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Tech heard the front door open and close and was immediately suspicious. The abuse he and his brothers put the front door through really was something, and Omega had picked up the bad habit of kicking it closed with the swing of a heel. This was a muffled, deliberate press of the door home, the deadbolt lock re-engaging.
“Omega?” he called out, “Is that you?”
A moment of silence.
“Yeah,” she called back. “I’m home.”
Frowning, Tech put his e-reader down and got off of the couch. These past two weeks, she’d come home breathless with enthusiasm for her new school, chattering through all the things she’d learned and done and seen even until Tech got off of work and returned. This entrance was muted, tired. Completely out of character.
He made it to the doorway of the living room just in time to catch the tail end of Omega, trying to hot-foot it up the stairs. “Hey,” he said, concern and confusion rising in equal measure, “what’s wrong?”
Omega, caught, stuttered to a stop halfway up the stairs. She’d taken her shoes off, but she was still wearing her coat and her backpack, by the looks of it clutching hard at the straps. She hesitated, not turning around, and Tech swallowed, panic stirring up a little in his chest. He walked up to the bottom of the stairs, his one hand resting on the rail. “Omega?” he questioned, carefully, “is something wrong?”
“I’m okay,” Omega said. She couldn’t make eye contact with him; telltale sign of a lie. “I’m just tired, is all. I’m gonna go, uh, lay down for a little bit?” In her panic to escape his scrutiny, her pitch heightened, up and up until it was almost a squeak.
Tech debated his options. The only reason he was home this time of day at all was because it was an administrative day of leave at the office; if not for that, Omega would have been able to come home to a quiet, empty house, for the next hour or so at least until Echo returned from the city center.
His presence and observation was an interruption of routine. Such things often made him feel overwhelmed; the unexpected or unaccounted for turns of circumstance could heighten his latent level of anxiety to a fever pitch. Perhaps Omega would benefit from him accepting her lie and letting her slink off.
Then again. She was clearly in distress. Even he could see that. Wrecker or Echo may have been able to pinpoint the problem at a look, but Tech was neither Wrecker nor Echo. He had a deductive mind, but deduction required base knowledge to be useful. And Tech had no prior experience with a clearly upset eleven-year-old.
Omega squirmed a little in his deliberating silence.
“Okay,” Tech said, tone still cautious. His initial plans for the afternoon had been to spend time with Omega, perhaps see if she would like to accompany him out to the garage to work on a project or two, but he anticipated that such an invite now would be unwelcome. “I’ll be out in the garage,” he told her, “if you need me. Or… once you’re rested,” he added, testing the waters.
She didn’t look tired, color livid in her cheeks. She nodded, only, and said nothing else before turning and sprinting up the stairs like Tech was chasing her. He did not chase her. He stood at the bottom of the staircase and listened to the socked thump of her feet, up the narrow attic stairs, the slam of her bedroom door.
Perturbing. Frowning, Tech milled around a little, put his e-reader away to charge, and then did as he’d said he would, going out to the garage where the soldering table awaited him. The garage needed to be cleaned out, honestly, but that was a project that needed more hands than just his two. Omega might have enjoyed helping with such a chore—she often found joy and humor in things he wouldn’t otherwise suggest she do for entertainment.
Tech went back inside the house. An hour had passed. Omega, if she was asleep, may be beginning to stir. He decided to go up to her room and check on her; curiosity and concern in equal measure. If his footfalls on the stairs were quieter than they usually were, he rationalized that he did it so not to disturb her if she was sleeping—not to sneak up on her.
At her doorway, he paused. There was a light on, under the door. He turned his head so his ear was aimed at the door, and inside, he heard rustling, then a bitten-back noise, strangled. What in the world—Omega sucked in a great breath, and this time she couldn’t keep her sob from breaking free.
A moment of breathless, awful uncertainty—what was he supposed to do? What could he do? —and Tech knocked on her door.
Omega fell silent.
He waited a moment, then knocked again. “Omega?” Tech asked through the door—his voice came out at a surprisingly urgent tone. He cleared his throat and tried again. “May I come in?”
