Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today, it is not Omega’s alarm that wakes her, but a seed of long-buried anticipation finally taking root within her stomach.

She rolls to one side, unfurling her blankets to free herself from within their soft cocoon, and peers curiously at the chronometer set upon her nightstand.

Her body is not deceiving her; it is indeed the day of the solstice.

During her first visit to Pabu, Lyana had plied her with stories of a festival – one dedicated to boosting the power of the sun. Ever curious, Omega had asked why such a thing was necessary, and had been told that the celebration was to ward off dark forces and secure a good harvest for the coming season.

Omega hadn’t any knowledge of the harvest, but she had understood dark forces, even then.

The idea that such a festival could aid in their protection from the Empire had firmly taken root within her mind, no matter how nonsensical it seemed.

Eager for more information to quench her newfound thirst, she had launched into an incessant sequence of questions, keen to gather as much intel as she could. Lyana had recounted solstices gone by, each one filled with music and dancing and food, all focused on connecting with their island home.

Omega had listened, enraptured, soaking up every one of Lyana’s hopeful stories like she was starving for them.

And perhaps she was.

In a galaxy plagued by darkness, this little island was a sentry of light.

She had already known, even then, that Pabu was where she wanted to stay.

She wanted, desperately, to live out the rest of her days there, her brothers at her side, and experience the festival each year in turn.

But then Tech had fallen.

And the Empire had come for her.

The solstice passed mere weeks after her arrival on Mount Tantiss.

She had spent the day moving through her monotonous routine with all the absentminded stiffness of a battle droid, before being escorted back to her tiny cell. Whether by coincidence or not, it had also been the first day she saw Crosshair.

But now, things are different.

Five months have passed since their escape, and four since they had rescued Tech.

They have a house – a real house, located in the upper quadrant of lower Pabu. It was one of the newer builds, constructed after the damage of the sea surge, allowing for a larger size to accommodate their unconventional family.

And today, she will experience the solstice for the very first time.

Casting her eyes up the chronometer to check the time, she can just barely make out the tiny glowing digits – 4.36 am.

Lyana had stressed that the solstice was a time to connect with nature. She and her father woke with the sunrise and spent their morning together, before joining their friends for the festivities in the afternoon.

Omega had decided she would follow the same pattern.

Her brothers had noticed her increasing enthusiasm as the day drew ever closer, her excitement for the festivities as budding as the very crops the day was set to honour.

Though happy to see her so invested in their new community, they had informed her that, in no uncertain terms, she was not able to prioritise the festival over her everyday tasks and could only begin her preparations once those had been completed.

Well, now that she was awake, she might as well begin. 

Hopping out of bed, she stretches as she approaches the window, pushing it open and taking in a few deep breaths, the scent of sea salt in the air feeling almost cleansing.

Next, she busies herself finishing up a homework assignment which had been abandoned the previous evening, her overactive imagination too riled up to focus on it.

With that complete, she checks the time again – 4.57 am.

She had set her alarm to chime at 5 am, for her to wake at the same time the sun was due to break over the horizon. She reaches out to quickly deactivate it, not wanting to risk waking any of her sleeping brothers.

As the chronometer reaches the hour, her comlink beeps with an incoming signal. Pulling it close, she reads the message, the words causing a warm feeling to spread within her chest.

Can’t wait to see you later – remember to meet early at my house :)) – Lyana  

Omega sends back a simple acknowledgement, not wanting to lose out on a single second of her day.

Now, as the sun begins to crest, bathing her room in shades of pink and orange, she begins to clean, first tackling the pile of laundry which is far overdue for being folded and tucked away.

The rest of the job is easy, dusting beneath the various collectibles which line her windowsill, and making her bed, placing Lula safely in the middle. She leaves her tub of art supplies on her desk, ready for use in making decorations later.

After changing into what has quickly become her favorite outfit – a simple combination of a shirt, trousers, and an old jacket gifted to her by Phee, she creeps downstairs, finding Batcher lounging in her bed.

It is not often that Omega is up early enough to wake the hound – typically, Batcher will come bounding up the stairs, scratching furiously at her door in demand to be let in as she gets ready for school.

She quietly tips a few scoops of dry feed into a bowl, placing it aside Batcher’s bed, then indulges the hound with soft pets, waking her immediately. As always, Batcher likes to start her day with a lick to the side of Omega’s face, a sensation she accepts only because she knows it makes the hound happy.

Batcher practically scarfs down her food, watching out of the corner of one eye as Omega pulls on her boots. As soon as she has opened their back door, Batcher has finished, trotting along behind her as she moves into the garden.

A recent addition to her chores has been the maintenance of Echo’s plants. Since being granted a stable home, her eldest brother had become quite the horticulturalist, spending hours on end tending to their garden. However, as he had been away for the past three weeks assisting Rex in getting more of their clone brothers settled, Omega had volunteered to look after the area in his absence.

Watching her brother depart so soon after they had finally been able to settle down had stung – but Echo had promised her he would be back in time for the festivities to begin. All she had to do now was ensure everything was ready for his arrival.

Speaking of preparations, the drone of a foghorn in the distance alerts her to the impending arrival of the cargo ship which sails between the island and the mainland once a day.

For months now, she had been taking on odd jobs for various islanders, helping out wherever she can in exchange for a small wage. Her hours of hard labour had rewarded her with enough money to order the remaining supplies she needed to construct her altar of light – yet another important part of the solstice, according to Lyana.

The altar was intended to be a surprise for her brothers, and something they could all contribute to together. Omega had to admit – despite the promise of a long day of activities ahead, this was the one she was looking forward to the most.

But first, she had to collect her order from the port, and then face the difficult task of sneaking it into the house unnoticed.

With Hunter’s enhanced senses, sneaking anything past him alone was hard enough – the task becoming nigh impossible with three more of her equally attentive brothers awake and about.

She had to collect it and return before they got up.

But, she was faced with one small issue.

She wasn’t permitted to leave the house without telling one of her brothers first.

On an ordinary day, Echo would be soon to rise, and Omega would hear him pottering about in the kitchen as she completed her morning meditation. The least grouchy about early starts, he is the most ideal candidate for approving her early-morning outing.

But with Echo away, she knows that Hunter is her next best choice.

Deciding to at least get ahead of her questionable decision, she quickly brews a pot of hot moogan tea, filling Hunter’s favourite mug up to the brim.

Walking slowly so as not to spill a single drop, she approaches Hunter’s bedroom, the only one located on the ground floor. Not wanting to destabilise her delicate equilibrium by knocking, she lets herself inside, keeping her footsteps light as she approaches her brother’s bedside.

She sets the mug down atop his nightstand with a soft thud, casting her eyes over Hunter’s bed. Her brother is sprawled out on his front, his face buried in his pillow. What little she can make out of his features in the low light is concealed even further by the curtain of his thick hair, loose and far messier than usual. 

“What is it, ‘Mega?” he mumbles, not seeming to move a single muscle.

“I’m going out,” she says, projecting confidence. If she has learned anything in the process of getting her brothers to grant her more independence, it is that it is often better to tell them what she is doing, rather than ask for permission to do so.

“Where?” Hunter asks, still unmoving.

