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Pneumonia and infection, Tech, the machines, and the high temperature said. Malnourishment, the grayness of Crosshair’s face, the shaky hands, and the unusually rapid metabolism showed. But Hunter knew what it was, he just had no strength to say it.
The galaxy was writing a play, and Hunter was the tortured main character. If he were to exaggerate it, this play would’ve started the moment he and his squad were placed with the other clones on Tipoca City. He was torturing himself, he was watching himself be tortured, others were watching it all, taking part of it now and again, patting his back in pure sympathy when they were not.
Hunter couldn’t identify his comfort zone, he’d never learned what a comfort zone was, besides, he never recalled being in it anyway. He was made for a purpose, and that purpose he shall fulfill. As a soldier and as a fugitive. As a sergeant, a brother, and as a father. With a tightly knit group and without one. What he was capable of recalling from his days as a clone cadet, his battles, missions, campaigns and nights in infirmaries clutching cold shoulders and begging the hopeless to hold on once more were all experiences during which he had to give up some part of himself to succeed, to come out with the least losses possible, to not be a liability to those around him, and he became a Master at that craft. He will fulfil his purpose, as a mercenary, carving a playground with swings and slides and colour for a child who’s only seen white and red her whole life. He will perform his duty until the end, he will lead his group until he goes down, until they don’t need him anymore, until they don’t want him anymore.
Crosshair was rock frozen on his old bunk, Tech had given Hunter earplugs to drown out the sound of the vital organ monitoring machines, and he’s sat on the uncomfortable chair since the morning, his elbows pressing down on his thigh armour as his knees shook nonstop. Crosshair hasn't moved since the night before when he was hit, it was the reason for the constant knot in Hunter’s throat even after being assured that it was totally fine and that his vitals were healthy enough. He risked another look at his brother’s face. He wouldn’t want to be here. Why did I bring him on board? And Crosshair’s heart took leaps and great falls while Hunter wrestled his conscience. Omega came back from her strolls outside occasionally throughout the day, Hunter gave her his vibroblade to play with and spoke with her softly the first few times, but then she just came and rested her head on his thigh, fiddling with her fingers or whatever was in her hands at the time and taking hesitant looks at Crosshair’s face.
“He’ll be okay,” they both said at the same time, then paused, smiling at each other before Omega waved and left for bed.
It was on Tech to change the bandages, but then again, they didn’t have that much bacta left. Wrecker only hovered in the doorway to the cockpit, taking the copilot chair as a temporary bed while Crosshair healed in the cold lounge room. Injuries, infirmaries, epiphanies…weren’t exactly things Wrecker could ever learn to find solace in, unlike his brothers who now searched pain for peace. Hunter still heard Tech and Wrecker arguing in the cockpit time and again, but it wasn’t anything serious nor obviously offensive to either party. They were stressed, he was stressed. He checked Crosshair’s heartbeats one last time before burying his head in his hands and sighing loudly.
He will get them out of this mess. He must.
He had a row with Cid over their motives and her support (or lack thereof) for their efforts that ended up getting them sacked from her business, which led to the mess they were in at the moment.
They’d run into Crosshair at an old Republic outpost while scavenging for whatever they could sell while they searched for a stable job, resulting in an ambush that was not counted for. Tech got the parts and fled, according to plan, taking Omega along with him. Meanwhile Hunter tracked Crosshair down like he’d never tracked before, like his whole existence depended on it, pinning him down in a clearing, oblivious to the stormtrooper squad tailing him. Fire rained on the three. Crosshair was shot three times; one in his right thigh, one near his liver and one on his shoulder. Hunter evaded most of them, but a shot whizzed right by his helmet, singing it and starting a ringing in his left ear in the process that hasn’t stopped even now. Wrecker had pushed a clearly overstimulated Hunter and an unconscious Crosshair behind a tree and covered them until Tech got the Marauder running and picked them up. Hunter’s helmet was ripped off at some point and Wrecker attempted to sign to him instead of talking. He pointed to Crosshair, ‘He’s alive, don’t worry,’ He signed. ‘Tech might be able to help him.’ And Hunter nodded eagerly, breathing in rapid gasps and wiping his stubborn tears away with the sleeve of his blacks.