There was some more rustling, then a muted noise of approval. Tech let himself into Omega’s bedroom, coming up short. Usually, it was clean—but it looked like she’d thrown the covers of her bed off, swept papers off of her desk and onto the floor. It was a mess, the floor littered with debris.
Omega was sitting up at the head of her bed, Lula on her lap, and AZI in front of her, laying on its side. The sight of the little robot usually made Tech a strange kind of giddy; even with only a few months of Omega being in their lives, he already had many pleasant memories of working with Omega on the thing’s mechanical workings, its code, drawing up dreaming designs of future adjustments. Now, though, it only heightened his worry. Omega only needed it close at hand when she was in an especially bad emotional space.
She glanced at Tech, then quickly away, cheeks coloring at his no doubt slack expression of surprise.
“Well,” he said, and shook off his stupor. He walked further into the room. “You’ve been busy.”
Omega made a little noise. “I’ll clean it up,” she started to say.
“There’s no rush,” Tech assured her. He started to pick up scattered papers from her floor, collating them smartly between his hands. “Here, I’ll help.”
“No, I—”
He came to where her backpack was slumped against a wall, as if she’d thrown it. In righting it, he uncovered her accordion folder, under a slip-loose pile of spiral notebooks, a cloth pen-case. Omega made a strangled noise, the bedsprings creaking as she tried to scramble quickly to the foot to stop Tech, but she was too late.
Tech stared at the folder in his hand. Crosshair had ordered it for Omega, special—as much as he tried to pretend that a Kiki’s Delivery Service -themed accordion folder had just arrived on their doorstep the day before Omega was to start at her new public school by accident.
Then, it had been shiny and neat, new, with cartoon images from the movie carefully printed across the front, with a black-cat themed button closure. Now, it was a mess, scribbled over with black marker. Mustaches and glasses and blacked-out teeth on the human characters. Shapeless blobs of what once had been cats. A crude word scribbled over the title in the top corner.
Omega, behind him, froze. Tech stared at the folder, trying to kick his shocked mind into motion. Slowly, he straightened, and turned, to see Omega on her bed, on all fours, face awful and bruised and pained and—worst of all—ashamed as she looked up at him.
It was too much. Tech averted his eyes and tried to come up with something to say.
“Well,” he ended up with, “that is one mystery solved.”
Omega made a pathetic little noise and crawled back up to the top of the bed, scooping up Lula and sitting with her knees drawn up. Tech carefully sat down on the edge of the bed near her, setting the folder aside.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked, as gently as he possibly could.
Omega sniffed. For a moment, he considered what he might have to do or say if she answered in the negative, but then she spoke, voice subdued. Her eyes staring into the middle distance between them.
“They said it was erasable,” she said. Voice so thin and bloodless. Forcibly even. “That it would come off with hand sanitizer.”
Tech picked his line of inquiry carefully. “Who are they , Omega?”
“Some kids,” Omega muttered, and rubbed at her nose. “In my History class. We were sitting at the same table.”
He waited.
She took in and released what sounded like a painfully shaky breath. “He said he wanted to show me his new marker. That it was supposed to be erasable. Especially ‘cause, the,” her voice broke, and she sniffed. “‘Cause my folder was all shiny and laminated, he said it would be easy to wipe off.”
“I see,” Tech said slowly, not quite seeing the whole picture. The folder was so drawn over— and he doubted Omega would have let them write the inappropriate word, especially, if there was any doubt in their sincerity.
“I’m so stupid ,” Omega squeaked out.
“Omega,” Tech said, immediately. “You’re not stupid. That is frankly untrue.”
She tried to bite back on a sob, her voice stretched out and thin. “At first, he said that he’d only draw a little bit, o-on the corner,” she said in a choking rush, “and then he passed it to his friend, and then around the table, a-and I didn’t want to get upset because th-they said it would erase.”