“To...” Omega starts, unsure of what exactly she is going to say. She had been hoping that Hunter wouldn’t ask – but realistically, she knows that she should have expected otherwise. Her gaze shifting awkwardly, she catches sight of Batcher, standing panting in the doorway. “To walk Batcher!” she finishes.

Hunter finally moves, only to lift his arm to his face, inspecting the small chronometer he keeps attached to his wrist.

“At 5.30 in the morning?” he exclaims, clearly baffled.

“She wants to go out Hunter,” Omega insists, doubling down. “I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Her brother takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” he agrees.

Omega has to fight to suppress the delighted squeal which threatens to burst free, settling for leaning over her brother and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Thanks, Hunter!” she exclaims softly, “There’s tea on the table for you.”

Her brother hums in acknowledgement, already half-asleep again.

Omega takes it as her cue to leave, halting only when Hunter calls her name once more.

“Take your comm with you,” he instructs.

“I always do,” she assures him. 

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Only twenty minutes later, she arrives at the port, shifting restlessly from side to side as she watches the ship moor, a throng of dock workers swarming to help unload the cargo.

“Ah, Omega,” the harbourmaster calls when he sees her watching. “Happy solstice.”

“Happy solstice,” she parrots, waiting patiently as he surveys his list of orders – a long one considering the number of pages it takes up.

“Ah, there you are,” he announces, “Just one parcel, I see.”

“Yep,” she confirms, “Just the one.”

“It seems rather heavy for you to carry alone,” the harbourmaster warns, looking over the details of her order.

Batcher barks, drawing both of their attention, then lays down at Omega’s side, presenting her back.

“I think between the two of us, we can manage,” Omega assures him, as a dock worker approaches with her parcel, using some of the leftover cargo ropes to secure the box to Batcher.

The hound does not give any indication as to the box's weight, bounding upright as if completely unburdened. Omega makes sure to thank both the men before beginning her journey home, Batcher walking dutifully at her side.

With only a few more streets to go, it becomes apparent that the hound is tiring, her four paws dragging further across the ground with every step.

“Here, Batcher,” Omega calls, tugging at the cargo rope to bring them both to a stop. She undoes the rope entirely allowing Batcher to slip free, then hoists the parcel into her own arms, shifting to ensure she has a decent grip. “I can carry it the rest of the way.”

The remainder of the journey is mercifully short, but she cannot deny that the box is heavy. By the time she reaches the house, her arms are burning with exertion, and sweat has begun to collect on her dark clothes.

Nevertheless, she makes it inside, resisting the urge to drop the box upon the nearest surface, knowing that the crash would summon her brothers instantaneously.

She heads to the living room, storing the box discreetly behind an armchair.

When she moves to the kitchen, she finds two of her brothers present: Wrecker, standing at the stove with a frying pan in hand – and Hunter, slumped at the table with his empty mug before him.

“Morning, kid!” Wrecker booms.

Hunter flinches violently, still clearly not quite alert after his early wake-up call.

“Good morning,” Omega greets, taking a seat beside Hunter. “Happy solstice.”

“Oh, uh, yeah – Happy solstice,” Wrecker replies. ‘So, whad’dya want for breakfast?”

Taking stock of herself, Omega realises that the strange feeling in her stomach has not abated during her walk – if anything, it has gotten worse. The idea of food right now sounds distinctly unappealing, especially since she wants to save her appetite for the many delicacies which will be available later.

“Can I just have caf? I’m feeling kind of tired,” she explains.

“No,” Hunter responds, her question seemingly reactivating his parental instincts. When he spots her crestfallen expression, he is quick to elaborate: “I’m not saying you can’t have a cup, but you need to eat something too.”

Nodding in understanding, she accepts Wrecker’s offer of pancakes, sitting and watching her brother bustle around the stove. By the time the dish is made and presented to her, small pieces of fruit placed strategically atop to form a smiling face, both of their late-rising brothers have appeared, each taking up their usual places at the table.

Tech is soon nursing a cup of caf of his own, while Crosshair chews grumpily on a slice of toast.

Over the slice of bread, his sharp eyes are fixed on Omega, watching as she takes small bites of her food. 

“You okay?” he questions.

She nods, but in truth, the pancakes feel heavy and unpleasant in her stomach, the vast amount of syrup they have been coated in only intensifying the sickly-sweet taste.

But, not wanting to hurt Wrecker’s feelings by leaving the food unfinished, she perseveres and has soon cleared her entire plate.

“Now can we start the festival preparations?” she begs, pushing the dish away.

“Omega, remember what we agreed,” Tech reminds her sternly. “You can focus on the solstice once you have finished your tasks.”

“They’re all done!” she exclaims, enjoying the way Tech’s eyes widen comically behind his goggles.

“Really?” he asks.

“Uh-huh. My homework is finished, my bedroom is tidy, I’ve taken care of Echo’s plants, and I’ve walked Batcher!”

“Oh,” Tech says, his surprised tone doing nothing to hide his pride in his sister following their instructions. “Well, in that case, I don’t see why not.”

After all of them have finished their respective breakfasts, they make a coordinated effort to decorate the house, their years of training coming in handy as they easily allocate tasks. Each of them participates in the creation of the ornaments, but it is clear that Hunter and Crosshair have a keener artistic eye than the rest of them.

Once they are complete, Tech takes charge of determining the best locations for each of the decorations to be hung, stating his intention to keep the spread of decorations balanced both inside and outside of the home.

Wrecker lifts Omega to perch atop his shoulders, using his enhanced size to allow her to reach the higher spots, keeping his hands curled tightly around her ankles to ensure she does not fall.

Meanwhile, Crosshair and Hunter bicker good-naturedly over who will be the one to climb the ladder to their roof – a fight from which Crosshair emerges victorious. Taking a ball of lights up with him, he begins the arduous process of detangling the wire, then setting the lights down in straight, even lines.

Hunter stares up at his youngest brother, attempting to hide his concern at having him so high up without any kind of safety gear. They are now so far removed from their lives as soldiers, it seems he has forgotten that Crosshair had been trained to climb to ridiculous heights to gain the best vantage point.

Sensing a need to distract him, Omega tugs on his hand, dragging him over to where the one remaining decoration lies.

“Can you put the wreath up?” she asks sweetly.

Hunter gives her a bright smile, ruffling her hair.

“Sure, kid. Where do you want it?”

“On the front door, please.”

They go together, Omega watching intently as her brother hammers a single nail into the door, hanging the wreath perfectly below.

Crosshair slides back down the ladder, hitting the ground with the grace of a cat just as they back away from the door, all of them convening on Tech’s position to survey their work.

Their home, already maintained so well, seems elevated now, decked in garlands made of handmade paper flowers, all in sun-bright shades of red, orange, and yellow. A few single ornaments are scattered where possible – for one, a golden metal windchime, creating pleasant sounds as the gentle breeze moves around it.

Omega can only imagine how beautiful it will look once they can switch the lights on too.

“Do you think Echo will like it?” she asks, hopeful.

Hunter pulls her close to his side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

“Of course he will,” he tells her.

