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The sound of the caf machine sputtering to life in the kitchen area makes Hunter sit up straight in the pilot’s chair where he has sat for the last thousand rotations...give or take. He just had to draw the short straw and get first watch after a 36 standard hour mission with no sleep. He could probably convince any of his brothers to start their shift early. They aren’t heartless monsters. But Hunter refuses to cut his shift short, no matter how many times he goes cross-eyed. Out of principle. And pride. Mostly pride.
Hunter tries to determine which of the members is already up. His first guess is Echo, who seems to struggle staying asleep for any length of time, although Tech is in that same category. He doesn’t bother to put Wrecker on the list, the odds of him being awake already and making caf would be a miracle. Crosshair does make the list, but settles at the bottom, able to sleep through almost anything when he puts his mind to it.
The next mental list Hunter creates is which one he would hope to be making caf. Each Batcher has a different method which results in vastly different flavors, despite using the same tin of grounds. Hunter, he even admits, does not make good caf. He can never get the proportions right.
Echo makes the strongest caf, brewed so dark one almost has to chew the stuff. Hunter shudders at the thought. He hopes Echo isn’t making caf.
Tech appreciates the idea of caf, but does not like the flavor, which means a weak brew with enough sweetener to rot bones. The Batch always teases him that it isn’t the caf that keeps him up, but the sugar. Tech adamantly disagrees.
Wrecker doesn’t make caf as a rule, simply because he somehow manages to always break the machine in some way, although none of them have figured out how he does it.
The golden child of making caf is Crosshair. Crosshair doesn’t even drink caf, only making it begrudgingly at the desperate request of his brothers who can all agree that his concoction is absolutely perfect. Not too strong or weak, and not burned. Please let it be Crosshair.
However, Hunter realizes dejectedly, unless Crosshair woke up early and is in a generous mood, the likelihood of getting a good cup of caf is practically nonexistent. It will either be sludge or dirty water. Though, as his vision doubles yet again, he pushes himself up to accept whichever fate might await him.
He treads lightly down the hall, stretching the stiff muscles in his back, shoulders and neck. When he turns into the kitchen, his weary heart lifts when he is met by Crosshair glaring at him over a steaming mug. “You look awful,” the sniper says.
“Thanks.” Hunter is too tired to roll his eyes. “You make caf?”
Crosshair grins wickedly. “No. Echo did.” He nods his head in the direction of the table.
Hunter’s eyes drift to where their fifth squad member sits with his own mug of the brewed liquid. “I made you a cup,” Echo says, “Crosshair was just about to bring it to you.”
“Out of the kindness of his heart, I’m sure,” Hunter grumbles, but he accepts the caf anyway.
“It was going to be a surprise,” Crosshair says.
Hunter narrows his eyes at his brother, doesn’t miss the subtle smirk as Crosshair ducks past him.
Echo chuckles from his corner. “Hunter. I didn’t make the caf. Cross did.”
“What?” Hunter’s exhausted mind can’t keep up. “But…”
“He told you it was me as a prank,” Echo explains patiently. “Thought it’d be funny to see the look on your face when you thought he made caf and it turned out it was me. Which, I will admit, was fairly entertaining — even though it was at my expense.” Echo takes a careful sip of his caf.
Hunter smiles and takes a long drink of the perfect, scalding beverage. Leave it to Cross to do something kind for a brother disguised as a mischievous act.