She dissolved into desperate little biting sobs, and Tech sat there, numb, unsure what to do or say. A part of him was reeling back through his memory, to his own time in school at Omega’s age—he’d been moved up a class, alone without Wrecker or Crosshair or Hunter for the first time in his life. And he’d felt so unsure of himself, of his ability to assimilate, that for a time he’d taken anything he’d been given with the off-foot assumption that it was normal, to be shoved aside in doorways, to have his books knocked out of his hands, to find water bottles ‘accidentally’ tipped over into his backpack, time and time again.
Omega was, likewise, still a little sheltered, a little guileless. No radar for inappropriate behavior, not really. Eager to please. Kind and sweet. Tech hadn’t been any of those latter things, not really, not like Omega—she was worth ten of him at her age, he reckoned. He wouldn’t have her change for the world, for anything—but perhaps that was an ultimately selfish desire.
It was difficult for Tech to untangle his feelings. His own memories of his sense of worthlessness battled against anger on Omega’s behalf, breaking-heart sympathy for her own feelings, frustration at the whole awful situation. Like an idiot, Tech sat there, wrestling with himself, saying nothing. Omega eventually got her breathing under control, coughing a little as her choppy gasps had her breathing in phlegm.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, sniffing. “For crying…”
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Tech replied without thinking.
She sniffed again. He decided to try and keep her talking.
“Did you tell your teacher about this?”
She nodded, the gesture deflated. “I got up and took it to the teacher, and she said it was inappropriate. A-and when she got up to go talk to the other kids at my table, I overheard them say,” another sniff, her face twisted in disgust, “that I started it, that I was drawing on it and asked them all to do it, too, ‘cause I was bragging that I could erase it.”
Tech started to hear the burr of blood in his ears.
“... and the teacher believed them,” Omega concluded, sounding truly miserable.
Tech saw red, a momentary flash of rage that frankly surprised him with its intensity.
Omega sniffed. “It was worse, afterwards,” she admitted, half-hiding behind her knees. “The teacher had me sit up at the front and I could feel them looking at me. And they were laughing. Sort of. Quietly. But they were laughing.”
Slowly, and with great effort, Tech forced out an exhale. He shifted and tried to think of something to say, something comforting. Useless platitudes only served to annoy him when he was in Omega’s shoes, years ago, so he deliberately avoided using any now.
Here, he could try and propose solutions. That was his speciality in the field, after all. “I’m sure Crosshair wouldn’t mind buying you a new one, Omega,” he said. Hell, he would foot the bill if need be. He could not fix the behavior of her classmates, but he could return the ruined thing she was so clearly mourning the loss of.
She stiffened, her head snapping up in panic. “Don’t tell him!” she burst out, pleading.
Tech blinked, unmoored. “But—”
“I—I don’t want him to know,” Omega pressed on, desperate in every inch. She lunged forward, going to cling to Tech’s arm, but damn his reflexes, he flinched back, just out of reach. Omega pulled her arms in, close, denied, but still leaning forward with insistence. “Please don’t tell him, Tech, I don’t want him to think—”
With a click she shut her jaw. She leaned back. Tech watched her, feeling hollow inside.
“Crosshair won’t think less of you for this, Omega,” he told her, voice so damn soft.
She winced, caught. Her eyes skittered away.
“He won’t,” Tech insisted. “This…” he swallowed. “What happened says more about those kids than it does about you, Omega. You are never responsible for the poor way others treat you.” The rough tenor of his voice surprised him; by Omega’s owlish eyes, it surprised her, too.
“But I let them do it,” she pointed out, weakly.
“No,” Tech replied. “Even then. You did not know what they were going to do. They alone are responsible for their actions. Not you.”
Oh, no. That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because Omega’s eyes welled up and she sniffed, ducking her face to scrub at it with the ends of her sleeves. Tech lifted one hand towards her, then lowered it. If there was any mercy in the universe, Echo would walk in and handle this. Tech felt distinctly out of his depth.
After a few moments, Omega gave a final heavy sniff and looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, glassy, her cheeks blotchy with redness. “Thanks, Tech,” she said, voice thick.