With the house finished, her brothers scatter to handle their own responsibilities for the day. Not wanting any of them to disturb her while she creates the surprise altar, she elects to erect it in their back garden, far out of their way. Assembling the altar is easy with the inclusion of her new supplies; it doesn’t take long until she is satisfied with the spread of candles, crystals, and flowers, all in the same warm shades as their decorations.

Her favourite piece is a small, oval-shaped gemstone, bright orange and flecked with shimmering gold. She had found it on a scavenging trip with Phee a month ago, the elder woman telling her that while it did not qualify as an ancient wonder, it would make a perfect addition to her altar. She places it in the centre, directly in front of a small ceramic bowl. 

Sitting back on her heels, she admires her work.

She’s not the only one to do so, judging by the breathless expression of interest from her side. She turns to find Tech hovering a few paces back, eyes wide and curious as ever.

“Fascinating,” he observes, dropping to kneel at his sister's side. “I must admit, I am not yet familiar with the many solstice traditions observed here. What is the purpose of this?” he asks, pointing to the bowl.

“It’s to release our burdens,” Omega tells him, happy to be the one to teach her brother something for a change. “We each have to write down something we want to let go of before the coming season,” she continues, motioning to the small rolls of parchment paper set alongside the bowl. “Then, we set them on fire, and place them in this bowl to burn.”

“An intriguing custom,” Tech comments, but Omega can tell he already likes the sound of it. She thinks that all her brothers will. After all they have been through over the past few years, they will certainly have a lot they wish to leave behind.

Soon, the sight of the altar draws her remaining brothers outside, all of them also wanting an explanation of its purpose.

“Cool!” Wrecker exclaims as she finishes. “When can we do it?”

“Not until Echo is here,” Omega tells him. “We all need to do it together.”

After tidying up the various messes created during their decorating, Omega feels a lick against her hand, glancing down to find Batcher peering up at her, eyes wide and pleading. With a miserable whine, she plants herself at the girl's feet, entirely fixated on getting her attention.

Omega knows why.

Every day they spent on Pabu, she would make time to take Batcher to the beach. Most days, these visits counted as her daily walk, the long stretch of sand providing more than enough space for her to run around.

“Alright,” she whispers, stooping to speak closely into the hound's ear. “Because you did such a good job helping me earlier.”

Pushing herself back up, she retrieves the ball she uses to play catch with the hound.

“I’m taking Batcher to the beach,” she calls.

At the mere mention of the word, Batcher jumps back up, her eyes sparkling with interest as she spins in excited circles.

Hunter appears in the living room doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

“Alright,” he says. “Are you going to be back for lunch?”

“Not sure yet,” she confesses, stuffing the ball into the pocket of her jacket. “If not, I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

With that, she turns on her heel and makes for the door.

“Remember Echo’s coming back at fourteen hundred if you’re still planning on meeting him at the landing pad,” Hunter calls to her retreating back.

“I’ll be there,” she tells him, and skips out the door.

The next hour passes in a repetitive blur of throw and catch – Batcher is always able to retrieve the ball no matter how far she throws or kicks it. The game, while always fun, typically tires her out relatively quickly, and today, it seems to do so even faster.

When Batcher next drops the ball at her feet, she sinks to her knees to pick it up, only to find herself incapable of standing up.

She’s warm, her top sticking uncomfortably to her skin, and the sand beneath her is still surprisingly cool, not yet heated by the sun.

Perhaps a rest would do her good.

A short lie down, to regain her energy.

Just a few minutes, to catch her breath.

That was all she needed…

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She wakes drenched in sweat, her face damp and her head pounding.

All these sensations occurring at once are far from unfamiliar; in fact, they are a telltale sign that she is fighting her way out of a nightmare.

But something is wrong.

There is no soothing presence of a brother at her side, speaking in a hushed yet firm tone to guide her gently back to wakefulness.

When she reaches out one hand, searching blindly for Lula, she instead ends up grasping a handful of sand.

Huh?

Her eyes shoot open, only to shut again reflexively, the bright ball in the sky entirely too intense for her sensitive retinas.

Regaining control of her sleep-addled body is a fight, but she eventually musters the strength to roll onto her front. Now facing away from the sun, she attempts again to open her eyes, finding it much easier this time.

Batcher is lying alongside her, panting heavily, tongue lolling out. From the way her tail begins to wag, it is obvious she is relieved that Omega is awake.

“I’m okay,” she mutters, reaching out to pet her head as soon as she can sit up.

There is an incessant beeping coming from her jacket. She rips the sweat-soaked garment off, rifling through its various pockets until her slippery fingers close around her comlink. There are two missed comm calls, one from Hunter and one from Tech, and a few unread messages too, all from Hunter.

Wrecker’s making lunch. Are you coming home?

Can you let one of us know where you are?

I got Tech to track your comlink – all good, we can see you’re still at the beach.

We’re leaving to meet Echo now, are you joining us there?

Mouth agape with horror, she checks the tiny chronometer built into the comlink.

Echo’s ship is arriving in twelve minutes.

She had promised she would be there to greet her brother, and she has no intention of letting him down. Especially when he was only returning to Pabu for the festival at her request.  

“Kriff!” She curses, jumping upright and frantically attempting to rid her clothes of sand. “Batcher!” She shouts, despite the hound’s continued presence at her side, “I need you to take me to the landing pad!”

Despite her obvious lethargy, Batcher kneels, welcoming the girl to climb atop her back. Omega clambers on, willing herself to hold on tight as the hound sets off at a gallop.

Her surroundings blur into a nauseating kaleidoscope of colours, the standard greens and beiges which made up Pabu’s landscape mixing with the warm-hued decorations which adorn each and every building.

She’s going to be sick.

She’s going to be sick, or faint, or maybe even both.

She should call out to Batcher, and tell her to stop, but her body won’t respond to her commands.

She lists violently to one side, her eyes slipping shut, just hoping that it won’t hurt too much when she hits the ground-

And suddenly, Batcher skids to a stop.

With her vision swirling as dreadfully as it is, it takes a few moments for Omega to recognise the landing pad before her. The place is in chaos, with several small ships in the process of landing and taking off, all of them surely ferrying in attendees for the festival.

“Omega!”

She determines that the voice is Crosshair’s instantly, but it takes a long, squinting moment for her to pinpoint her brother’s location in the crowd. When she finally spots him, standing alongside their siblings, the dramatic frown he sends her way shows he can tell something is up.

She cannot let her stupid mistake derail such an important day.

She is fine.

She just has to prove it.

Releasing her tight hold on Batcher’s fur, she slides off the hound's back and onto the ground, willing her legs not to collapse beneath her. By some miracle, they hold her weight, so she chances a step forward.

When she doesn’t immediately collapse, she takes another.

Soon, by focusing on one singular step at a time, she finds herself at Crosshair’s side, her brother looking down at her with something between concern and amusement.

“Catch the sun?” He asks.

“Huh?” Omega reacts, repeating the words in her head.

What did her brother mean?

“I believe Crosshair is referencing the shade of your skin,” Tech posits, peering closer at her too. “I must concur, you are looking rather red.”

“What, were you sunbathing?” Wrecker jokes.

“No!” Omega exclaims, batting Tech’s advancing hand away. “I just lost track of time and had to run here.”

While her three eldest brothers accept the excuse, Crosshair remains unconvinced.

