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The Marauder is far too quiet for your liking.
Tech’s incessant tinkering, Wrecker and Omega’s games—you’d never realized just how soothing the bustle of activity was until tonight, where you’re stuck on the ship by yourself.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way—you’re supposed to be out there with the rest of the Batch, making the half-day trek into the canyon to deliver a resupply to this planet’s Rebel outpost.
But that plan was made before your… Injury .
It’s nothing, really—when local wildlife had pursued you all the way back to the Marauder on yesterday’s mission, you’d tripped, twisting your ankle. Still, your limping gate couldn’t quite keep up, but just when you thought you were giant-bug-food, Crosshair had scooped you up bridal-style like you were nothing, his long legs carrying you back to the ship with leaping strides.
To the surprise of his brothers, you and Crosshair were usually a quiet, harmonious pair… But when the Marauder touched ground once more just a few hours ago, the two of you had a rare but inevitable spat.
“Just give me a brace, I’ll be right as rain!” You had immediately brushed off the notion of “bed rest,” causing Crosshair’s expression to instantly sour.
“Tech recommended you take it easy ,” he hissed. “Which does not include a 6-hour round-trip hike over rocky terrain.”
He was right, of course—they all were, and you knew it… Which was why you did eventually cave. Omega had offered to stay behind, keep you company aboard the ship, but you had gently declined; you know how much she enjoys seeing new planets. Who are you to take that from her?
You’d be fine, you thought.
It’s just one evening, you’d reasoned.
… Damn .
You look around the cargo hold at your handiwork. Rearranging the supply crates and weapons boxes had seemed like a decent enough diversion, maybe even a productive one—but as you gaze around the eerily quiet ship now, you realize that you’ve made no more space than there was before, just another headache for—
“Sorry, Tech,” you whisper through a sigh.
At long last, you reluctantly make the decision to settle onto one of the lower cots along the wall—and it does feel good to finally elevate your sore ankle, you silently concede.
Lolling your head backward, you gaze at your upside-down view of the cockpit, showing the sky outside aglow in a brilliant shade of navy blue and glistening with countless stars.
…Okay, you’ll admit it.
It’s the first mission that you and Crosshair have been apart for, since…
Since you and Crosshair became something.
And… Maybe you’re a little worried.
Absent-mindedly, you raise a hand to trace over your lips—ghosting over the spot where he’d kissed you goodbye behind the gangplank…
It’s just a supply run.
The canyons are natural cover.
Everything will be alright.
Everything has to be—
Your vambrace beeps, causing your heart to skip a beat. One quick glance down at the screen tells you that it’s:
Crosshair .
You answer before a second chime can come.
“Hello?” The word feels stupid on your tongue when all you want to ask is is everything okay, do you need me to come get —
“Everything’s fine,” he begins knowingly in his sandpaper drawl; and his ability to read your thoughts makes you reluctantly smile.
“Okay,” you nod, adjusting yourself in the cot so that you’re laying backward, vambrace over your heart. “So what’s up?”
There’s silence, then; a prolonged pause. You quirk an eyebrow.
“Cross…?”
A crackle through the comlink—something almost like a sigh. Then:
“I was just calling to…” And as his voice trails off, you realize that he’s speaking low , almost in a whisper—he must be broken off from his siblings, wherever they are. The uncharacteristic uncertainty in his voice makes you smile.
“Cross,” you gently interrupt. “...I miss you, too.”
A low chuckle hisses through the comlink; it sends warmth flooding through you.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he breathes, the endearment only confirming that he must be alone for the moment. “Just worried, I guess. I’d hoped you’d be asleep.” You can hear the frown overtaking his voice, can almost picture the way his tattoo twists when his brow furrows in concern. It all makes you feel silly for ever arguing with him this afternoon.
“The ship is so quiet without everyone here,” you explain. “I feel like a ghost. And… I’m worried about all of you , too. You’re the ones out in the field tonight, not me.”
Another pause; Crosshair is considering your words.
“Tonight we’ll get Tech to rig up some sort of compression that should help you move on your ankle better,” he concedes. “But I still don’t want you teaching Wrecker how to cartwheel or anything anytime soon.”
The reminder surprises a laugh out of you, one you can hear Crosshair quietly join in on with a wry chuckle.
“C’mon, that was like, two times! ”
“And a lot of bruises between the two of you,” Cross softly chides, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
For a blissful few seconds, you allow the glow of the moment to drape over you like a warm blanket.
You hadn’t expected a call unless something went wrong—but Crosshair, your secret softie, called simply to cheer you up.
Maker, you love him.
“Cross—” you begin, unsure what to say… But you soon hear background noise overtaking the channel. You both pause once more, and then:
“Looks like it’s time to begin the hike back, sweetheart,” Cross explains, almost reluctantly, voice still low into his comlink. “We’ll be back before you know it. Try to get some rest, okay?”
“Okay,” you smile, before adding, “I love you.”
Crosshair’s voice, scratchy yet soothing to your ear as always, wastes not a second in his reply.
“Love you—”
“Hey! You talking to your girlfriend? ” You hear Omega’s singsong voice in the background, followed by Wrecker’s boisterous laugh. The young girl continues: “Say hi from us! We miss—”
But then, the channel is abruptly silenced.
In the lonesome quiet of the Marauder , you don’t bother suppressing your mischievous laugh.