs, and started to pack. 

It was slow, methodical going. Getting his clothes all out and stowed in different bags. Work uniforms and clothes in one, sleepwear in another. All his toiletries from the bathroom. His box of DVDs. He decided against taking Kiki Delivery’s Service and Spirited Away ; those he left in the living room. By the television. Where he’d left them. After. 

He gritted his teeth, making trip after trip from the house to his car, parked across the lawn by the front curb. Duffel bags. Boxes. The trick was not to think about it. About how they’d all been raised. About how things might have gone differently. If they hadn’t. If he hadn’t. 

At one point, kneeling on the bedroom floor to get something from under the bed, he heard the sharp whistle of his own audible breathing and forced his head between his knees.

Get it together , he ordered himself. You fucking useless piece of shit, get it together . 

He got it together. Slowly, tortuously, he got it together.

One last search of the room. Everything that he could pretend was his, packed up and gone. Except the orange bottle of Tylenol with codeine. He left that on Hunter’s bedside table. 

The walk from the front door, closed behind him, to his car, was endless. The night large and dark and empty. Their voices, so faint on the wind. 

For what felt like a long time, Crosshair sat in his car. Stared at the wheel. At the keys in the ignition. All he had to do was drive, and he would be gone. And they’d all be better off. And it would be good. All he had to do was go . 

He sat there and couldn’t make himself turn the key. 

He just had to go. He just had to go . 

His hand lifted to touch the key.

Someone knocked on the passenger window, making him jump, heart careening off into the high decibels. He swung his head around, acid on the tip of his tongue to give some fucking final fuck-you goodbye— and he stopped.

Omega beamed at him through the window. 

“Crosshair!” she exclaimed, popping the door and slipping into the passenger seat before he could find the words or motion to stop her. “There you are! I was looking everywhere for you.” She shut the passenger door, and he was left blinking, staring at her. She was barefoot. Had run out into the yard without her shoes. For him. Her hair was rough from so many hands ruffling it, pale and silvery in the moonlight. 

She shot him a proud, wild grin, and he opened his mouth. Closed it. Too many questions battled at the front of his mind— what was she doing out here, what was going on—but he couldn’t make himself ask any of them. He noticed that she was holding something in her hands. One of the grocery-store cupcakes he’d seen Tech carrying inside. Plain chocolate frosting.

“What’s that?” he asked instead, frowning at it.

“Oh!” Omega held it up so he could see it in the dim light of the street lamp. “It’s your cupcake! Hunter said you don’t like sprinkles so I made sure there weren’t any. Here.” She held it out towards him.

He sat there and stared at her.

“It’s the last one without sprinkles,” she chattered on, cupping the damn thing protectively between her palms. “I wanted to make sure you got one, since all the no-sprinkle ones were supposed to be for you, anyway.”  

So she’d carried it. In from the backyard. Then around the house, looking for him. It had been a long, long time since Crosshair was young enough that something so small meant so much. Carefully, he took the thing from Omega’s hand, turning it around and peering at it from all angles. It looked just like any other shitty grocery store cupcake. It looked like the best thing he’d ever seen.

He tilted it, frowning at it with a line between his brows.

Omega watched his face and frowned too, worry rising in her eyes. “Do you… not like it?”

“It’s…” When no words came, Crosshair leaned forward and placed the dessert on the car’s dashboard. “You should go back inside,” he said, gruff. 

“Okay,” she said, turning, but then paused with her hand on the door. “Are you… coming back inside, too?” she asked. 

He pressed the tip of his tongue against the hard line of his teeth and didn’t say anything. He flexed his hands on the wheel, just to do something. 

Omega sat back, took her hand off of the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, voice tiny. “Crosshair?”

“I’m. I’m not.” He couldn’t make the words come. He knew, like he knew the bite-rope line of scar tissue inside his cheek, that nothing was wrong . Not the way she said it. No; they’d won. Omega was theirs. 

Hunter’s, a dark part of his brain corrected him. She’s not yours.

Omega was Hunter’s. She was safe. Nothing was wrong. 

Impossibly, frighteningly, Crosshair was happy. 

He was happy, and the great sucking wound that emotion cut open in his chest was making him feel like he was in the burning house. Looking for the exit. Ash on the tongue. In the lungs. 

“Nala Se really fucked me up,” he said, in a low, quiet voice. 

Omega frowned. “You shouldn’t say that.”

He shrugged, listless. “Fucked or not, it’s true. She really did a fucking number on me.”

Her eyes traced the outline of his face. “Like me?” she asked.

“No.” His hands tightened on the wheel, and he turned to face her, but his resolve broke and he returned his gaze to the curve of the black street beyond the windshield. “You’re not… it’s different.”

She tilted her head to one side. “But…” 

“You’re—” he swallowed, all thickness. “You’re a good kid. Somehow,” he laughed, darkly, “you’re a good kid.” Something about the bluey dark of night, the stillness in the air, the distant lights in the house— it was like his ribcage was being cracked outward and open, rib by rib, and all his insides were visible by moonlight. You’re a good kid. Not like I was. Not like how I turned out. Somehow. It’s all me. All the way down. 

“You’re…” He could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Looking for straws to grasp. Holding on with both hands. “You’re good too, though.” 

He scoffed. “You don’t know.” 

“Why are you…” she sounded so honestly confused. “Why are you saying that?”

Because he’d spent her entire life not saying what he needed to. Not saying what he’d done. 

“Because it’s true,” he replied.

For a second, Omega was quiet. Good, she’d gotten the memo and would slip back out and let him make his escape. Report back to the others and bask in their sighs of relief. 

He turned, watching her in muted surprise as she shifted, tucking her legs under herself, kneeling and looking up at him with big, stalwart eyes. 

“Do you know what lying is?” she demanded. 