“Didn’t I just see Batcher drop you off?” He drawls.

“She only carried me the last mile because I got tired,” Omega mutters, surprising herself with just how quickly the lie comes forth.

Crosshair regards her with suspicion but says nothing further.

They watch as Echo’s ship approaches, circling above them for a minute before being cleared to land. The man himself appears at the top of the exit ramp the moment it extends, wasting no time in striding down the steps towards them.

Even feeling as weak as a newborn eopie, Omega continues her tradition of meeting him halfway.

“You’re home!” She cries, launching herself at Echo.

“And you’re boiling,” Echo responds, pulling back from the hug far too soon for Omega’s taste. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she insists, aware of the others approaching from behind. “I’ve just had a busy morning.”

“You missed lunch too,” Hunter reminds her, watching as Wrecker tugs Echo into one of his trademark bone-crushing hugs. Crosshair and Tech are both far more sedate, each of their hugs proving no risk to Echo’s ribs.

“I’ll eat something once we get home,” Omega tells him, reaching up to take Echo’s hand, hoping to be the one to guide him back to their house.

She’s surprised when Hunter shakes his head.

“Are you not forgetting something?” Tech asks her, his voice so altered from his typical tone that it is obvious he is teasing her. Omega thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more, but only draws continuous blanks. “Shep called,” Tech continues, searching her face for any sign of recognition. “He wanted to know when you were planning on stopping by his home this afternoon.”

Omega’s arm goes lax, releasing Echo’s hand from her grasp.

“I completely forgot!” She cries, pressing her palm to her still-aching forehead. “Lyana has my outfit for the festival – I need to go over and get ready!”

“Hey, hey, take it easy vod’ika,” Echo soothes, laying his hand upon her shoulder to stabilise her. “You don’t need to worry about me – I’ll be staying here for the next several days at least.”

“Really?” She whispers, barely able to believe her luck.

“Yeah,” Echo confirms, smirking at her. “You go and get yourself sorted. We’ll see you later.”

Feeling weak with relief, Omega surges forward, pulling Echo into yet another hug. She wraps her arms around his middle, squeezing as tight as she dares, hoping to impart her gratitude at being let go so soon after his arrival.

With the prospect of yet another hurried journey ahead of her, she finds her gaze wandering over the edge of the crowd, searching for Batcher.

However, the hound is curled up in the shadow cast by the archium, looking far too peaceful to be disturbed.

So, it seems she will be making her way to the Hazard family home alone.

It’s not so bad; it is only a short distance away, and the path to get there is primarily downhill. She is still acutely aware that time is not on her side, knowing she will need to hurry to avoid falling behind schedule.

Resigning herself to her fate, she takes off on foot.

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She arrives at Lyana’s house equally exhausted, but strangely, not nearly as drenched in sweat as she had been following her rush to the landing pad. She raps her knuckles against their front door, her lack of coordination resulting in her moving much more forcefully than intended.

The motion seems to sap the last reserves of her energy, leaving her wanting to do nothing else but sag against the door, but it seems that her aggressive-sounding knock has already attracted attention from the inside. Heavy footsteps signal Shep’s approach just before he opens the door, beaming down at her.

“Happy solstice Omega!” He greets. “Please, come inside.”

She follows his lead, stepping into the house which, over the past five months, has become as familiar to her as her own.

“Lyana and Mari are just in the living room,” Shep tells her. He moves to step away, but then must reconsider, turning back to face her. “Are you feeling alright, my dear?” He enquires, “You’re looking a little pale.”

His words, though soft and caring, only agitate her further. Her brothers had just told her that her face was too flushed, and now, supposedly, it was too pale. 

In the time it takes her to blink, Shep has placed a steady hand upon her back, guiding her into the living room. She is pressed down onto their couch, Shep still regarding her with concern.

“I’m going to grab you a glass of water,” he tells her.

He does just that, returning in what only seems to be a couple of seconds, pressing the cup into her shaking hand. The cold surface of the glass, combined with the cooling effect of the liquid as she takes slow sips, brings her back to herself piece by piece.

Soon enough, she has regained her senses enough to thank him.

“I’m glad it helped,” he tells her. “For a moment there, it looked like you were going to keel over.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. The action immediately makes her dizzy again, and she has to take several more mouthfuls of her water before she feels ready to speak again.

“I’m just tired,” she explains. “I barely slept last night because I’m so excited.”

“Me neither!” Lyana pipes up, standing with her arms held out to her sides as Mari bustles around her making slight adjustments to her dress. The kindly old woman was Pabu’s top seamstress, and had volunteered her services to the children of the island every year to ensure they all had something nice to wear.

Omega, still in the process of figuring out what exactly it was that she liked, had chosen to use her best friend's dress as inspiration, requesting a pale blue garment in the same style as Lyana’s lilac one, complete with gold accents.

Although – there was one other difference of note.

Lyana’s dress was sleeveless, save for two floaty pieces of fabric which rested atop her shoulders. In contrast, Omega had asked that her dress have long sleeves.

Neither Mari nor Lyana had questioned her decision, a fact Omega is incredibly grateful for. She doesn’t quite know how she would explain wanting the additional material to cover up the needle scars which litter her arms – the only lasting physical evidence of her capture.

Deep down, she knows that they are nothing to be ashamed of. Her brothers are littered with scars too, and not a single one of them would make her view them differently.

But she doesn’t want to have to see them today. Today is a celebration of their future, not a time for her to dwell on her past. With the scarring out of sight, she will have one less reason to think of Tantiss.

“Alright, your turn, sweetheart,” Mari calls.

In the time she has been contemplating, the seamstress has finished Lyana’s dress, the girl now twirling in excited circles across the living room. Her skirt flares out around her as she does, and Omega can’t help but stare at the beautiful, yet dizzying display.

“C’mon, Omega!” Lyana urges, still spinning. “The sooner your dress is finished, the sooner we can go and play.”

That is all the prompting she needed.

Pushing herself determinedly up off the couch, Omega heads over to see Mari, her glass of water left forgotten.

Mari’s reputation as Pabu’s top seamstress is clearly very well-earned. Within half an hour, she has sewn on the remainder of the gold accents to Omega’s dress, mostly consisting of shiny beads chosen specifically for their ability to catch the sun.

After thanking Mari for her generosity, Omega rushes to join Lyana in the garden, her friend having promised to give her a crash course in the many types of dancing which will be included at the party.

Omega fights to keep up with her, but several of the dances contain steps so intricately complex that she decides immediately to stay on the sidelines for them. In addition, she makes the call that it is likely best for her to avoid any dance with long periods of spinning, disliking the unpleasant swoop her stomach does as she attempts more than one rotation.

In the end, Lyana accepts defeat, collapsing to sit in the grass and tugging Omega down beside her. Noticing her flush, Lyana ties her two small plaits, fastening them behind her head to pull her hair away from her face. They spend the remainder of the afternoon scouring the garden for sun-hued flowers, carefully weaving them through each other’s hair until Shep tells them it is time to go.

They meet her brothers on the pasture which has been designated the hotspot for the evening's activities. A typically empty space, it is now overflowing with activity, with several clusters of people assisting in putting the final touches to the bonfire erected at its centre.

