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Omega has a tiny scar on the outer edge of her left wrist. It is thin, slightly raised, and a touch lighter than the warm color of her skin. She doesn’t remember how she got it, or even when; but for as long as she can remember, she’s found herself rubbing it when she’s anxious, running her right index finger over it, back and forth.
She does it now, the imperfection soothing under her fingertip. “Do you think they’re alright?” she asks.
Crosshair sighs. “Why did you stay with me if you’re not going to be quiet?”
“I asked quietly,” Omega argues, pressing harder on the scar, making it feel more pronounced.
“They’re fine. Shush.”
Omega glares at her brother’s profile, sharp edged features that perfectly match his personality. She lets out a breath, louder than necessary, just to annoy him. By the glance he casts her, it works. She grins at her boots, but the gnawing anxiety in her stomach doesn’t go away, even with Crosshair’s reluctant reassurance.
She and Crosshair are on lookout while the rest of the batch works on the inside, searching for intel. It is a low-risk mission, Rex said; however, it's only been a few months since she, Crosshair and Tech were rescued from Hemlock. The internal and external wounds of their captivity still feel raw and exposed.
She can’t lose her brothers again.
She bites the inside of her cheek and keeps rubbing her scar.
Crosshair looks at her. “What?” he asks, a hiss.
“I didn’t say anything,” Omega protests indignantly.
“You keep messing with your wrist. What? Are you injured?” The question gives the impression of concern, even if the tone is discolored with ire.
Omega drops her hands. She hadn’t really realized she was doing it. “No,” she says, a grumble. “Just a nervous habit.”
Crosshair regards her for a moment more before turning back to the landscape. “I noticed.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“In case you wanted to talk about it.”
“You said to be quiet.”
“Changed my mind.”
Even after spending weeks together in confinement, Omega still isn’t used to Crosshair’s bladed way of showing concern for his siblings, serrated but deep. It is so different from the rest of her brothers but comforting in its own way.
Omega shrugs, leaning back. “Just paranoid, I guess. I know nothing’s going to happen, but...something might.”
Crosshair reaches into his pocket and pulls out two toothpicks, flicking one at her. Omega catches it, barely, but she can’t help the triumphant grin. Crosshair smirks at her. “Don’t be so proud of yourself,” he mutters, putting his between his teeth.
Omega follows his example, grinding the toothpick between her teeth experimentally. “It tastes gross.”
“Is there a flavor of wood you prefer?” Crosshair snarks, and Omega wrinkles her nose at him. He chuckles and settles back beside her, eyes returning to their watch. “You know, something bad can happen anywhere...even that precious little bed of yours back on Pabu. You could fall out of it and break your neck. Are you going to be paranoid about that too?”
Omega rolls her eyes. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
“Hmm. I disagree.”
“You would,” Omega mutters.
“Ah, you know me so well,” Crosshair retorts. He elbows her. Not gently, but not hard enough to hurt. “My point is, kid, stop worrying about what could happen. It’s annoying, and it’s unhelpful. I should know.”
“Really?” Omega asks, looking up at him.
Crosshair pokes the scar on her wrist. “That’s your nervous habit, and this,” he takes out his toothpick, holding it out, “is mine.”
“Wrecker said you chew on toothpicks because you think it looks cool,” Omega says with a grin.
“Wrecker says a lot of ridiculous things.” Crosshair puts the toothpick back in his mouth.
“Are you nervous right now?” Omega asks.
“No,” Crosshair deadpans.
“But you just said...”
“I just said that worrying about what could happen is annoying and unhelpful,” Crosshair interrupts. “So, what are we going to do instead?”
Omega can’t decide if it is a trick question or rhetorical.
Crosshair rolls his eyes and says in a painfully slow voice, “We focus on the job we were given.”
“That’s it?” Omega asks.
“That’s it. Now, be quiet, or next time I’m going to make you go with Hunter, so you don’t bother me.”
Omega leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You love me,” she singsongs.
“Don’t push it, kid,” Crosshair growls, but she feels his head rest on hers and smiles.