Dimly, he recognized his own words. He blinked. “That’s not—”

“Why are you lying?” she pressed on. He tried to open his mouth, but she cut him off. Impressive bit of spine. “Why are you lying about yourself? You’re not messed up, you— you showed me where the fire extinguisher is.” 

The reedy sincerity in her voice made him close his eyes. He’d bought iodine from the drug store after his shift one day, but he hadn’t told her that he’d put it in the first aid kit as promised. Hadn’t found the time. He wanted to tell her, now, but he bit back on the words. 

“And you— and you let me watch movies with you. And you told me how Kiki’s Delivery Service ends. And you let me blow my nose in your shirt.” 

Her desperation made it sound like she was on the verge of tears. She very well could be, but he didn’t dare open his eyes to check. Afraid of what that might do to him. 

“And I know that… that you carried me. Upstairs.” Her voice cracked, and she was definitely tearful, he could feel it in the air. “When I fell asleep.” 

Such pitiful little bird-seed crumbs of affection. The bare minimum he was capable of summoning up. Ninety-nine had let Crosshair weep into his shoulder, had smoothed his hand along the back curve of Crosshair’s head, careful and sure, then zipped his lips shut when Crosshair begged him not to tell the others about his weak outburst of emotion. He’d kept that promise, even all these years later. Omega had no frame of reference; give her a few months and she’d find Crosshair’s pathetic little forays into comfort a poor substitute. 

Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut and held tight to the withering roots of his self-resolve.

He heard the shifting of the car seat as Omega moved, the creaking of plastic and leather as she leaned one hand on the center console. For half a delirious moment, he thought she might try and touch him, and his muscles coiled, locking to try and cut off whatever fucking knee-jerk elbow-throw he might try and dish out, so high-strung and strung-out— only she didn’t touch him. A puff of breath almost brushed his skin as she peered into the backseat. At the duffle bags. At the boxes. 

“You’re leaving,” she said, half a question. He said nothing. The passenger seat creaked and Crosshair made himself exhale, cracking open his eyes. He dared to glance at her. Omega wasn’t looking at him; her eyes danced around, thinking through her next sentence. “Is it… did I do something wrong?” she asked, voice trembling, and glanced up at him. Her eyes were like a punch to the gut. Big brown Fett eyes. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the wheel. When he spoke, his voice was raw. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Then why…?”

“It’s. This is. It’s for the best,” he managed to mutter.

Omega sniffed. “But you said… you told me that this would be better. That I shouldn’t go back.”

“It is,” he croaked, immediately. “This has nothing to do with that.”

“How is it better if you’re not here, too?” she asked, and some kind of fucking noise punched out of his chest.

“What do you know?” he snapped, then bit his tongue, scowling at nothing. He shook his head. It would have been better for all of them if he hadn’t been there, if he wasn’t the weak link in the chain. Omega, too. So many years of their mother’s presence, long white hallways. Because he’d folded. So long ago now it felt like a kind of conception. When he stopped being a kid like Omega, holding his knees to his chest. And started being the man he was now. Holding onto nothing.

Omega hesitated. “I know… that it’s not your fault,” she said, so damn carefully it made his head spin. “That you can’t help it.” 

If I do this shit on purpose, why can’t I stop? 

“You’re better off with them,” Crosshair muttered. “Just them.” 

“That’s not true,” she whispered. 

“They’re better off without me,” he rasped. “I’m not…” So many things. Even after all this time. “I should just go.” He unfurled his spine, sitting up so he was pressed back against the seat. His hands fell off of the steering wheel. 

They sat in silence. Bruised silence. Hallway silence. 

“But you’re their brother, Crosshair,” Omega whispered.

She reached out, so carefully, and held his hand.

When they ran away for the last time. Lifetimes ago. Crosshair had been last out the door. Looking back, at the dark entryway. At the slab of wood closing, closing, knowing that as soon as it shut there was no going back. No other exit. He’d hesitated, right on the edge of the porch, watching some kind of finish line come rushing up to him at neck-level. 

And. 

Tech had grabbed his hand. 

Made him turn around. The line of them, with Hunter at the front, looking back for him. Hands trembling. Hands like iron. The sound of the door closing, so finally, behind them all. In a moment, it was like the whole world just… opened up. Fell open, wide and deep and endless. Around them all. And they’d held hands like that, all the way to the end of the block, all the way to the edge of the city.

Omega’s fingers tightened, squeezing. Her voice, so quiet and so sincere, cut through all the darkness. Some kind of finish line. Rushing up to him at neck level. 

“You’re my brother, too,” she breathed, and something in him crumbled. So many years of resistance, going up in smoke. So many lies he’d told himself, coming up empty. Him and his little sister. Despite it all. 

“Okay,” he breathed, choppy and shuddering on the inhale, “okay.” 

With his free hand he picked up the neck of his shirt and pressed it hard against his eyes. Biting back at wretched, gasping breaths. Omega waited. Sniffing, he dropped his shirt, eyes downcast. She gave his fingers a squeeze, and Crosshair shakily squeezed back. Omega gave him a watery smile, and while he couldn’t return it, he could feel the softness in his eyes come dredging up from somewhere deep inside him, too-long buried. 

Omega nudged him a little, moving their linked hands, and with numb confusion and wonder, he shifted towards the driver’s side door. He moved mindlessly, like he was in a dream. She nodded, just a little motion, and he used his free hand to pop the handle. He put his feet on asphalt, stepping out of the car and into the full-throated night. Omega followed right behind him, crawling over the center console. Never letting go of his hand. 

She crawled out after him and stood, barefooted, on the black street, looking up at him. Big moonlit eyes. His little sister. She moved a little, mindlessly, from foot to foot, the street still warm from the sun and rough from age. Without thinking, Crosshair moved, stooping down and bringing his free arm around and lifting her light, frail weight up so she was sitting in the crook of his arm. 

