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“He is taking longer than expected to wake up.”
“He will. We have to be patient.”
“The medic said…”
Hunter stands up, nearly knocking the chair he’d been sitting in over backwards. “He will wake up.”
“I am not giving up on him,” Tech says, voice low. “I was simply stating his recovery rate suggests…”
“Not now, Tech,” Hunter growls. “I don’t want to hear about the numbers, or the research, or the odds. I just–”
Tech stares at him, waiting for Hunter to finish.
Hunter swallows, shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” Tech traces the edges of his data pad with his fingers, nervously. “I am fearful for Wrecker as well.”
Hunter sinks back down into his seat, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.
Tech asks, “Have you spoken to Crosshair?”
“I’ve tried,” Hunter says. “He…needs more time.”
“That is understandable. It must have been very difficult keeping Wrecker stable until proper help arrived,” Tech says. “It is hard not to imagine what one might have done more efficiently to ensure a more favorable outcome…even if one knows they did everything to the best of their resources and abilities.”
Hunter glances up, catching a pained grimace flash across his brother’s face. Tech spoke from experience, he knew. Tech was never one to pass up an opportunity to offer his aid. He might appear cold and calculated at times, but he had an empathy that often led him to life or death situations on the battlefield. He rarely spoke of the uncertainties involved, always appearing self-assured by nature. But Hunter suspected he had battled this demon more times than he’d ever admit to.
“You should talk to him,” Hunter says.
Tech meets Hunter’s eye for a moment, a flicker of confusion. “I am notoriously deficient in offering emotional support,” he says with a humorless smirk.
“Crosshair doesn’t need ‘emotional support’,” Hunter argues, “He needs to know he did it right.”
Tech frowns deeply at his datapad. “That is not something one can easily be convinced of,” he murmurs.
“Maybe,” Hunter says, “but it might give some weight to the argument in his favor.”
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“I thought I might find you here,” Tech says, stepping into the nearly empty firing range.
Crosshair looks up from polishing his scope. “Is Wrecker…?”
“Still unconscious, but stable,” Tech responds promptly to the unfinished question.
Crosshair scoffs, a sneer. “Then why are you here?”
“You performed your role exceptionally in stabilizing Wrecker on the field,” Tech says.
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
Tech shrugs. “Hunter thought it might.”
Crosshair returns to polishing his scope. “I know I did everything right,” he growls snidely. “Doesn’t change that it didn’t work.”
“I would argue that Wrecker is still alive,” Tech says, “and therefore, it must’ve been successful.”
“You can tell Hunter your little reassurances don’t mean anything unless Wrecker makes it out of this,” Crosshair says, tossing aside the polishing rag and beginning the process of reattaching the scope to his rifle.
“I told him as much already.”
“Then why’d you come down here and waste your breath?”
Tech levels Crosshair with a hard look. “I came down here as a favor to Hunter’s wellbeing, not yours. I know that you cannot be swayed from anything you’ve already set your mind to. If you’ve decided that you did not save Wrecker’s life, then I am not here to convince you otherwise.”
Crosshair stares back, gaze cold.
“That being said,” Tech continues, his voice softening as he stands, “the fact remains that you did save our brother's life, regardless of your opinion. And for that, Hunter and I are grateful. Do with that as you will.”
Tech moves to walk away, but a hand catches his arm. “Comm when Wrecker wakes up,” Crosshair mutters.
“Of course,” Tech says, and takes his leave.
END