Omega curled up next to him on the floor last night after giving him a supplement Tech said would lessen the pain in his ears, and he remembered falling asleep with her in his arms when he decided he would carry her to bed before drifting off. “Thank you, Tech,” He’d muttered, half asleep, when he noticed Tech’s silhouette hovering over Crosshair’s stiff body. “I’m sorry.”
Wrecker took Omega (after an hour of begging) for a supply run while Tech operated on Crosshair’s body through the morning. Hunter could only stand there, biting his nails and fidgeting and helping Tech whenever he could. They found an inhibitor chip and extracted it with almost no words (nor glances) exchanged. Something about Tech, he mutters a lot to himself when he’s under pressure. Hunter could swear he heard him whisper something along the lines of ‘what are they feeding him over there?’ while plugging an old IV after working it out. Hunter stayed by Crosshair’s side the whole time, breaking a leg and successfully installing a needle in his veins when Wrecker and Omega returned with the medical supplies, flinching at every indication of motion from him. Talking to him. Saying sorry to closed eyes because he was far too weak to show a sliver of vulnerability to open eyes now. Far too sad. Far too old.
Everyone on the ship was fast asleep by the time Hunter noticed Crosshair’s fingers moving. He checked the monitors after removing his earplugs and everything was indeed quickly stabilising. He gulped as a tense silence took over the lounge.
What would he say? What would Crosshair say? Hunter did the only thing he could. He reached and squeezed Crosshair’s cold hand.
Just then, Crosshair inhaled sharply and began to open his eyes. Hunter unscrewed the flask of water he’d placed on the side in case.
Crosshair moved his leg and winced.
“Careful, you got shot there,” Hunter muttered and Crosshair, perplexed, looked around trying to figure out where he was.
“Where am I?” He asked, the familiar sneer lacing his words.
“Take a guess,” Hunter sighed.
He attempted to sit up only to plop back down on the pillow.
Hunter inched closer, a painkiller and the water flask in his hands. Crosshair gave him a pointed look. Hunter shot him back with an identical one. He’d forgotten how similar they could be sometimes. Crosshair slowly took the flask out of Hunter’s hand and Hunter fixed up a pillow behind him so he could sit up.
“Do you have my comm?” Crosshair asked after taking the painkiller, not without a frown seemingly permanently etched on his face. Hunter knew why he asked.
“No, ‘twas destroyed,” he replied.
“Are we near an Imperial outpost?”
“No,” Hunter crossed his arms.
“So you kidnapped me,”
“Your…how should I put this?— squad, betrayed and shot you down once again,” Hunter quipped. “Sorry for kidnapping you, though, that must’ve been hell,” he frowned. It seemed to shut Crosshair up for the time being.
Hunter went back to tapping his foot against the metal floor. Worse than expected, but who am I to complain? I’ve to accept him for who he is. He is like this because of me, anyway.
“Did the others…survive?” Crosshair asked. The others. Hunter whipped his head up instantly.
His eyebrows furrowed. “What?” He echoed.
“I guessed Tech and the kid weren’t with you from the beginning, and surely you lost Echo on your way to me. Wrecker was directly in line of the fire. Now it’s just you?” Hunter exhaled shakily. He thinks they’re dead? He resorted to thinking the medications he was on made him like this. If anything, Crosshair never needed much coaxing to come off as paranoid. Calculating, too, as always. He closed his eyes, contemplating. “Does it really need that much thinking?—,”
“What would make you think they’re all dead?”
“You’re not exactly a lone wolf, Hunter,” Crosshair bit back. “None of you are. It makes sense that Tech took the kid with him.”
“Huh,” Hunter narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t deny it,” Crosshair chuckled drily, looking down at his hands.