Her eyes were big, surprised, looking at him. At eye level. He swallowed, glancing away, unsure and thin with some strange, unknown feeling. Omega let go of his hand to wrap both of her arms around his neck, tucking her head against his shoulder. His breathing was rough, and he shakily shut the driver’s side door with his knee. Her hair tickled the edge of his jaw, his cheek. 

He moved with alien steadiness, underwater-slowness, around the front of the car. Towards their house. Windows yellow with light, golden and pouring. He put his free hand against her back, and he could feel the warmth of her; the way her back moved as she breathed in and out, slow and deep and deliberate. His fingers shook, and he pressed a little harder.

Omega tightened her hands in the back of his shirt, holding on. If hope was the thing with feathers, he could feel it coming home to roost somewhere in his ribcage. Against all his better judgment, against all his carefully constructed armor, Crosshair felt himself start to believe that he was gonna be okay. 

“Omega?” Hunter called out, poking his head in from the backyard. No answer. He strolled inside, letting the door to the porch close behind him. “Omega!” he called out again. No answer. Ah, well. She might be upstairs in her bedroom— she’d managed to sneak off without anyone catching her, a difficult maneuver considering her presence as the center of attention. 

The house was quiet and warm. Hunter stuck his hands in his pockets and just drifted along, not fighting the no doubt goofy smile that’d been haunted his face for hours, now. He emerged from the back of the house into the center hallway and came up short, smile dropping as he spotted—what he was looking at, he couldn’t immediately guess, everything plain, flat observation.

Crosshair. At the front door. His back was to Hunter as he turned to close the door, and as soon as it thudded home, he turned, Omega cradled in his arms, and—he froze as he spotted Hunter. Watching him. For a tick the two just stood there, staring at each other, and Hunter couldn’t read Crosshair’s face. 

The sudden bout of stillness made Omega sit up on Crosshair’s arm. An adorable, confused pout on her face as she looked at Crosshair’s profile. Her frown deepened with confusion, and her eyes traced where Crosshair was staring. Landed on Hunter. Her pout soothed away to a smile, and damn if that didn’t still kick up a painful cartwheel in Hunter’s chest. His baby sister. They had her. It was still a surprise, and part of him hoped that feeling of triumph would never go away. 

She gave a little wave. Hunter, numb, managed to return the gesture.

Turning, Omega whispered something in Crosshair’s ear that Hunter couldn’t catch. Whatever it was that she said, however, it shattered Crosshair’s indifferent mask. His expression eclipsed momentarily into a look of pain, eyes unfocused, and then shuttered closed, squeezing his eyes shut, almost snarling. Hunter couldn’t breathe. Omega pulled back, and Crosshair swallowed heavily before glancing at her. She nodded. Almost in encouragement. Swallowing again, Crosshair wordlessly nodded back, and Omega beamed. 

Crosshair leaned down to let Omega slip from his arms. She padded barefoot past Hunter, all smiles, while he just stood there numbly like a statue. He heard the back porch door creak open and shut, the noise jarring him from his stupor. 

“What was that about?” he managed to ask.

“We need to talk,” Crosshair said, voice rough. He was standing still, but there was a caged-animal quality to his stillness. He didn’t quite meet Hunter’s eyes.

“Okay,” Hunter said, so slowly. 

Crosshair jerked his chin. Hunter trailed after him into the kitchen, and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, angled towards Crosshair as he collapsed into another. They were sitting close enough that their knees nearly touched. Crosshair leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees, then straightened up, back ramrod straight, like he was at review. Shoulders hiked up and rigid. His eyes skittered around, and he swallowed, again and again. 

“Crosshair?” Hunter gently prompted when the silent moment became a minute. 

“I’m the one that called Nala Se,” Crosshair said, and stopped. 

Hunter frowned. “When did you call her?” he asked, trying to think back for the past few weeks—

“When we were at Ninety-nine’s. The third night we were there, I. I called her.” Crosshair’s tone was even, too even. All the blood pressed out of it, flat. His eyes were still, but unfocused, hanging between Hunter and himself. “That's how she knew we were there. Because I called her.” 

Hunter sat back in his chair, body slack with surprise. All these years, he’d never questioned that Nala Se had been tracking them down, had just happened to know where to send her lawyer. This revelation made him reel. “Cross…” 

“I wanted her to come get us. I asked her to come get us. I thought she’d… that Ninety-nine wouldn’t…” He swallowed and shrugged, humorless. “I thought we’d be better off with her. Even with. Everything else.” 

Hunter stared blankly at him. In the back of his head, the memory dredged up of that day in Ninety-nine’s house. The raw, relieved disbelief in Crosshair’s voice as he asked You’ll keep us? Just like that? 

“She didn’t even show,” Crosshair continued, and his voice cracked. “Even after everything she did to us. She sent that fucking lawyer instead. She didn’t even want to keep us— and then. It turns out she didn’t need us any more, because she had our replacement ready.” Crosshair’s face screwed up, and he shook it, like he was trying to wring the traitorous thoughts from his own mind. 

“You’re right about me,” he choked out, not meeting Hunter’s eyes, “you and everyone else. There’s something wrong with me, the first time I saw Omega, I just. I thought,” Crosshair made a gesture. Laying it all out. “So you’re the reason our mother didn’t bother to come and get us.” Crosshair’s voice was wretched, his expression collapsing with guilt. Wretched with it. “I— I resented my helpless little sister because she got abused instead of me—”

He cut himself off as Hunter surged forward and dragged him into an embrace. Crosshair went rigid, and Hunter just held on. “Shut up,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shut the hell up, Cross.” 

