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You swear you aren’t force sensitive, but the way you step outside one day and somehow, deep down, know he’s there makes you re-evaluate that assumption - if only for a second.
You had just gotten Amaia down for a nap and were planning for a moment of peace and quiet in your garden when you felt it: you were being watched. Only this didn’t feel like the uncomfortable gaze of a stranger or a judgemental look from an acquaintance. It was calm and focused. Warm, if a bit distant. It was him, and you didn’t need to be a Jedi to know it.
It almost takes you by surprise, how quickly he’d arrived on Wrea. It had only been a couple weeks since Hunter had let you know he’d given your coordinates to Crosshair. To be honest, part of you was expecting to wait months for him to show up. But there was never any doubt that he’d observe from afar first, making his move when he felt comfortable. The Empire may have changed him, but you still were confident you knew him like the back of your hand.
Crosshair had been in the same position for hours upon hours, yet the fatigue and stiffness didn't register. He pushed them to the back of his mind, quite easily in fact, putting all his focus on you. You, who had haunted his dreams since he begged you to defect to the Empire with him. The person who betrayed him even more than his brothers. He had bared things to you he’d never dare whisper to them, trusted you with his ramshackle heart, and in the end, you didn’t choose him.
That’s what he had been telling himself, at least, until you were there in his scope. Cliché as it was, he couldn’t breathe for a moment when he saw you. You were exactly the same, yet different somehow. You seemed softer around the edges, both physically and in the way you moved. Where your movements before were purposeful and precise, there was now a graceful ease.
He watched through the window as you readied breakfast, singing to yourself and dancing in the kitchen. He watched you slip on a shawl and shoes as you exited the front door, a bundle strapped to your chest that he quickly realized was a baby in a very fuzzy hat with Tooka ears (not an actual Tooka). He felt a sharp panic then, easily quelled when you returned from the village minutes later without the child. He knew you had always liked children, so it made perfect sense you’d help the villagers watch them when needed.
A few household chores later and you returned to the village, coming back after a short while with what he assumed was another child strapped to you - the Tooka hat was gone and replaced with a plain bonnet. He allowed himself a half smile then - you were still his girl, caring and always willing to lend a hand where needed.
That led him to now, when you stepped out to the garden alone, taking a deep breath and smiling as the wind brushed your hair away from your face. As he watched you through his scope, he felt the full weight of his situation hit him for the first time. He could reveal himself, or not… risk being rejected again, or not.
He made his decision, removing himself from the patch of ground he had made his home for the day, packing up his kit with the intent to leave you once and for all. His fragile heart couldn’t take rejection again from the one thing it loved above all else. Just as he was about to tuck his scope into its compartment, he caved, stealing one last glance your way. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you were staring right at him, a serene smile on your face, like you knew he was there. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and shoving the scope angrily into his kit. Whatever previous decision he made wasthrown to the wind. He fucking loved you, and he hadto try.
You were washing dishes when the energy in the apartment shifted. Your hands stilled, and you took a deep breath. This was it. The moment you had been waiting for. But your movements were slow and deliberate as you set down the now clean plate, drained the water from the sink, and wiped your hands on the towel before folding it neatly on the counter. You steeled yourself as you turned, not sure what version of Crosshair you were going to find. The imperial soldier? The stoic sniper you first met? Or the man you were irrevocably in love with?
When you turned around, he was seated at the kitchen table, feet up and toothpick in his mouth, a smirk on his face. You gave his feet a pointed look, and he huffed out a chuckle as he swung them down to the floor.
“Miss me, sweetheart?” he drawled, legs spread wide and one arm slung over the back of the chair, looking for all intents and purposes like a permanent fixture in your home instead of the (welcomed) intrusion that he was. But still you could see the apprehension, the uncertainty in his eyes. The concern that what has transpired has changed you, changed him , too much. That what you had was completely and utterly gone.
The only sign of surprise is his soft “oof” as you flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and knees hitting the floor as you hug him as best you can in your awkward position. He immediately returned your embrace with one arm, the other hand resting under your chin. Both work in tandem to guide you both to a standing position. Though he still says nothing, you can see how much he missed you shining in his eyes, felt it vibrating through his body, tasted it in the searing kiss he pressed to your lips as he held you close.