“No,” Hunter affirmed. “I don’t.”
Hunter searched for a ration bar in his pocket, and his stomach fell, remembering that he’d given the last one to Omega earlier. Crosshair was so pale. The more he stared at the needles in his body, the dizzier he got, and Hunter knew. This silence wasn’t unusual, not with Crosshair, especially now, after months of change neither of them could keep track of, some moments they wouldn’t dare recount to each other, moments they avoided remembering themselves, even.
Hunter felt far too aware of his own laboured breaths, his clammy, ungloved hands, his hair, how it curled at the nape of his neck and constantly pricked his skin, his cuirass and sore ribs caused by wearing it for too long, and his uncomfortable seat, the only seat available anywhere on this piece of junk. Everything on his body was too present to him to the point he felt his breath becoming shallower and shallower. He pardoned himself and stood up, but Crosshair caught his wrist just in time.
“You haven’t slept in days, have you?” Crosshair hissed. Like it affected him, like he ever cared. Hunter scoffed and pulled his arm away.
“Don’t worry, sleep doesn’t affect my medical experience,” he sassed. Crosshair narrowed his gaze again and lowered his hand slowly.
Was it always going to be this complicated with him?
Hunter placed his hands on his hips, sighing deeply before he stripped out of his cuirass to breathe. He paced in the cramped space, anxiety heaving his stomach and draining his energy.
He turned to Crosshair whose frown had disappeared, “Are you okay?” He asked, monotone.
Crosshair opened his mouth for a second, as if to make a snide remark, but decided to stay silent. He instead opted for a nod. Hunter shut his eyes tightly, I can do this, I can deal with him. Just like old times. He failed to remember that ‘old times’ were absurdly old now. He failed to remember that time, the Empire, and inner conflict pushed Crosshair far from the man that Hunter knew as a brother and comrade years ago.
“Where did you get…these?” He motioned to the equipment around him, to which Hunter shrugged.
“Scavenging,” he said. Crosshair raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth slightly curling upwards.
“So that’s what you were doing at the Republic outpost,” he muttered.
Hunter shrugged. “Guess you could say that,”
Crosshair grunted, attempting to shift his sitting position, and Hunter immediately rushed to him, gently grabbing his elbow with one hand and his waist with the other and helping him perch his legs onto the uncomfortable chair he had just been sitting on. Crosshair was grinding his teeth in pain, despite the amount of painkillers Hunter had given him even with the ridiculously low amount he had on him.
“You lied to me,” Crosshair muttered, his voice almost inaudible.
“What?” Hunter questioned.
“Tech…applied these bandages,” he managed. “Not you. You’re afraid of blood, you bullshit bandaging all the time.”
A lump formed in Hunter’s throat. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“Of course it’s your first instinct to protect them, you know, you’re their leader,” Crosshair went on.
Not from you, Crosshair. It was never meant to be like this.
“D’you want me to get down on my knees and beg you to come back?” Hunter retorted, “‘Cause I’ve done everything but that, so far,”
“The Empire would’ve recovered me.” Crosshair sneered, “I’m valuable to them. Why did you—,”
Hunter shook his head repeatedly as his hands rested on his hips. “Don’t ask me such a thing.”
“I can ask you whatever the fuck I want,” Crosshair hissed back. “Why can’t you accept I don’t need you anymore?”
Hunter froze. “Crosshair—,”
“We’re not at Galactic War, Hunter, not anymore. Just because you were made to lead an elite squad doesn’t mean they’re yours. Why do you keep fighting for that control?—”
“Because I cannot do anything else,” Hunter snapped. “I can’t. You weren’t there, so you don’t know,” He pointed at Crosshair accusingly. “You weren’t there when Omega asked what hide and seek was. You weren’t there when Tech broke his femur and was scared to ask someone else to pilot the Marauder because he was injured. You weren’t there,” He took a breath, his nostrils flaring and his eyes stinging red, “when Wrecker had a dream of you trying to kill him. So don’t fucking villainise me for doing what I can.”
