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Crosshair wakes with a start, shaking uncontrollably, heart hammering, breathing erratic. “Great. This again,” he thinks as he unsuccessfully tries to get himself back under control. That last mission was hard; that’s probably it. He instinctively reaches an arm out to the side of his bunk, but his hand is met with nothing. His heart skips one of its frantic beats.
Where is Tech? Tech usually comes to share his bunk after missions like this; it’s like he can sense when Crosshair will be set off by something.
Sometimes, it even helps just to see Tech there, alive, fine, breathing calmly. But other times, when it’s worse, Tech will wake up and whisper to him, ramble on about whatever is fascinating him at that time. Some weird medicinal plant that he saw on the last planet they went to, a new kind of power capacitor he wants to check out and take apart when they’re next back on Kamino or a better kind of scope that he suggests for Crosshair’s rifle. Or he’ll say such wonderfully calming things as “I’ve timed your attacks in the past, and if this is an average one, it should be over in four minutes.” Or he’ll just take Crosshair’s hand and put it on his chest so he can mimic Tech’s breathing pattern.
Why isn’t he here now? His freak-out session shows no signs of getting better. Maybe Tech stayed in his own bed? Crosshair turns his head. And flinches. There is a different woman lying where Tech should be. And this isn’t even the Marauder; this is the new Imperial shuttle his squad had been given after he had been demoted. His heart misses another beat, and seems to take ages to start up again.
Right. Tech isn’t here to help him. None of his brothers are. No one is coming for him.
For a minute, he flounders. The part of him that’s still a young cadet, who wants, no, needs, Wrecker’s bear hugs, Hunter’s calm leadership and warmth, Tech’s innocent curiosity for just about everything and Echo’s sarcastic commentary, wants to cry and hope someone comes and helps. The harsh part of him that is all his fears and losses and insecurities comprised squashes that feeling violently. He needs no one.
He remembers a fight with the reg early on, when Crosshair needled him just to see where his snapping point was. “Do you live on spite, or what?,” Echo shouted. And though he smirked back then, there is a grain of truth to that. So many things Crosshair does are done with a simple “Kriff you, that’s why!” in mind. So, out of spite, he’d prove to all of them that he could deal with this on his own.
In his mind it feels like an age, but eventually, his heart stops racing as though it is being chased by a bunch of wild gundarks and his breathing evens out. He enjoys being in control of his body for a moment before realising that his bodysuit clings to him with sweat and he feels like a wrung-out rag. He carefully levers himself up and off the bunk; he doesn’t want to wake any of the others. They have enough reason to despise him already.
Crosshair showers and quickly changes into a clean bodysuit. He checks his reflection in the mirror – well, he’s looked better – and runs his hand carefully over the burn mark. Despite the bacta treatment, it still twinges from time to time. There. That’s the place the med droid took the inhibitor chip out of. “Anomaly detected, “ it had chirped. He doesn’t know how he’d had the presence of mind to claim it must be caused by the explosion on Bracca and to order the droid to take care of it. Must have been pure luck, even more so when the droid obeyed without further question or assessment. He understands the need for the chips to ensure the regs’ compliance, but given the choice, he’d rather decide himself. His last thought before succumbing to the med droid’s sedative had been to wonder how he would know if it had even worked.
That question is rendered moot when he wakes up the next time. The agonizing headache and persistent mental noise he hadn’t even realised were there are suddenly gone. His mind is suddenly and blissfully clear. But then, the memories start rushing in. The kriffing mission on Onderon. The others deciding to desert. The fire fight. No, he’d shot Wrecker! But he was fine, Crosshair saw him on Bracca when he’d… Kriff, he’d aimed for Tech and Hunter’s head! And planned to incinerate…
Crosshair stumbles off the bed and makes it to the fresher just in time before emptying his stomach of its meagre contents. He sinks down and rests the bit of skin on his head not covered by bandages against the cool wall to calm down. It hadn’t been his choice; he would not have done all that of his own free will. The others know about the chips, right? They would understand. But the memories of doing his utmost to kill his brothers still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He spits out more bile.
But the more he goes through his recent memories, the more one other fact becomes clear: the others had gone back for the girl, knowingly placing themselves in danger. But they hadn’t for him. “We leave no one behind,” Hunter always said.
He’d been left behind.