You stood there together reveling in the closeness for what seems like hours, until a soft cry from the next room breaks the silence. Panic flooded through you; while Amaia was asleep you had been able to pretend this moment you’ve dreaded would never come. But Crosshair doesn’t seem surprised, which you guess made sense if he had been watching you. But did he know?
He spun you around to face the bedroom door and pats you on the ass, a smirk on his face as he jutted his chin towards the source of the cry. You give his hand one last squeeze before you go, and his responding squeeze gave you both hope that maybe things would be just like they were.
Admittedly, you took longer than you needed to gather Amaia, drawing out changing her diaper and tidying the blankets in her crib as long as you could. You could feel your heart beating a mile a minute, your muscles tensed your skin clammy. Amaia sensed it too, refusing to settle in your arms as she continued whining and wiggling.
You took one last deep breath to fortify yourself, and slipped back into the main room. Crosshair was examining some baby paraphernalia carefully, as if it may bite him. His back was to you, and you couldn’t help but snort a little at his posture and the confusion you knew was on his face. But your laugh gave you away, and he suddenly spoke as he turned toward you.
“I should’ve known you’d be helping out with the village’s babies. You were always so good with my…” his voice died mid sentence as he took you in.
He froze, going stiller than you’d ever seen before. His eyes darted from Amaia to you and back, tracing every similarity the two of you share and cataloging each difference. You could see him connect the dots almost instantly… how could he not? A shock of white hair, his warm eyes set just as yours were, and his skin tone on a face shaped exactly like yours left no doubt. In your arms was a perfect blend of him and you.
You want to plead with him to not be mad, to let you explain, to do anything to make him stay, but when you registered the newest emotion on his face as fear - true, genuine fear - the words just didn’t come. You could count the number of times you’d seen this man scared on one hand; hell, on one finger. And the one thing you had learned is that a scared Crosshair was an angry Crosshair.
So when you softly whispered, “Cross-,” part of you wasn’t surprised when his blank mask snapped back over his face, or when he simply stated, “No,” and stalked right out your front door, gone as quickly as he appeared. Part of you knew it was coming. But the other part of you collapsed on the floor, sobs wracking your body as you held Amaia close.
It was 2 a.m. when you heard the door to your and Amaia’s shared room squeak. When you finally worked up the nerve to roll over some minutes later, you saw a tall, thin figure slightly bending over the crib, backlit by the soft nightlight.
You slipped out of bed and padded over to Crosshair, stopping a few feet away. You could see the tension in his shoulders, yet they’re slumped almost in defeat. He tentatively reached out as if to brush a lock of silver hair off of Amaia’s forehead, but retracted his hand a millimeter away, quickly as if he had been burned.
“I had a right to know,” he whispered, and there was no mistaking the anger, the fear in his voice. “I had a right to know about her, ” he practically spat, and that was what snapped you out of your trance. There was no way he was getting away with talking about your daughter in that tone.
You grabbed his wrist as firmly as you could, and dragged him into the main room of the cottage where the low light over the stove casted just enough light.
“And I had to do what I thought would keep our daughter safe,” you seethed. “Do you know what the Empire would do with the daughter of a clone? Because I don’t, and I don’t ever want to find out.”
He jerked his hand out of your grasp. “I could’ve kept you safe,” he all but whispered, anger lacing his words. “If I had known, I could’ve kept you and her safe.”
“ Her name is Amaia,” you threw back at him, “and since you decided to leave, I had to do what I thought was best.”
You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before the unthinkable happened. Crosshair broke. He slumps into your kitchen chair, head hanging in his hands, and you swore you see a tear make its way down his cheek.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed in a broken whisper. “I love you and I think I love her, and I don’t know what to do .”
You felt all the anger leave your body at the sight of the broken man in front of you. Slowly, you crossed over to him and sunk to your knees between his legs as best you could, in a more somber mirroring of your earlier position. You took his hands in yours and lowered them from his face, releasing them only to wipe the tear track from his cheek. Pressing your forehead to his, you whispered one simple word: “Stay”.
He stayed. For the next day, at least. Much to your shock - and delight - Crosshair was a natural with Amaia. You attempted to reassure him the first time he tried to hold her, wanting him to know he didn’t have to be afraid of dropping or hurting her, but your words were met with a smirk and an eye roll.
“Honey, these are the steadiest hands in the galaxy. They don’t drop anything they don’t mean to.”
He was a bit flustered the first time she cried, but quickly recovered by standing her up and balancing her in the palm of his hand (which was met with squeals of delight from her and mild terror from you).
