Chapter Text
The Marauder shuddered and groaned as it tumbled out of hyperspace prematurely, producing a bone-chilling sound quickly followed by a series of thunks inside. The artificial gravity had winked out for just a split second, but long enough to lift unsecured items throughout the ship and let them float a centimeter or so high before they came crashing down. After the cacophony there was a deathly stillness, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of being suddenly sucked out into the vacuum of space through a hull breach. When nothing else happened, a collective sigh.
“A little warning would have been nice!” snapped Crosshair, the front of his blacks covered in protein smoothie, and shook out the rest of his liquid dinner from his hands.
“SORRY!” Tech yelled from the cockpit.
Clone Force 99 had just come back from another “successful” mission, a little worse for wear but alive and objectives met.
“I'll go do damage control,” Echo said as he unlatched himself from the copilot seat, squeezing Tech’s shoulder as he passed. Tech hummed an acknowledgement and continued tapping away at the console as the diagnostic reports trickled in. By the time Echo made it to their main cabin, he was practically wading through junk on the floor, up to his artificial knees with the accumulated trash from the last two months of living in the ship after a string of difficult missions. I'm definitely going to throw out half of this stuff here , he thought to himself, starting with this … Echo kicked the gonk droid that had fallen over. Had it been functional, it would have honked in protest, but ever since Hunter found it 3 weeks ago it had been a silent doorstop, and Tech hadn't spent the time to get it to hold more than 7% of power.
Echo just passed the refresher as Hunter leaned out in just a towel. “What happened,” he asked, a toothbrush still in his mouth. “We good?”
“ Somebody still thinks we don't need to dry-dock to swap out stabilizers!” fumed Crosshair, shoving past Hunter to clean himself up.
Echo waved it off, “We're fine. We can limp back to the Resolute from here if we need to.” Hunter grunted, resumed brushing, and stepped back into the refresher as best he could with Crosshair hogging the mirror. Finally making it near their sleeping quarters, Echo found Wrecker rubbing his head with a fresh lump starting to form. “You okay?
“Yeah … didn't even hit it when we stopped, hit it when I tried to get up and slipped on sumpin’ …” Wrecker was sitting at the edge of his bunk, lifting each foot to find whatever it was that had rolled under it.
Hopefully it wasn't a grenade. Echo sighed deeply, putting his scomp on his hip and a hand on the back of his neck. “What a mess,” he muttered. He grabbed an empty crate and got to work.
Eventually they made a game out of it. Echo had set up the crate into a corner and he and Wrecker would take turns shooting in trash from different spots of the cabin. Hunter had taken over straightening up the kitchenette, and Crosshair was definitely avoiding having to clean by taking an extra long time with his sonic.
The empty flimsy box made a perfect arc and landed in the crate. “That's 10. You lose, Wrecker,” Echo smirked and Wrecker groaned.
“Best 3 outta 5!” Wrecker insisted, snatching up a plastic jar from the floor.
“Your funeral,” agreed Echo, who bent down to pick up a small, empty bottle from underneath Hunter's bunk. “You start.”
Wrecker shook out his arms and readied himself. The refresher door opened, Crosshair finally emerging and rubbing a towel to dry his silver hair. “Cross! Watch this!” Wrecker stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration, cocked his arm and made his shot. The jar hit the rim of the crate, teetered on the edge, then fell out with a clatter.
“Perfection,” Crosshair said flatly. Wrecker groaned again.
Echo scoffed. “My turn.” His wrist flicked as his arm straightened in a smooth motion, perfect form as always. The bottle seemed to hover at its zenith to taunt them before sailing towards the crate.
“NO!” Crosshair barked sharply, his hand snapping out. The small towel he was holding shot out from across the room, collided with the bottle and wrapped around it like a webbed net, then softly landed against the far wall with a dull thud. Both Wrecker and Echo stared at him, stunned at the sudden outburst.
“... Everything ok?” Hunter asked in a raised voice from the other room, sensing the sudden tension.
“It's fine,” Crosshair said aloud but deftly did the hand sign for “silence". “Just going to show this reg how it's done!” He stalked across the room to retrieve the bundled towel, but then waited until he could hear Hunter resume whatever he was doing in the kitchen before bringing it back to the bunks. “Watch and learn, amateurs ,” he said pointedly but kept his eyes watching the kitchenette.
Echo was confused and looked to Wrecker for an explanation. Wrecker, on the other hand, had begun to take on a dark expression … he understood exactly what happened but fought to maintain composure. Crosshair eventually let his guard down a hair, enough for Wrecker to catch his attention and toss him another jar off the floor. With the fluidity of a viper, Crosshair seemed to pluck the jar from the very air and used the momentum to redirect it to the crate.
Wrecker was normally a terrible liar, but this … this was important. He let out a raucous cheer and clapped his hands while his eyes were still locked on Crosshair, who carefully removed the bottle from the towel. Using Wrecker's noisy distraction, Crosshair deftly placed the bottle back on the shelf of Hunter's bunk, right where he always kept it.
“Game over, losers. Now get to sleep, I got first watch.” Crosshair visibly relaxed, tossed the towel into the laundry basket without looking, and sauntered off to the cockpit. As he passed the still stunned Echo, he made the hand signal for “later”.
Wrecker came over to Echo and patted him on the shoulder, then went to the ‘fresher to get ready for the night. Echo was left standing there alone, still trying to make heads or tails of what the kriff just happened. He eyed the kitchenette while he slowly approached Hunter's bunk to get a closer look. It … it's just an empty bottle of hair gel …
Echo had second watch, which was perfect because he couldn't sleep with curiosity burning through him. He got out from his hammock early and softly made his way to the cockpit. After making sure the door was sealed behind him, he whispered, “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Crosshair flicked his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, arms crossed and staring out to the bright swirls blanketing the hull. They had resumed hyperspace after Tech got the hyperdrive back online, and hopefully it would keep them there for the remainder of the return trip without any more unexpected bumps. Echo sat in the copilot seat and waited patiently … he had learned in these past few months with his new squad not to push their surly sniper until he was good and ready.
Minutes passed and Echo could tell his vod’ika was lost in thought. Eventually Crosshair sighed and settled into a more comfortable position.
“... It was a gift.”
“Hair gel?”
“ Yes ,” Crosshair said emphatically. Another long moment passed. “He used it up long ago, but he still likes the smell of it.”
“... Seems important,” mused Echo, honestly and not one hint of sarcasm. Crosshair cocked a side eye at him, just to be sure, then relaxed.
“It was. Maybe it still is. We don't talk about it.”
Echo understood that at least … not wanting to talk about things that were as important to you as breathing but you somehow lost along the way. They sat in silence and stared into space.