He did not shut up. The words just came tumbling out, arterial. “If I hadn’t— If I hadn’t— we could have gone to the police, they could have— Omega wouldn’t— it’s all my fault —” 

“For eleven years,” Hunter breathed, “for eleven years, Cross, you’ve been carrying this?” 

Crosshair was silent. Hunter started to back away, but then Crosshair’s hands were knotted tight in the back of his shirt, clinging to him. Hunter hooked his chin over Crosshair’s shoulder and held on. 

“It’s not your fault, Cross,” Hunter said, voice quiet and gritty with conviction, “none of it. We were— you were just a kid. I would never…” His throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said then, voice pitched low. “I’m sorry that you thought I would blame you for that, Cross. For any of it.” 

Crosshair’s sucking inhale of breath was painful to hear. 

“You didn’t,” Crosshair ground out, “You wouldn’t— you’d all be better off if I never…” The end of the sentence was the edge of a cliff. The silence in the house after Crosshair had stormed out, the slamming of the door some kind of severance. 

Hunter shook his head, and pushed Crosshair back by his shoulders. Crosshair let himself get pushed, though he avoided Hunter’s eyes, sniffing and scowling at nothing, eyes glassy. “Crosshair.” 

Slowly, like every inch was torture, Crosshair dragged his gaze to Hunter’s face. Hunter shook his head, again, sure that his expression looked just as wretched in sincerity as he felt. There were too many things he could possibly say. Looking at his little brother. The needle-thin lines of his tattoo. 

“There’s no better version of my life that doesn’t have you in it,” he ended up saying. He swallowed. “You’re my brother, and I love you, and that’s… that’s everything, Cross. Always has been.”

Hunter watch as Crosshair’s face crumpled— disbelief, doubt, a flash of anger dissolving into a knotted, bruised scowl, trying so damn hard not to give that final inch that would bring everything falling down. He shook his head, once, twice, sucked in a shaky breath through clenched teeth, and covered his eyes with one hand, white-knuckled. He leaned forward, back a pained curve, trying to hide his face.

With the hand on his shoulder, Hunter gently tugged him forward until the crown of Crosshair’s head was pressed against his collarbone. As much privacy as he could give his brother without leaving him. He leaned the curve of his jaw against Crosshair’s temple, and just sat there with him as he got his breathing under control. Shaking breaths, silent sobs, shook Crosshair’s back under Hunter’s hands, then evened out. Steadied. 

He didn’t know how long they both sat like that; time melted away into nothing. It could have been bare minutes, long-road hours. Maybe they had been sitting like that since they were kids, when Hunter would finally get back to their shared room after a night in the isolation tank, and Crosshair would grip him tight, like he thought he’d never see him again. Hunter too shaky to return the gesture. He was strong enough, now, and he held on for all he was worth. After all this time. Time and time again. Nightmare after nightmare. 

Eventually Crosshair sniffed and exhaled heavily through his mouth. He straightened up, and Hunter let him go. Crosshair picked up the neck of his shirt and mopped at his eyes. Hunter anticipated some degree of awkwardness, but to his surprise none came. Crosshair sniffed again and dropped his shirt. Eyes red but clear. Breath damp but steady.

“My stuff. It’s… out in my car,” he said, voice raspy. 

Something in Hunter’s chest clenched. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said. He stood up. “Come on.”

Wordless, Crosshair followed Hunter out to his car, the night deep and blue and endless. They got his bags from the car, Hunter shouldering the bulk of it. It was, all things considered, a nice night. A foamy scattering of pale stars. The sharp-curve edge of the moon. 

Grabbing a duffel bag from the backseat through the passenger door, Hunter paused. Sitting pretty in the moonlight, a lone cupcake sat on the dashboard. No sprinkles. Crosshair’s favorite. Carefully, Hunter grabbed it and stood. Turned and faced Crosshair, standing on the lawn by the trunk of his car. 

Crosshair paused. Took in the scene. Shaking his head a little, smiling just-so tightly, he put down the things in his arms and took one step forward, two. He took the cupcake from Hunter’s hand and turned it carefully between his fingers.

Wordlessly, Crosshair peeled the paper liner off the bottom of the cupcake, then ripped it in half from the base. He held out half towards Hunter. Numbly, Hunter reached out and took it, shedding some chocolate crumbs.

With something almost like a smile on his mouth, Crosshair held up his half of the cupcake. 

After the barest moment, Hunter understood. With a small, conspiratorial grin of his own, he tapped his half of the cupcake to Crosshair’s. Cheers. 

With every bite, tooth-rotting corn-syrup frosting melting on Hunter’s tongue, it felt like something was sliding into place. Some hurt getting smoothed over. They all had a long way to go, still, before the things that hurt them were nothing but faded scar tissue, but eating a shitty chocolate cupcake with Crosshair out on their front lawn felt like a vital first step in the right direction. And then another. And then another. 

Too soon, Hunter was left brushing crumbs from his fingertips. He was grinning, despite himself, light-headed with relief. It looked like Crosshair felt the same. Eyes slack and honest, looking at him in the darkness. 

They made their way back to the house. Hunter got to the door first, and held it open for Crosshair. He watched as Crosshair, quiet and still, walked past him. Into the golden light of the house, spilling out across their lawn. He could hear, distantly, Wrecker and Omega laughing. Tech and Echo’s voices, cascading over each other. Crosshair paused, just inside the house, and took in a long, deep breath, and exhaled, like all the weight was falling off of him. 

Hunter sent one final look out onto the street. Their street, their lawn, their house. 

He followed Crosshair inside, and closed the door firmly shut behind them both. 

Chapter Text

“I like it!” Wrecker declared. He nodded, turning with his hands on his hips. “Nice color!”

Hunter rolled his eyes; Wrecker had picked out the paint, a charcoal-grey that made up for the big wall of windows on one side, draped with white roll-blinds. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” 

Huffing a laugh, Hunter elbowed past Wrecker to the door. The back porch had been small enough before they’d boarded up the sides and added Hunter’s new bed. Now, sharing the space with Wrecker, it was nice and cramped. 