Small pop-up stalls of various sizes are dotted around, all offering an intriguing array of foods, souvenirs, and games. Most of the attendees have already arrived, the area a hub of excited chatter and bright colours.

And yet, despite all those amazing things to see, her brother’s eyes are all on her.

They track her as she breaks out into a run, darting away from Shep and Lyana and rushing across the field.

“Well?” she asks, the words spilling out as soon as she has skidded to a stop, her lungs heaving with exertion despite the short distance she has covered. “What do you think?”

Not a single one of them responds.

Omega’s heart sinks as heavily as the anchor of a ship, threatening to disappear into the murky darkness, and then-

Then Hunter is kneeling before her, and she can see his eyes have taken on a distinctly misty quality. She glances up at the others, finding them all afflicted by the same emotional response.

“It’s beautiful, Megs” Hunter tells her, his eyes still shining as he looks her outfit up and down. “You look beautiful.”

It isn’t long before the celebrations are in full swing, the local musicians having brought out their instruments to form a band for just this evening.

While Omega and her brothers all try to stick together as much as possible, the easy flow of their island neighbours coming by to wish them well for the summer results in them being drawn away from one another.

Omega makes sure to dedicate individual time with all of her brothers, wanting to form special memories of this evening with each of them.

She visits the food stalls with Wrecker, making sure to sample at least one item from every stand. She painstakingly selects a souvenir for Echo: a golden ornament to hang in the cockpit of his ship, to serve as a reminder of this happy day no matter how far away he goes.

She accompanies Crosshair to the game stalls, watching with pride as her brother wows a small crowd with his shooting skills, even with the crude toy gun. He doesn’t pay her much attention, focused on his goal, but once the stall owner accepts defeat and hands over one of the top prizes, he turns, holding it out to her.

It is a plush sun-dragon, a mythological creature she recognizes from her bedtime stories. This one is made of soft, pearlescent-coloured fabric, reminiscent of the very stars the animal was said to live within.  

“For me?” she asks.

Crosshair winks at her.

“Happy solstice,” he says.

She skips back to their unofficial campsite with her dragon, almost giddy with glee.

“Tech!” she calls, flopping down onto the picnic blanket which had been brought along from their home. “Look at what Crosshair won for me.”

Her brother inspects the plush, noting the incredible craftsmanship utilised in its design. She snuggles into his side as he reminds her of the legends associated with the animal as powerful as an exploding star.

“Hey, I thought this was a party?” Hunter questions, appearing suddenly before them. “Can’t have you two falling asleep already.”

As comfy as she is resting against Tech’s side, Omega knows that Hunter is right. She has been waiting for this day for over a year now, and should be doing more than watching the festivities from a distance.

She accepts Hunter’s offer of a hand to pull her up, turning to offer the same to Tech.

Her brother, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, shakes his head.

“It’s alright, Omega. I am perfectly happy to remain here,” Tech explains, glancing down at his datapad.

“Nuh-uh,” a voice exclaims, and the trio turn to see Phee approaching, her green and golden dress perfectly matching the jewellery she always wore within her hair. “Absolutely not,” she remarks, shaking her head fondly. “You, brown eyes, owe me a dance.”

Tech seems surprised, but offers no resistance to Phee reaching down and helping him to his feet, allowing himself to be led across the field to where the groups of dancers have convened.

Both Hunter and Omega watch them go, matching expressions of affection on their faces as they observe their brother abandon his obsessive quest for knowledge, allowing Phee to lead them in a slow dance.

“Shall we join them?” Hunter asks.

Omega nods eagerly, falling into step with her brother as he finds them a good spot, close enough to appreciate the music, while not so close that its volume will overwhelm his senses.

They follow the lead of the islanders around them, swaying slowly to the music.

It is a lovely moment – the exact type of which Omega had dreamt of while trapped in Tantiss. Here she is, pressed safely against her brother, and yet she feels oddly lightheaded, her legs feeling weak and shaky for a reason she cannot yet discern.

She decides it doesn’t matter.

She’s here, with Hunter, and she trusts him to keep her safe.

She allows herself to lean heavier against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Now, the weight of his own body against her own becomes the only thing keeping her upright.

Of course, he notices the increase in pressure, but to her surprise, he doesn’t stop their dance, his movements sure and steady enough to continue guiding them both through the melody.

“Omega?” he coos, stroking one hand over her hair, being careful not to dislodge any of the flowers. “You okay?”

She hums an affirmative, tilting her head back to rest her chin against his stomach so she can see him properly.

“Just happy,” she whispers.

Hunter’s eyes mist over again.

“I’m glad, kid. Really glad.”

Soon, the music tapers off into nothing, the excited chatter of the crowd reaching a crescendo as Shep gathers everyone to the edge of the bonfire. Hunter secures them a good spot right at the front, wanting her to have the best view possible.

Shep is talking now, thanking all the islanders for their effort in making the festival such a success for yet another year. Scattered applause breaks out across the crowd, the claps as deafening to Omega as blaster shots.

The rest of Shep’s speech is completely lost to an intense ringing in her ears, so she doesn’t get to hear the countdown to the ignition of the bonfire. All she knows is the sound of muffled shouting, a tiny spark of orange flame, and then-

Heat.

Searing, scalding heat.

It is in her face, spreading quickly down to reach her arms as if she is actually on fire, her beautiful new dress acting as a wick to trap her body within the flames.

Her head is pounding, and Hunter’s hands upon her shoulders no longer feel like a source of comfort – instead, they are two heavy weights, threatening to push her down into the hot embers which undoubtedly rest beside her feet.

She can’t breathe.  

Is she hyperventilating, or is the air becoming thinner, somehow?

Hunter hasn’t noticed.

Good, that’s good.

  She doesn’t want to ruin tonight by making him worry about her. 

She just needs air.  

And maybe water too – that seemed to help a little earlier.

But where can she get water? She had not seen it served at any of the stalls.

There’s a small pump nearby, only across the field and down three streets.

That’s not too far.

  She can make it on her own.

She has to make it on her own.

“I’m going to get a drink!” she shouts, fighting to be heard over the roar of the bonfire and the clamouring of the islanders.

She forgets that she needn’t have yelled – Hunter will always hear her regardless. He doesn’t remind her of this fact, simply nodding and allowing her to dart away, ducking and dodging various people in her desperation to flee.

She makes it across the meadow, takes a left down the street she is sure will lead her to her destination, and comes face to face with a dead end.

That... that can’t be right, she thinks.

She doubles back, only to find herself facing yet another wall.

 This is wrong. All wrong.

She is boxed in on all sides.

This can’t be happening.

She blinks, and the chalky grey stone of Pabu’s buildings is replaced by the cold metal walls of her cell.

No.  

No, she can’t be here.

She lashes out, swinging her fist as violently as she can, and feels her knuckles connect with something hard. Searing pain spreads throughout her hand, and when she glances down, she catches a glimpse of bright red blood.

How could she have been so stupid? She was their prized possession, and now, she had damaged herself. She would have to be repaired if she was to continue being useful.

She whirls around, looking for something, anything that could aid in her escape, only to stumble over the uneven ground and end up on the floor.

They were coming to repair her. He was coming.