Oh. That was the right thing to say, then. Tech blinked down at her.
Omega relaxed her posture, just a little bit. “Can you… not tell him, anyway?” she asked.
“Why do you not want Crosshair to know what happened?” Tech asked, mentally flagging that he was definitely going to tell Hunter about this, at least. As Omega’s legal guardian, he ought to know out of all of them. Tech was a poor substitute.
“I don’t want him to get mad,” Omega said. And then nothing else.
Tech could only stare. “Crosshair would never be angry with you for this, Omega.” On one hand, he desperately wanted to be there for Omega in this moment— and on the other, a part of him was deeply insulted on Crosshair’s behalf, that Omega thought him shallow enough to be mad at her for this mess—
“I know that ,” she said, sighing. The wave of relief that washed over Tech surprised him. “I j-just mean, that I don’t want him to get mad at the other kids. Since he can’t do anything about it.” She nibbled on her lip, nervous, before blurting out, “I don’t want him to worry about me.”
Softening further, Tech reached out and tugged playfully on a lock of Omega’s hair, the way Crosshair often did when he wanted to make Omega scowl at him. Instead of scowling, she just shot Tech a bruised, vulnerable look. He dropped his hand.
“Unfortunately, being a big brother means you never stop worrying,” he told her.
Her look became a pout. And that was very cute.
“I won’t tell Crosshair,” he promised. “Though… maybe you’d feel better if you talked to him about it.”
She looked doubtful. “I don’t want to upset him.”
“It would not upset him, to know how much his gift mattered to you.”
That got him a thoughtful look. “I said thank you when he gave it to me,” she pointed out. She’d also hugged him for a long moment, which Crosshair had fought to look like he was unaffected by while the rest of them tried to school their smug looks.
“I know. But Crosshair… is Crosshair.” That was putting it mildly. “It wouldn’t do him any harm to be reminded of your regard for him.”
Omega shot him a look that told him she was considering it. He decided to let the point drop.
A silent moment passed, but it didn’t leave a feeling behind like it was resolving anything. Tech winced. Where to go from here? At least he hadn’t made things worse, but he was fresh out of immediate solutions.
He decided to stop in and offer himself as an agent, at least, if he couldn’t propose a solution. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asked.
Something like relief at being asked flashed across her face. More nervous shifting on the bed. “C-could… could you… give me a hug?” she asked, looking sort of sweetly embarrassed at having to ask—matching Tech’s own embarrassment that he had to be asked.
He was about to answer in the affirmative, turned to face her, when she cut him off, eyes averted in her unease.
“You don’t have to,” she said, quickly, “really, it’s okay. I’m all gross right now…” As if trying to amend one thing about that sentence, she scrubbed at her damp face with the damp ends of her sleeves; ultimately achieving no change.
Tech sat there and stared at her. Over two months in their long-term care, and he thought that he'd been so subtle, hanging back from initiating any physical affection. What a fool he was for thinking that she wouldn't notice.
He swallowed. “Omega,” he said, and had to clear his throat again, words misty. “I…” How could he possibly fit it all into something as brittle as words? “I am very fond of you,” he said, wincing as he heard his uncertain tone. He opened and closed his hands. “That is,” he tried to backtrack, shifting uncomfortably, “I want to see you happy. Whatever I have to do to make that happen—whatever discomfort—”
He shut his mouth, quickly. Great, he confirmed that showing her affection was a discomfort for him. He could feel his face heating up, and he wrenched himself up to stand, pacing a little along the side of Omega’s bed.
He forced himself to stop, and exhaled a harsh breath. What a scene. With his hands planted on his hips, he turned to face Omega, even more blather undoubtedly waiting on the tip of his agitated tongue, but she beat him to it.
“I love you, too,” she told him, frankly and plainly. Smiling and bright-eyed.
Oh. That had been what he’d been trying to say, hadn’t it? A little thrill of—something—fluttered through Tech’s core, relief immediately soothing the line of his shoulders. He cleared his throat. “That is very kind of you to say, though I can’t imagine why,” he said, aiming for humor, only to be rewarded by Omega frowning, expression collapsing into seriousness.