Emerging into the house proper, Hunter paused to admire the new sliding door that led directly out to the backyard— no need for anyone to trample through his new bedroom to get outside if they needed to. The yard had been worked over, too, Wrecker and Hunter both getting Thursday and Friday off after finishing up a build for Cid earlier in the week. Now the overgrown grasses were all trimmed, the back hedges shaped, the worst of the dead branches of the old tree stripped and daubed over with mold-resistant paint. Rainy season was coming, autumn burning close at hand, and they wanted to be ready. 

It sounded like Wrecker hit something with his elbow. “I’ll fix it!” he called out, and Hunter rolled his eyes with fondness. 

He checked his watch. It was almost the witching hour. The plan was to go pick up Omega, find some charcoal, then return in time for Tech and Echo’s night to cook dinner. Technically Tech’s night, but he’d enlisted Echo’s help, since his plan was to make use of the final summer-warm night to grill things up on the firepit they’d made in the backyard. 

Strolling past the kitchen—Echo was up to something, hopefully using up the last of the zucchini Suu had inundated them with at the start of the week—Hunter turned the corner and came to a stop. “Hey!” he called out

Crosshair froze, bent over in the entryway with his hands still on his shoelaces. 

“It’s not your turn,” Hunter chided. He tried and failed to hide his little grin.

Crosshair shrugged, straightening up to his full unrepentant height. “You were running late.” 

“Uh-huh.” Hunter shoved his way into the entryway, but Crosshair stubbornly refused to move, dodging Hunter’s elbows and leaning against the coat rack with a snide little grin or his own. After a lot of one-footed hopping and a careful jab at Crosshair’s midsection, Hunter had his shoes and coat on. Trying and failing to hide his grin, he reached for the truck keys, only to dart to the side at the last minute and snatch up Crosshair’s car keys instead.

“Hey!”

Smirking, Hunter burst out of the front door, Crosshair hot on his heels. He didn’t make it off of the porch before Crosshair got him in a loose headlock, meeting him dodging twist for dodging twist.

“Hand them over,” Crosshair ordered, no real heat behind the words. He settled into a control position, Hunter off-balance and held down under Crosshair’s arm-bar.

“I’m trained to resist torture,” Hunter replied, stretching his arm, and his hand with the keys, as far out as possible. “I’ll never fold.” 

Crosshair thought about it for a minute. “Hand them over, or I’ll mess up your hair.”

“Whoa, hey, come on—I just washed it—hey!” 

He writhed while Crosshair started to muss up his curls. Because Crosshair wasn’t really trying, Hunter managed to break free and beat it down the porch steps. He turned, grinning in mild triumph.

Crosshair shook his head, crossing his arms as he leaned against the porch post at the top of the stairs. “You’re ridiculous,” he informed Hunter. 

Hunter smugly spun Crosshair’s keys around one extended finger. 

“You’re too short to be playing stupid games,” Crosshair hissed. 

“I’m shorter, but you’re still my little brother,” Hunter shot back. 

Crosshair rolled his eyes like Hunter knew he would. “Four minutes of extra age isn’t impressive.”

“Better than three minutes.” Wrecker wasn’t there to complain, like the reminder usually made him do, but it still made Crosshair grin. Hunter tossed him his keys, and Crosshair easily caught them. “Go pick up Omega,” Hunter said, savoring Crosshair’s momentary flash of pleased triumph. “I have to go get a bag of charcoal from the store, anyway. Cuts down on road-time.” 

Crosshair nodded, backed up into the house, grabbed Hunter’s keys, and tossed them to him. “Drive safe,” he said as they split up on the lawn. 

“You, too,” Hunter replied, and hopped into the work truck. They drove off, Hunter following Crosshair for a few blocks before their paths diverged. When that happened, Hunter pulled into the right-turn lane right next to Crosshair’s car. The work truck was taller, so the angle was bad to see Crosshair’s face, but Hunter dropped his arm down and flipped the bird nice and low.

Crosshair’s arm appeared over the empty passenger seat, flipping him off right back. 

Laughing, Hunter checked the oncoming lane and pulled into traffic. 

Shaking his head, Crosshair waited for his light, then got onto the freeway towards Cut’s. If he bobbed and weaved a little, well, there was something to be said for Tech’s patented method for getting to your destination sooner. 

He pulled up along the curved driveway to Suu’s fantastic ranch house and threw his car into park. Like he always did when he saw the pristine exterior, the manicured front landscaping (all native plants, suited to the environment), he shook his head a little. To think, he of all people was welcome in such a place. It boggled the mind. 

Crosshair listened as he strolled up to the front door. Very distant wind-swept noises of kids, playing outdoors. School had been out for a few hours, but the kids sometimes hung around afterwards to ‘hang out.’ The socialization was good for Omega, so as much as they all wanted to be first-in-the-door come last bell, they usually came around this time. 

He tried the doorknob. Locked. Ugh. Hunter must have texted. Crosshair banged on the door with his fist as rudely as he could justify, bracing himself. 

The door swung open almost immediately. “Crosshair!” Cut exclaimed. 

“Cut,” Crosshair replied. 

“Why, I haven’t seen you in ages!” he drew out theatrically. He lifted his arms. “Where’s my hug?”

“Three guesses,” Crosshair hissed through clenched teeth.

“Always so sour,” Cut said, grinning. He dropped his arms and moved aside so Crosshair could edge past him into the house. “How’re things, mate?” As much as Crosshair hated to admit it, it sounded like Cut was sincere in asking. 

He sighed. “It’s fine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyed the entryway of the house. “Whatever.” 