She hits her head as she lands, the jolt leaving her stunned and helpless. She cannot feel her body, but she knows from the dampness on her cheeks that she must be crying.

Strange. Back there, she had refused to cry in front of him. In front of any of them.

The damp sensation spreads, running down her chin, and neck, leaving her cold and shivering.  

This must be it. Hemlock has found her again, and this time, there will be no escape.

Chapter Text

Crosshair leans against a tree in a way he hopes comes across as nonchalant, a drink held comfortably in one hand as he takes the time to observe each of his siblings.

Wrecker, drunk on his own power, and even drunker off of whatever is within the sunset-coloured drink dubbed ‘solstice punch’ that Phee had persuaded them all to try, had taken to entertaining a small group of local children. Hoisting two at a time upon his burly shoulders, he spun to the music in a way that definitely could not be considered dancing, but that Crosshair had to admit looked fun all the same.

At first, it seems that Tech has disappeared, but with Crosshair’s sharp eyesight, it doesn’t take long to find him. He and Phee have retreated to a quiet corner of the meadow, both now perched atop a boulder. Their eyes are tilted skyward as the sun finally dips below the horizon, revealing the shining array of constellations up above.

Hunter and Echo are holding down the fort, sprawling across the picnic blanket, each with a drink in hand. Hunter has produced a quilt from their bag, one large enough to spread across both their laps to stave off the growing evening chill. They are engaged in quiet conversation with Shep, who has finally completed his mayoral duties for the night and chosen to join them at their camp.

They all look happy – blissfully so.

Crosshair can’t help the fond smirk which contorts his typically stony face, particularly when Phee leans in and presses a kiss to Tech’s cheek, his brother’s face flushing Yavin red.

Even before his mind had been stolen by his inhibitor chip, he had questioned Hunter’s desire to experience civilian life, dubbing it childish and unrealistic. They were soldiers, nothing more. Yet now, as he takes slow sips from his own cup of sweet punch, feeling relaxed and happy from more than just the effects of the alcohol, he knows he would not want his life to be any other way.

A small frown begins to form on his brow as he casts his gaze across the field, unable to locate his sister. He had seen her earlier, at the bonfire, turn and speak to Hunter in a way that suggested urgency, before turning and darting away. He had assumed she simply had friends to see; after all, she had spent the entire day rushing between her various commitments across the island.

But that had been almost twenty minutes ago now, and Omega had still not reappeared.

He surveys his surroundings again, wanting to make sure he is not simply overreacting, intent on not falling into the same habit of punctilious parenting that Hunter seemed to favour. He still does not spot Omega, but what he does see has him even more convinced that something is indeed terribly wrong.

Lyana is dipping in and out of the crowd, moving through each sector of the festival deliberately, methodically even, as if she is looking for something.

Or rather, someone.

The longer he stares, Lyana’s expression morphs from uneasy to outright anxious, and before long she is biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Then, she turns, marching towards her father with such determination that it gets Crosshair moving too.

She reaches their camp while he is still several paces away, but the panicked cry which escapes her is loud enough that Crosshair doesn’t need Hunter’s enhanced senses to hear it.

“I can’t find Omega.”

Hunter’s cup falls from his grasp, its remaining contents spilling across the blanket, the liquid dark and red enough that it will leave an ugly-looking stain.

Not that any of them care about that, Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair himself all snapping to attention with an intensity which speaks to their past as soldiers. The change in their demeanour is noticeable enough that both Tech and Wrecker pick up on it from quite some distance away, Crosshair spotting them both abandon their current positions and hurriedly move toward them.

Meanwhile, Echo has activated his comlink, currently in the process of dialling Omega’s frequency. 

“She doesn’t have her comlink!” Lyana cries, her voice laden with fear. “She left it in her jacket – it’s at my house!”

Echo curses under his breath.

“Hunter - you getting anything?” he asks.

Their sergeant's eyes are closed in concentration, but the deep line set down the middle of his brow indicates that he is not having any luck.

“There’s too much,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “The sounds, the smells, the people moving – I can’t find her.”

“We will,” Shep assures him, placing a steady hand upon his arm. “This island is not large, and with the amount of people here, someone would have noticed a struggle.”

While the specifics go unsaid, Shep can tell that they are all consumed by the same fear; that the Empire has come back for their sister, ripping her away from them once more.

Wrecker appears alongside Crosshair, only a second passing before both Tech and Phee turn up on his other side. Hunter wastes no time in apprising them of the situation, but before a single one of them can think of what to do next, a thunderous bark draws all of their attention.

Batcher appears at the other side of the meadow, tearing towards them with long and powerful strides. She only stops once she reaches Crosshair, nudging him aggressively with her snout. He crouches down to her level, noting how her pupils are dilated – a sure sign of fright. 

Knowing that Batcher’s senses are likely as muddled as Hunter’s are, he grabs Omega’s sun dragon from where it had been left on their picnic blanket, holding it out to the hound to provide a fresh reminder of the girl's scent.

“Where is she?” Crosshair demands.

Batcher barks again, turning and speeding off back in the same direction she had come. Decisions have to be made quickly before they lose sight of her, and with each of them floundering in panic, it is Phee who remains level-headed enough to make the judgment call.

With Phee staying behind at their campsite to look after Lyana, the rest of them quickly give chase, Hunter and Wrecker ending up at the front of their improvised search party.

Batcher leads them down a winding series of paths, each one getting more and more challenging to traverse only by moonlight. Before long, she slows, making one final turn into what Crosshair knows to be a dead end.

Hunter and Wrecker, hot on the hound’s heels, stop dead in their tracks as soon as they round the corner. Hunter lets out a cry akin to that of a wounded animal, while Wrecker clamps one hand over his mouth, his one eye blank with horror. Their hesitation only lasts a second before they surge forward, disappearing from sight.

Crosshair skids to a stop before he reaches the corner, an icy feeling flooding his veins. His whole body is left cold – as cold as if he had been dunked in Pabu’s ocean in the dead of winter. He doesn’t want to look – to see what fate could possibly have befallen the girl while they were all too preoccupied to protect her.

He pictures his sister’s body lying broken on the cold, hard ground, his mind conjuring images of gaping wounds, pools of thick red blood, and bones twisted irreparably out of shape.

Then, he hears a strangled cry, the type which only could be made if the girl was at least half-conscious. It is harsh and pained, but given their circumstances, it is the most beautiful sound that he has ever heard.

Emboldened enough to face whatever is ahead, he moves around the corner, barely able to make out Omega’s form on the ground, mostly concealed behind the collective bulk of both Hunter and Wrecker.

But he can see her face. Her eyes are open. Granted, they are barely slits, but they are open, and looking straight at him.

“Crosshair...” she calls, her voice a breathless gasp.

From the way that Hunter and Wrecker turn to face him, it is clear that his name is the first intelligible word she has managed since they found her.

“I’m here,” he responds, hurrying forward and dropping to a crouch beside her head. “What happened, Omega?”

“The tests,” she whines, her eyelids fluttering, “They’re testing me again!”

The girl is close to sobbing, her eyes rolling around in their sockets. She cannot focus on any one fixed point, her gaze slipping skyward even as Wrecker attempts to hold her attention.

“What tests?” Hunter gently pries, leaning closer.