She reached out with her arms, fingers wiggling a little, and he returned to sit on the edge of the bed. Rather than the full embrace he expected, Omega simply scooted closer, sitting by his side, and linked her arm through his. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, and when she tugged on his hand, he let her pull it into her lap, so she could play with his fingers. Carefully, like it was a matter of great interest to her, her little nimble hands cataloged his calluses, the old scar on the outside of his palm from when he’d sliced it open working on his car engine.
“I love you because you’re nice to me,” Omega said, the words tumbling out in a nervous jumble. “And you don’t get mad at me when I want to hang out with you and ask you a lot of questions.”
On the contrary, he greatly enjoyed that Omega shared his interests. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she plowed right past him, the words still coming.
“And you don’t tease me when I get things wrong, or when I talk to AZI, even though I know you think it’s funny that I treat him like he’s a person and not a toy.”
He winced; it wasn’t that he thought it was funny, he just found it cute, charming even—but again he couldn’t find an opening to step in and correct her.
“And right now—” She swallowed. “W-what you said, about not caring if, if you don’t like something, because it’ll make me feel better…” Another heavy swallow. Tech’s heart twisted, and he peered down at Omega’s face. It was a bad angle; she kept her eyes on Tech’s hand, lightly cradled by both of hers, fingers loosely intertwined. “Mother,” she managed to stutter out, “Mother would never…” Her fingers trembled, so delicately, against his. He squeezed them, tightly. “You know.”
That he did. Nala Se’s version of maternal affection was a distant aloof disdain; she never offered anything, and asking would only make her sneer. Tech steeled himself and rested his cheek against the top of Omega’s head. It was not an unpleasant sensation, probably because Omega’s smallness somehow made it more palatable. That, and her hair was soft.
“I know,” he said, quietly, and dragged his thumb across her knuckles.
She sniffed, then turned her face into his arm; the humid dampness of her tears soaking into his shirt made him tense up, just a little, but he hid it by disentangling his hand from Omega’s so he could bring his arm around her shoulders instead, copying how he’d seen Wrecker and Hunter rub comfortingly at her back when she was upset.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Omega,” he chided her, gently. “As I said before, there is nothing for you to be sorry for.” Now it was his turn to swallow, throat tight. “I do love you,” he said, because he ought to say it in as clear a terminology as possible. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.” He squeezed her a little closer. “This included.”
Like he hoped it might, that made her hiccup a little bubble of giddy laughter.
“If you would like to stay here like this,” he continued, “I will sit here with you until you say you want to stop. Or, if there’s anything else I can do to make you feel better, I will do that, too.”
She giggled again, and he was gladdened by the sound. She withdrew and sniffed, rubbing at her face to clear it of tears. Through it, she beamed at him, grinning widely, and Tech had no words to describe the depth of feeling that overcame him in that moment. His little sister.
When her face was clear of tears, but still a little blotchy, she dropped her hands and settled her shoulders back. “Can we play minecraft?” she asked. He’d introduced the game to her weeks prior, and despite his insistence that she was free to use his gaming console without him present, she insisted on only playing when he had the free time to play with her.
“We certainly can,” he replied, and waved her forward. “After you.”
She hopped down from the bed and made for the door with a swiftness. “Can I use your special controller?” she asked, and he recognized her goading for the play that it was.
“Let’s not go too far,” he said, and savored the sound of her laughter.
“Please?” she wheedled.
“You’ll have to beat me to it,” he told her, and she broke into a joyous sprint, down the stairs. Tech could easily overcome her—she took her turns wide and hesitated at the top of the stairs, waiting for him--but it was his day off. Those were meant for relaxation, right? And so he let Omega keep her lead, all the way down to the living room, plucking his professional gaming controller off of the charging stand with a look of bright-eyed triumph.
Yes, that was the reason—that, and he loved her so much that losing to her was just a different kind of winning.