“Don’t make me get a W-word jar,” Cut warned. He ambled into the house, Crosshair on his heels. “I ask, ‘cause Wrecker tells me you just got promoted! Congrats.”

The back of Crosshair’s neck flushed unpleasantly. He rubbed at it with one hand, cutting his eyes away from his cousin’s gleeful expression. “Yeah, well. There’s no one else competent there, so. If I was smarter I would have turned them down.”

That made Cut bark a laugh. “Oh, with you as supervisor, they’ll all fall into line quick. You’ll see.”

He doubted it. He still grinned a little at the thought. 

They made it to the living room, the sun lowering towards the horizon just on the other side of the garden, filling the room with bright golden light. Cut fell a step or two behind, chattering about some CBD oil thing he and Suu were working on, while Crosshair stretched his legs out to stand in front of the big sliding glass door and search for Omega. 

He came to a stop. Rooted to the ground. Throat tight.

Omega was playing with her friends. The grassy stretch of yard off to the side of the garden was edged with fluffy piles of yellow-gold leaves, blanketed in warm afternoon sunlight. The kids were all playing some kind of game, tag or something, shrieking with laughter and tumbling around. 

It was easy to pick Omega out. Her hair bright and shining in the sunlight. Already, in just one month, she’d grown an extra inch, put on a healthy layer of fat and muscle— still lanky, still coltish, but her cheeks were ruddy and healthy as she chased after Jek, one arm extended. 

For half a second, it was a close call, Omega lagging before leaping forward to brush her extended fingers against his back. Then she reeled back, laughing as she had to windmill her arms, Jek whipping around to try and retaliate—with a pivot on one heel she was off again. 

Crosshair could only stand and watch, something funny happening in his chest. 

He was jolted out of his observations when Cut moved past him, tugging open the sliding glass door. 

“Omega!” Cut called out, ushering Crosshair forward. “Look who’s here!”

Crosshair was really gonna kill him one of these days.

Omega perked up, freezing in place as her head turned, but didn’t mind that Jek used her lapse of attention to tag her back to it. “Crosshair!” she exclaimed, and raced over. His mind was embarrassingly blank as she launched herself against his middle, panting, squeezing her arms around his ribcage while he just stood there like a statue. She was kind of sweaty, and it was a little gross, but he didn’t seem to care that much. 

After a moment, he managed to get a hold of himself. “Hey,” he said, and cleared his throat. She had a leaf in her hair; he picked it out, then moved his fingers through her pale mop just to make sure there was nothing else stuck in there. No other reason.

She pulled back, loosening her hold on his midsection, but not moving away. Head tilted all the way back to peer up at his face. “But it’s not your turn,” she said, in confusion, and Cut choked on air. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Crosshair managed to say. 

She rolled her eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she chided, dropping her arms. 

A flush prickled along the sides of his face. He cleared his throat again. “Hunter’s sorting dinner,” he explained. “I’m your ride back.” 

“Yes,” she said, pulling her fist in in triumph—he had Wrecker to blame for that fun little gesture. It, and the evident joy in her tone, had him reeling. “I’ll go grab my stuff!”

And she was off, leaving just Crosshair and Cut. 

Cut leered smugly, one eyebrow arched as he leaned into view.

“Shut up,” Crosshair hissed.

“I didn’t say anything,” Cut said, grinning even wider. 

“You were thinking.” 

“Thinking cute thoughts,” he sing-songed. 

Luckily for Cut, there were kids nearby, so Crosshair couldn’t flip him off. Unluckily for him, though, that meant that he got an elbow hard to the solar plexus for his trouble. He laughed, huffing as he tried to catch his breath. 

“You’re way too easy, man,” he chuckled. 

“I learned it from watching you, man,” Crosshair sneered back. 

Cut mimed wiping a tear, and he was saved from another strike by Omega, arriving back into view, holding onto the straps of her backpack with both hands. “Ready!” 

Crosshair got them out of there without taking any more vegetables off of the Lawquane’s hands—if Crosshair had to eat another zucchini before he died it’d be too soon—and into the car. 

Omega bounced a little in her seat as he got them on the road. He drove in the far right lane, rolling along with the flow of traffic. The sky was a fantastic painting of blue bleeding away into pinks and oranges, and Omega sat for a minute, just gazing up out of the window at it.

He realized he was watching her from the corner of his eye. With a shake, he focused all of his attention on the road. 

“So,” Omega spoke up, kicking her legs a little, “what are we gonna watch for movie night?”

It had been Wrecker’s idea, initially— a set date every week where they were all home. Sure, they ate dinner together every night, but that could be as quick a meeting as twenty minutes if they were all busy enough. No, once a week—no skipping unless you were sick— that they all just hung out together as a family. Wrecker had proposed the idea around the dinner table like he’d expected them to reject the idea, or deflect, but their cascading agreements had left him glowing. Crosshair hadn’t been able to find it in him to disagree, even on principle, when Wrecker turned his gleeful, bright expression on him. 

Tech had been the one to propose them all taking turns for picking the movies. Naturally, the idea was to let Omega go first, but she’d run upstairs to her room, then back down with the folder Hunter had bought her for school. She’d scribbled all their names down on strips of paper, and the movie-night bowl had sat up on a shelf in the living room ever since. Omega’s name had finally come up the day before.

“It’s your turn,” he reminded her. “You pick.” 

“But what do you want to watch?” she wheedled. 

“Whatever you want to watch,” he deflected, biting back his sharp grin.

“Ugh,” she groaned, taking the bait, “but you pick all the best movies.” 

“That’s because I have good taste,” he immediately shot back, and then winced at the implication of her own deficiencies. It wasn’t her fault, after all. She’d had no exposure to television or movies while outside of their care. 