“These ones!” she wails, raising her almost-limp arm to motion vaguely. It takes a second for them all to realise she is gesturing to Hunter and Wrecker, their focus drawn to her hand, blood pouring from a deep gash across her knuckles. “The ones that make me see them.”

Immediately, Crosshair knows what she is talking about. Once, during a conversation through the door of his cell, she had confided in him that some of the drugs she was forced to consume had some hallucinogenic side effects.

As a result, she had been plagued with disturbing images of their brothers, broken and defeated, and accepting that they were never going to find her.

Hemlock had called them visions.

“It’s alright,” Hunter assures her, reaching out to lay his hand on his sister's shoulder. “Hemlock isn’t here.”

The soothing action does not have the desired effect.

The moment his hand makes contact with her, Omega jerks violently away from him, her eyes going wide with fear as she scrambles to back away, but her movements are so uncoordinated that she cannot get far at all.

“No!” she howls, “Don’t touch me – You’re not real!”

The situation only worsens once Tech steps out from behind Echo, his face pinched as he tries to inspect Omega’s wounded hand.

The girl rears away even more violently than before, curling in on herself and muttering into the ground.

“Gone, he’s – he’s gone. Not real - can’t be real.”

Tech’s face crumbles, overtaken with guilt.

“Omega…” he starts, but even his exceptional mind doesn’t seem to have any answers for how he can comfort her, especially when she refuses to even look at him. “Omega, please…”

The girl's condition only worsens, her whole body spasming with what appear to be desperate sobs, but as Crosshair peers closer, he notices something strange.

She isn’t crying.

It looks as if she is, her chest hitching and face red from a lack of oxygen, but there are no tears on her cheeks, nor pooling in her half-closed eyes.

“Why can’t she cry?” he asks no one in particular.

“What?” Tech asks, having moved stealthily enough to crouch down beside him without startling Omega.

“She’s crying, but there aren’t any tears,” Crosshair explains.

Tech risks a look himself, then curses, uninhibited.

Blatantly ignoring their sister’s frantic twitches, he places his hand upon her forehead, physically recoiling.

“She’s far too warm,” he announces, “I think it might even be heat stroke.”

Behind them, Shep whips out his comlink, furiously dialling.

“I’ll call some of the medics back - We need to get her to the clinic!”

That, as they are all about to discover, is easier said than done.

Wrecker goes to pick her up, and Omega’s struggles reach a new intensity. She claws at Wrecker, digging her fingernails into the soft skin of his forearm, leaving red slash marks in her wake. To his credit, Wrecker barely flinches, wholly focused on holding their sister steady. But, when she comes to understand that her attacks are having no effect, she turns her efforts inward, tearing her own hair out in clumps until Wrecker has no choice but to put her down.

Wrecker backs away, seconds from sobbing, leaving Omega gasping for breath. They give her a moment to recover before trying again, only for the whole process to repeat with Hunter. She thrashes even more aggressively with him, fighting back before he even has a chance to lift her as Wrecker did, bucking wildly in an effort to bash her head against the ground. Hunter refuses to leave her to cause herself further pain, cupping her head in his strong hands as he lays her back down.

Still, Omega screeches in distress, and Crosshair looks away so as not to see the fresh layer of grief settling on his brother’s face.

“Crosshair!” Hunter calls, his voice cracking with desperation.

He forces himself to look back.

“Get over here!” His brother orders.

He is shaking his head before he even realises it.

“I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t” he stammers, the words catching in his throat at the sight of Hunter, openly crying now, clutching Omega as tightly as he dares, their sister still unable to produce a single tear.

“Crosshair, the longer we wait, the higher the risk of organ failure,” Tech says, keeping his voice low to save aggrieving Hunter and Wrecker any further. Of course, under typical circumstances, Hunter would hear it regardless, but now it is obvious that his senses are tunnelling, focused on Omega and Omega only.

“I know you’re scared,” Tech continues, and his own expression speaks to his grief at being unable to lift their sister himself. Given the force of her reactions to the others, it is likely that she would meet Tech’s attempt with a response so violent that it would cause permanent damage to one or both of them. And even if he could lift her, the damage he had sustained in his fall meant that he would not be able to carry her weight very far at all.

Crosshair takes one deep, steeling breath, then moves to take Hunter’s place. The transfer of his hold goes quickly, Hunter only releasing Omega’s head once he is certain he is in position, Crosshair catching her before she can slam it downward once again. It is over so quickly that Omega, lost in the haze of delirium, doesn’t even notice they have swapped places until Crosshair makes his presence known.

“Omega,” he whispers.

Immediately, she stills, the only fight left in her being used to fix her eyes on him.

“Crosshair,” she mumbles, her voice slurring. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” he tries, hoping to keep her talking rather than screaming.

“We left you! Left you behind – all the time,” she tells him, her breaths finally slowing just a fraction.

“You don’t need to apologise for that,” he assures her, loosening his hold on her just enough to stroke his thumb over her hairline, grimacing when he notices some newly empty patches. “It’s all in the past.”

“No, no…” she continues, her mind elsewhere as she begins to ramble. “Don’t- don’t belong.”

For one painful moment, he believes she is saying that he doesn’t belong with them, and that stings more than he ever anticipated it could. But then, she continues, crying “Don’t belong in here,” and he realises with sickening clarity that she is lost in her memories, rehashing their conversation through his cell door on Tantiss.

His aghast expression must alert Tech, as he presses his fingers to Omega’s pulse point, shaking his head.

“She’s getting worse,” he says, his mouth set in a grim line. “Crosshair – we have to move, now!”

The fear so rarely heard in his brother's voice spurs Crosshair into action; he slides his hands beneath Omega’s limp body, wincing as grit digs into his skin, and pulls her into his arms. To all of their surprise, but to his most of all, she offers no resistance whatsoever.

As she lays there, body lax and eyes closed, he first assumes she has finally passed out, but then she breathes his name, her voice so weak he knows only himself and Hunter will have heard it.

With the girl now held securely in his arms, Crosshair can feel the fierce heat which is consuming her small body, leaving her skin as dry as the Tatooine desert.

“She’s not sweating,” he remarks, and the disturbed look Tech shoots him is all he needs to understand that the symptom is both incredibly common for this type of illness, and also incredibly dangerous.

They move out, relying on Hunter and Shep to guide them to the clinic through darkened streets which seem to stretch impossibly longer than when they traversed them a short time before. Their complex, winding nature has Crosshair wondering briefly if they are trapped within some kind of absurd labyrinth; They had fought so hard and for so long to find their way back together, and now, if Omega’s condition was as severe as Tech believed it to be, they were at risk of losing her all over again.

En route, Shep receives confirmation that the medics are ready, and a small team is indeed there to meet them as they pour into the tiny health centre which serves the island. Even the lobby is small and sterile-looking, and Crosshair only clutches Omega closer, feeling as if the white-washed walls are closing in on them.

The girl emits a breathless gasp, and he assumes it is the force of his grip which elicits such a reaction. His eyes flit down to check on her, an apology prepped and ready – but it never comes.