Crosshair’s mouth clamped shut. Hunter was crying. “That still doesn’t answer my question,” He began.
“Their order was ‘kill the Clone Commander’, Tech told me,” Hunter shot back, his chest heaving with repressed sobs and he reached to wipe a tear with his sleeve. “I’ve never been a goddamn Commander, Crosshair,”
“Maybe they were doing the right thi—,” Crosshair never got to finish his sentence, because Hunter was up in his face in less than a millisecond, fist grabbing the collar of Crosshair’s loose black shirt.
“Not. Another. Fucking word.” Hunter grunted and Crosshair grinded his teeth from the pain in his everything.
“I’m not…” He panted, “exactly unfamiliar with being left for dead. At least this time it wasn’t by people who—, who loved me.”
Hunter’s face blanched. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Crosshair echoed, a snide smirk on the corner of his mouth. Hunter was still pinning his torso to the metal hull of the Marauder behind him, still he pressed harder.
“I kept this bunk empty for you. I lived for months hanging onto a belief that you’ll find your own way back here. I begged you—, yeah, fucking begged you to give it a shot here with us, where you’ve always belonged, and you not only blamed me for shit I had no say or do in, you also blew up on a kid who doesn’t even know who you are yet tried to help you.” Hunter maintained his low voice as he was sure Omega was awake now. He knew the kid was a lot like him, he knew it was this much already. “And I’m the one who’s got shit wrong with him. For what? Refusing to do a dictator’s deeds?”
“You didn’t even try—!”
“I know! I admit I didn’t, but what do you think I was supposed to do?” Hunter let go of Crosshair and stood again. He stared at his feet and sighed. “Surprise, Crosshair. A group of clones bred to seek and destroy cannot do anything other than seek and destroy that easily.”
Crosshair could only stare. At least for me it was different. But the same old dread seized his heart again. “And you had to give that girl another shot?”
“Yeah. Just as I have for you, Tech, and Wrecker. It’s what I do. I give chances over and over.” He said.
The machines softly whirred and Hunter found himself wishing Omega could hug him through this darkness as she does often. Still, he breathed through the knots of terror in his guts. It’s what he does. It’s what he has to do. He checked the indicators again to find that Crosshair’s internal systems were recovering at a stellar speed. Crosshair raised an eyebrow at the glow of the screen then turned to Hunter.
“What about yourself? Do you give that another shot?”
“No. I’m a leader.” Hunter chided. “And a leader, I shall be.” He grabbed Crosshair’s left bicep and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it.
“I’m fine,” Crosshair rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, no,” Hunter shrugged and continued taking his blood pressure. “Cross, stay still, come on,” he huffed before the results appeared on the thin digital screen. “Your blood pressure’s good,”
Crosshair ignored him. “Where are you dropping me off?”
“I thought—, maybe you can stay here for a while,”
“And rot? No, thank you,” Crosshair countered. “What makes you think any of them will want to take me back?”
“They’ve tried before, each in their own way. I tried. I’m trying now. You’re still our brother, anybody could tell,” Hunter said, “and…and Wrecker misses you.”
“The Empire will—,”
“Not. They will not.” Hunter crossed his arms.
“I cannot stay here,” Crosshair snapped in frustration, making Hunter raise his eyebrows.
“Why can’t you?” He exhaled, a frown etched on his face.
“Stop asking me to explain,” Crosshair argued, but the look on Hunter’s face was unchanged. It’s a thing, the Batch agreed, when Sergeant Hunter looked at you like that, you just had to answer him. Crosshair sighed and ran a hand down his face. “They’ll find me,”
“Will they?” Hunter smiled. The chip. The assassination attempt. Crosshair’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack.
“I hate you, you know?” He hissed, looking at his hands. Hunter clicked his tongue.
“That’s more like it,” he sat beside Crosshair on the bunk just as the light from the nose gun area turned on. It was a new day. Hunter never had to give himself more chances as long as the Galaxy could give him that.