Even outside of movie night, they all made an effort to support her where she went looking for the things she’d missed out on, so there’d been a lot of afternoons spent watching the television with her stretched out on the couch, movie night or no. Omega tended to go by box-art, picking whatever looked interesting to her, since she had no experience with watching movies generally. Hit or miss. She’d adored Secondhand Lions, an old childhood favorite of Hunter’s, but was too confused by the rush of sights and sounds of The Fifth Element. Crosshair had almost argued that that movie was too old for her, but Hunter had beaten him to it, and while their relationship was better than it had been in years, he didn’t go out of his way to give Hunter any help when arguing against Tech. 

“So tell me what I should pick,” she replied, unbothered by his words. He let himself relax a little. 

“Could pick another Ghibli movie,” he proposed. 

She made a noise of consideration. “Which ones haven’t I seen?”

He listed them off. There honestly weren’t many at this point, the ones on his periphery, not real favorites. They’d gotten through his favorites (including, eventually, Princess Mononoke ) on nights when she’d had a nightmare and he was home from work. She’d come downstairs with Lula and her blanket, he’d put a movie on, and she’d watch it in a half-doze. He let her sleep on the couch, so that when she woke up he could make her breakfast and let her finish the movie before getting carted off to school.

When he wasn’t there at night, he knew that she would creep into Hunter and Wrecker’s room. All of the comfort she needed. All the affection. It made him feel a little light-headed. That it wasn’t all on his shoulders. That it didn’t matter what sort of link in the chain he was. 

And Omega hadn’t had a nightmare for a little over a week now. 

“Hmm,” she drew out, a long noise of consideration. “I’ll think about it,” she declared, tone grinning. Then: “Maybe I’ll pick one of the Barbie movies.” 

Shaeeah had gifted Omega three of four of her favorites, secondhand. Glittery pink clamshell DVD cases. The gesture alone made Omega particularly fond of them, even if the two she’d already watched were a little cutesy-girly for her developing tastes. Crosshair was sure watching them with her one afternoon had given him at least one cavity. 

“It’s your pick,” Crosshair sniffed. “I’ll just judge you, silently.”

That made her laugh, like he hoped it would. His heart gave an off-beat thump that he tried to ignore.

“You can’t judge,” she snickered. “You like cartoons, too.” 

For the rest of the drive, they bickered back and forth over which animations were cartoons and which ones weren’t, and all too soon they were pulling up against the front curb of the house. Hunter was back already, the work truck parked, and Tech’s car was there, too. 

Crosshair parked and they both got out of the car. Evidently Wrecker had been waiting, because he burst out of the front door as soon as Omega had feet on the lawn.

“There she is!” he exclaimed, then dropped into a linebacker’s defensive squat. 

Shedding her backpack as a hindrance (Crosshair, rolling his eyes at the display, plucked it up and skirted around Wrecker to the porch), Omega feinted first to the left, then the right, juking back and forth as Wrecker shuffled. Finally she thought she had her opening, and darted forward, trying for the porch—

No dice. Wrecker caught her around the middle and tossed her up, her peals of laughter ringing through the air. 

“Gotcha!” Wrecker said, pulling her in for a hug, landing an exaggerated kiss on the side of her head. Crosshair, on the porch, rolled his eyes. Wrecker had seen her at breakfast. If he ever got that mushy, he decided, he’d tell Tech to take him out back and shoot him. 

Omega seemed to enjoy the attention, at least, sitting in the crook of Wrecker’s arm and letting him carry her up the stairs. She started up her usual stream of post-school chatter, waving her arms and keeping Wrecker caught up on all that she’d learned or done. Crosshair left them to it, using her backpack as an excuse; he took it upstairs and stowed it in her little room.

He trailed back downstairs and watched Tech order Hunter and Echo around in the backyard. He wasn’t due at work that night, so he indulged in a beer, letting it hang from his fingers as he watched the show. 

“We need four quadrants,” Tech said. “The hottest should be for searing the vegetables, then the protein, while the sections immediately to the left and right of it are at a banked, low heat, and—”

“You wanna wait until the coals light to give the orders, Specialist Fett?” Hunter said, shooting Tech an exasperated look. “I thought it was your turn to cook dinner.”

“It is. And I will. Once you set up the stove.”

“You set one SERE record,” Hunter muttered under his breath, scratching a flint against a steel file, “and suddenly everyone wants you to do the heavy lifting.” 

“You’re the only one of us that liked SERE,” Crosshair butted in. That was putting it mildly. Hunter had set a time record, staying out in the woods, evading capture for extra hours, then days. The higher-ups had gotten sick of paying the stand-by medics overtime and were reduced to loud-speaker signaling him in from the brush with helicopters. Crosshair hid his grin behind a swig of beer. Hunter eyed him and his drink with jealousy. “Forgive us for thinking you’d like this, too.” 

Eventually things got settled, food cooking as they all gathered around the firepit in camping chairs. Crosshair shoveled his zucchini onto Wrecker’s plate, and he’d gobbled it all up without a care. 

Hunter slipped out as they were finishing up and came back out, sheepish, with some other things he bought at the store to go with the charcoal: marshmallows, chocolate bars, graham crackers. While Tech explained the origins of the name ‘s’more’ to Omega, Crosshair and Wrecker found their old camping skewers in the shed. They cooked off the dust and grime in the white-hot coals, chucked on a log so they’d get an open flame, then loaded up. 

Omega, sitting next to Echo, watched, rapt, as he explained the process to her.

“The trick is to hold it low over the coals, and keep it moving,” Echo instructed, slowly rolling his skewer back and forth along his pointer finger with his thumb. A slow, subtle layer of golden-brown bloomed over his marshmallow, the whole thing swelling as it heated up. Squinting at Echo’s fingers, Omega stuck her tongue between her teeth and carefully copied his motion, turning her skewer one-handed.