The afternoon found you all in your small bed, Amaia napping contentedly between Crosshair and yourself. His fingers ghosted up and down your arm, gaze flirting between your small daughter and you, and you swore you had never seen him look more at peace. Until suddenly, he wasn’t. The sound of a ship passing overhead startled him out of his daze, and he suddenly went back to his stoic self.
“I have to leave tonight,” he stated simply, as if unaware of the effect those simple words would have on you.
“Crosshair, what… why? You said you would stay!“ you whispered, determined to not wake Amaia.
He motioned for you to wait a second, and scooped her up and placed her in her crib oh so gently. Then, he beckoned you to follow him into the kitchen.
“I thought you said you were staying,” you hissed, somewhere between pleading and anger.
He slowly approached you and gently pulled you into his arms, resting his head atop yours. He held you there for a moment until your body relaxed into soft sobs.
“Mesh’la,” he whispered, tilting your chin up so you met his eyes. “Mesh’la, I’m not leaving you. I just… if I aim to get away from the Empire and not endanger you, endanger my family… I have to go back. But I’ll return to you both.”
His thumbs stroking tears off your cheeks did nothing to calm you as you tore yourself from his grip. Logically, you knew he was right. But after so long expecting him to find you and Amaia and being disgusted by what he found, you couldn’t bear to let him go after the slice of normalcy you’d gotten a taste of today. You stood by the kitchen window, sobbing into the sink.
You heard him shift awkwardly behind you; he was never the best at handling displays of emotion. After a few long minutes, he cleared his throat. “Baby, you know I… Maker, I don’t want to kriffing leave! But I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. Either of you.”
His voice broke on the last sentence, and you turn around and are met with a sight you never thought you’d see. Tears were shining in Crosshair’s eyes. His hair was mussed, short strands normally kept down now flying in all directions. His hand not supporting his weight on the small table was digging into the back of his neck.
You regarded him calmly as you could, waiting for him to finish. Apparently he didn’t know where to go next, because he paced and ran his hands through his hair again.
He stopped in front of you several times as if to speak, but resumed his pacing before he finally stopped for good.
“Six months,” he breathed “Give me six months. I’ll come back. I’ll be her buir and your riduur. But I need to keep you safe.”
The look of sheer desperation on his face would have been enough to convince you. You nodded slowly, and let him collapse into your arms. After all, what was another six months when you had a lifetime ahead of you?
The sun rose the next morning, and Crosshair was gone as quickly as he had come.
Six months. That’s all you had to endure. Six months.
You woke up, once again filled with anticipation. It had been just about six months since Crosshair left. Actually, six months and 14 days. But who was counting? Not you.
The day passed slowly and uneventfully, with you and Amaia mostly spending the time outside as you were accustomed to doing. Not only was the weather delightful, but being able to see Crosshair as soon as he appeared was a motivation you were all too willing to own up to.
Like every other day recently, it ended in disappointment. When you finally wrangled Amaia into bed, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat by the window to wistfully look over the darkening horizon until your hope for the day was extinguished.
And so passed six months and 15 days. Six months and 28 days. Seven months and 12 days. Nine months and three days. One year, two months and 17 days. Two years on the dot.
Of course there were visits from Amaia’s ba’vode. And any time they came was a delightful distraction, but even they could see the wear the waiting was taking on you. You were no longer your chipper self, convinced Crosshair had either changed his mind or was dead. You weren’t sure which was worse.
At two years, one month, and one day, you finally gave up. He wasn’t coming.
Amaia was now a rambunctious five-year-old, running around with the village children and making all sorts of trouble and mess. Today, you had sent her off to a friend's house, with the promise you would take the terrors that were your children the next day so Carra could have a break of her own.
You were engrossed in washing dishes, humming and swaying to an impromptu song. You’d finally started to feel yourself again, even entertained thoughts of seeing one of the men in the village. Kane was kind, and was never anything but gentle in his interactions with Amaia.
You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the bag that was sat down in the entryway, or the sound of feet swung up on your kitchen table. In fact, you didn’t notice anything until you were suddenly aware of everything. The dish slipped from your hand and shattered in the sink. Swallowing in an attempt to wet your suddenly dry-as-Tatooine mouth, you could only think of one thing to say.
“Get your kriffing feet off my table, Cross.”
You could hear the smirk in his voice as he responded. “Come over here and make me, mesh’la.”