And once this fact crystallizes in his mind, he can’t think of anything else; he’s thinking in circles. They’d left him behind. They hadn’t come back for him. He’d shot at them, but still, they should have come for him. He’d been left behind.
It isn’t too much of a shock. He’s always known he was a bit of an outsider when compared with the rest of the squad – professional hazard of being the sarcastic, taciturn sniper. But still. It hurts like hell.
“It still does,” he thinks as he takes himself in in the mirror, pallid skin, tired eyes and all. Well, no way to hide that. He flinches as someone raps on the door, forcefully. “You almost done in there?” He’d forgotten the time, lost in his own head. He takes another minute, just because. “Enough self-pity. Get a grip and get out there,” he thinks to himself and heads out.
He still feels kind of shaken and shivery inside after his earlier fit and decides he needs further grounding. So he pops in a new toothpick, heads to his weapons kit, intent on giving his rifle a thorough cleaning, only to stop short when it gleams up at him, perfectly oiled and maintained. Kark. He’d forgotten that he cleaned it just before going to sleep, when his mind had led him down a similar path. Unbidden, his hand reaches into a small pouch at the side, pulls out a holopad and turns it on. The faces of his batch flicker up at him. Crosshair has mixed feelings about the fact that this was in his kit on a shuttle when Kamino went down. It would have been easier if it had been destroyed with his former home.
Now, he turns it on occasionally and tries to make himself get rid of the picture. It serves no purpose. He knows he should let go; they sure had. His finger hovers over the delete button, but his eyes get caught on Hunter. As much as he is angry at him, the sniper can’t deny he misses his brother. At this time is the morning, Hunter would usually already be up, making caff for everyone, making sure Tech actually ate his rations instead of reading something on his pad, and going through the day’s mission with them. Whatever could be said about Hunter, he cared about his men and was a good leader to them.
The same could not be said about Crosshair’s new commander. Nerfherder. When Crosshair had been demoted, he had been disappointed, but not surprised. He had failed at completing his mission on Kamino. Then he’d hoped that the Empire would choose a competent, experienced new commander. He’d been let down. After the first shoddily led mission, Crosshair had done some digging on Commander Tarlek: he barely met requirements for making commander and had nearly no practical experience. His bafflement was explained away when he overheard the other soldiers talking about Tarlek’s uncle, a newly elected Imperial senator of some mid-rim planet or other. Nepotism. Still going strong, even in the empire. They’re supposed to be better.
He also still struggles with his new squad, and it doesn’t help that they call him anything but Crosshair, mostly sniper, CT-9904 or just clone. The first two he can live with, but “clone” said in that disgusted sort of way… it grates on his nerves. Also, they’re just… different. When he was commander, he never spent too much significant downtime with his squad. Now, they sometimes sit together when Tarlek’s in a meeting and Crosshair understands little of what’s being said. They talk about people, places and things he’s never heard of and the words… he understands the words, but in the context of the phrases they’re using them in, the sniper often has no clue what they mean. He can take apart and reassemble his rifle with his eyes bound while reciting the parts, or spot the best space for a sniper’s nest, but apparently, when talking to his fellow soldiers he’s out of his depth. And it’s not like they’re making an effort to include him. Sometimes, when he sits with them, he feels more alone than ever.
Just then, the door swishes open. The trooper sleeping across from him walks in and prepares herself some caff. He hastily shoves the holopad back into the pocket. Kriff, he hadn’t managed to delete the picture. Maybe next time.
The soldier turns around and looks at him. This is weird. Usually, the others like to act like he’s not there, unless they need him for something. Especially her; she’s the last one left from the squad he was commander of.
In a sickly-sweet voice and with an accompanying fake smile, she asks: “Sleep well?”
Kark. She’d noticed his… episode. Just wonderful. He decides not to rise to the bait; everything he can say will be used against him. So he just shrugs and looks away, as if to check his rifle for something.
He has to remind himself why he’s here. This was his choice, even if it separated him from his brothers. To build an empire of security, stability and prosperity for the whole galaxy. That had been what they’d been fighting for, hadn’t it? And to secure this empire, a strong central power is needed, however much people like Hunter rebelled against the idea. And he, Crosshair, would play a vital part in securing this new galaxy. It’s what he was created for, what he’s good at. He only needs to convince them of his value, of his skillset and ability to contribute, and in the end the Empire would give him his just reward. He could do it.
He’d show them all.