“That’s too slow,” Wrecker scoffed, and waved his skewer around, all three marshmallows a merry blaze of burning sugar and liquifying gelatin. “This is how it's done!”

“Carbonization isn’t good for—”

“It tastes good,” Wrecker cut Tech off. To demonstrate, he swiped all three marshmallows into his mouth. “Ow!” he said, through a mouthful of burned sugar, “hot! Hot!” 

Omega, watching him, giggled, and her marshmallow dipped too far into the flames. “Ah!” she pulled it up, eyes big and wide and momentarily panicked as it burned. “What do I—?” 

“Here, relax, you’re okay,” Hunter said. He leaned over Echo, tugged Omega’s skewer closer with one finger, and blew out her flaming marshmallow. “See? No problem.” 

“They also burn out on their own,” Crosshair said, shooting Hunter a knowing look.

He flushed. “Yeah,” Hunter said, “well.” 

Crosshair just shook his head. Yeah, they were all of them saps. 

Oh, well. 

“I like s’mores,” Omega declared, once she’d eaten her allotted two. 

“Me, too!” Wrecker said, shoving his fourth in his mouth. 

Crosshair broke off a corner of a chocolate bar and nibbled at it, watching. The coals had all banked low, the log now smoldering, and the pale net of stars was becoming visible overhead. The nights would start to lengthen, soon, grow colder and deeper. While Crosshair knew that Hunter’s new room was up to code, he hoped that code could keep someone warm. 

It’d taken a few calls to Ninety-nine for Crosshair to feel marginally okay with the efforts Hunter was going to— the permits and the drywall and all the electrical work made his head spin when he first watched it get started. He’d even driven out to Kamino for a weekend, catching absolutely no fish with Ninety-nine for three whole days of trying. 

Crosshair was normally quiet at night, not watching to wake up Tech or Echo, the lightest sleepers of the family, so Hunter would sleep fine downstairs—during the day, the second bed in Wrecker’s room was his. Crosshair’s. His and Wrecker’s room. Not a room that he was intruding on, or being wedged into, but half his. As much as everything else in the house was half his. His name now scribbled on the lease.

“Traditionally,” Tech said to Omega, his glasses gleaming in the coallight, “this is where we would tell ghost stories.” He punctuated the sentence with a wiggle of his fingers towards her. She giggled, unfazed. 

Next to her, Wrecker looked less sure. “Uh, nothing too scary,” he stuttered. “Ya know. Don’t wanna scare the kid.” 

“I won’t get scared,” Omega announced, and looked over at Wrecker. Her face softened. Scrambling a little, she crawled into his lap and pulled one of his big arms around her, hugging his elbow. Easy as breathing he brought his other arm around, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I don’t wanna listen to ghost stories, anyway,” Omega said. “I wanna hear you stories!”

“Me stories?” Tech arched an eyebrow.

“You know.” She gestured with her free arm, around the circle. “About you guys! Like Ninety-nine does.” 

“Ninety-nine sets a very high standard,” Tech mused, one hand at his chin. “But I think I can make an attempt.” 

Omega nodded, earnest, and snuggled back against Wrecker. He tilted his head and pressed his unscarred cheek against the top of her head. He closed his eyes and nuzzled a bit, looking blissful and content. Echo snuck out his phone and took what he probably thought were a couple of sly pictures. 

Clearing his throat, Tech started telling a story—a little modified to keep it appropriate throughout—about one of their big joint birthdays when they were in the service. Crosshair settled back in his seat. If he basked a little, it was easily deniable, in the dim light of the coals, the stars, the dark new moon. 

Tech finished up the story—at least half a day earlier than Crosshair’s memory accounted for, he noted with a conspiratorial grin—and Omega voiced her appreciation. She started to move away, but Wrecker tightened his arms.

“Hey,” she said, twisting to peer up and back at him.

“Mmph.” He pretended to be asleep, folding his weight over onto her, making her laugh and try to prop his shoulders up with her hands. 

“Wrecker! We still have to watch a movie!” she exclaimed, and he easily gave up the game, perking up in excitement.

“It’s a little late to start a movie,” Hunter started to say, edging towards his Dad Voice. He was getting more and more comfortable using it—which meant Crosshair had more and more permission to make fun of him for it. 

Wrecker and Omega aimed twin puppy dog eyes at him. “Pleeease,” they wheedled in one voice.

“Alright, alright,” he folded immediately, the sucker. Crosshair ruefully shook his head as he helped gather up everything to move inside. Tech deliberately looked away as he pocketed the half-finished bar of chocolate. 

Omega thankfully did not follow up on her Barbie movie threat. Instead she plucked up Kiki’s Delivery Service. 

“You’ve seen this one already,” Crosshair pointed out, trying and failing to hide his smile. 

She tossed her head imperiously as she loaded up the DVD player. “It’s my pick,” she declared, nose in the air, and damn if he couldn’t find a way to argue against her tone. 

Grabbing the remote, Omega scrambled over Hunters lap and plopped down on the couch between him and Crosshair. He passed one end of the blanket to Hunter, sandwiching her under a layer of well-worn flannel. Tech was at Crosshair’s elbow, Echo on the other side of Hunter, and Wrecker stretched out on the floor, his big shoulders knocking up against Crosshair’s knees. 

Omega leaned back, settling against the plush of their sofa. Already so at ease. Like she’d always been there. Like she was meant to be there. Crosshair, watching her face, intent as she clicked through menus with the remote, felt the touch of eyes on him. He glanced up.

Hunter. Looking over Omega’s head at him. Smile faint, eyes gentle. Familiar Fett eyes. He arched his tattooed eyebrow. The question he asked was silent but immediately understandable. You good?

Crosshair’s answer, likewise, was silent, an assenting tilt of his head as the movie started to play, filling the room with multicolor splashes of light.

Yeah. I’m good.

And he was.