Omega has gone completely stiff, her sudden rigidness only going unnoticed due to the unyielding tension thrumming through Crosshair’s own body. His sister’s eyes, still cloudy and unfocused, roll dramatically back into her head, and her hands, which had previously been resting upon her stomach, begin to twitch and jerk.

The room explodes into activity.

“She’s seizing!” someone shouts. He doesn’t recognise the voice. It must be one of the medics.

Crosshair has seen many seizures in his time – first, Hunter’s, an indirect result of his enhancement.

Then, others, scattered infrequently over the years of his service to the Republic, exhaustion and injury felling both his own brothers and those assigned to the battalions they assisted.

But he had never seen as many as he had in Tantiss.

He’s back there, now, strapped down to an examination table, only able to watch helplessly as a brother at the station next to his thrashed uncontrollably, white foam bubbling from his mouth and running down his chin. The restraints had been so tight that his bones had broken before he finally died, eyes so similar to his own left empty and unseeing.

He briefly registers a clattering sound as a gurney is pushed towards him, the cold metal of the railing cutting into his hipbone. That railing is what they will tie Omega to – keep her strapped down so tightly that she cannot fight back, cannot move, cannot even breathe -

Unfamiliar hands grab at him, attempting to tear his sister from his grasp.

He cannot let them take her.

If he does, she will disappear forever, destined to spend the rest of her life being poked and prodded and cut open, all because of his failure.

His brothers will never forgive him.

He will never forgive himself.

“Crosshair!” a voice calls, and this time, it is familiar. Lighter, with a more clipped tone than the rest, the typical self-confident tone now weighted down with panic.

Tech.

Crosshair blinks and finds his brother standing before him, fixing him with a look that is half-sympathy, half-resolution.

“You need to put her down,” Tech orders.

His brother is here. He isn’t dead, as Omega had told him through the door of his prison cell. They had rescued him. But, long before that, they had escaped from Tantiss first.

He is free.

Tech is alive.

But Omega is still actively at risk of dying.

Pulled far enough back into his reality to recognise the clinic, Crosshair glances upwards, meeting the eyes of the lead medic, waiting by the gurney to take his sister.

No, not take.

Admit.  

Treat.

Save.  

He stares her down, hoping to get a gauge of her character – her ability to handle Omega with the care that she deserves.

She stares back, her gaze fixed and resolute.

Despite it all, he finds himself trusting her, or as close to trusting as he will ever be around a doctor after Hemlock.

He dips at the waist, lowering Omega onto the waiting gurney, ensuring that she is properly supported before finally releasing his hold.

The medic sends an appreciative nod his way, barely discernible with how fast she turns, already in the process of issuing orders to her team. They move fast; within the span of a few seconds, they have whisked Omega out of sight, disappearing through a set of blue doors which rattle ominously as they pass.

Crosshair remains rooted to the spot, only able to stand and stare, his now empty hands opening and closing, reflexively searching for something to hold. His legs have never felt so weak, not even when the drugs he was pumped with on Tantiss had pushed him dangerously close to a seizure of his own.

He doesn’t react when Tech’s hand lands on his shoulder, nor as he is led to the row of chairs which constitutes the waiting area. He is pressed down into one, moving as mechanically as a droid, Tech slumping down beside him with none of his usual grace.

His hands are still twitching, the movements quickly devolving into the same tremors which had plagued him following the escape.

The same tremors which Omega had helped him learn to manage.

The tremors that, by now, he had assumed were a thing of the past.

Echo lowers himself into the chair on his other side, tugging Hunter down with him. Hunter’s eyes are dark, fixed and unblinking on the now-closed doors. To any outsider, it would appear he is simply glaring, but they all know he is focusing on Omega’s vital signs, closely monitoring their sister even from a distance.

His hands are still shaking.

Wrecker hovers in the corner, conversing quietly with Shep. From the mayor’s emphatic gestures and Wrecker’s short, clipped responses, it would seem that Shep is making plans and arrangements so that they don’t have to.

If Crosshair could feel anything, he believes he would be grateful.

But his hands are still shaking.

Shep bids goodbye to Wrecker, shooting a comforting smile to the rest of them, which goes completely unacknowledged. He ducks out of the clinic, moving with an impressive amount of poise for a man of his size. His easy equilibrium, even in a time of crisis, only leaves Crosshair feeling more unbalanced.

His hands are still shaking.

There they remain, a group of shellshocked soldiers, now two whole years removed from the war which had prepared them for moments such as this. But they had never been prepared for a child, especially not one as luminescent as Omega.

Already, the room seems dimmer without her presence, even with the bright white overhead lights beaming down upon them, making the four of them look as pale as Echo, and Echo even paler.

They know she is still with them – if she were not, Hunter would feel it, and the force of his reaction would likely burn the clinic to the ground. Crosshair cannot blame him; after all he had been through to keep Omega safe, only to be separated from her in her final moments, condemned to feel her heartbeat taper off into nothing, and to hear her take her very last breath –

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

His hands are still shaking.

Wrecker appears in front of him, kneeling and hunched over in a way that makes him look far smaller than his actual size, and suddenly, his hands make contact with something soft. He clutches at it, thankful to finally have something to hold onto, a tether to prevent him from drifting away from his own body.

Instinctually, his mind says Lula, but when he looks down, he does not glimpse the familiar red and black material, nor the faded patches indicative of just how well-loved the tooka has been.

Instead, he sees the pearly white fabric of Omega’s sun dragon.

The one which he had won for her.

The one she might never even get to name.

The thought sickens him, his body going cold and hollow as if someone has flayed him open and scooped out all his insides. Wrecker must notice his distress, as he tugs him into a hug far gentler than he has ever given before, allowing Crosshair to take the lead on just how tightly he is comfortable being touched.

For the first time, he craves the compressing quality of Wrecker’s hold, wanting, no, needing someone else to keep him together. Lacking the words to explain, he claws desperately at his brother’s back, hoping that the motion alone is enough to show him.

Wrecker responds immediately, pulling him flush against his chest, the sun dragon held protectively between them.

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Every second that goes by feels like a small eternity; by the seventh time Crosshair glances up at the large chronometer attached to the clinic wall, he learns that over five hours have passed since their arrival.

In that time, there has not been a single update, yet Hunter’s sustained, all-consuming focus is a continuing comfort. He is still sitting upright, back ramrod straight, but the uncomfortable clinic chairs have prompted the rest of them to shift position.

Tech has moved up one seat, allowing Wrecker to slot in between them. Crosshair allows himself to be pulled into his brother’s side, one of Wrecker’s strong arms wrapping around his back.

He is still cradling the sun dragon.

Wrecker has coaxed Tech into laying down, cradling his brother’s head in his own lap, Tech’s long legs stretching out across the row of empty chairs. The change in placement is a welcome one; the damage Tech sustained in his fall meant that it was difficult for him to remain upright for long periods, and the last thing any of them wanted right now was another sibling requiring treatment.

Echo remains upright, but his head is tipped back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His left arm is extended over to Hunter’s chair, both their hands clasped tightly together.  

All of them are exhausted, yet far too wired to sleep.

Some indeterminable period later, the lead medic reappears. Her body language speaks to her weariness, but the comforting smile she shoots the group as she approaches has them all convinced that they will be receiving some good news.

As Tech pulls himself back up to sit, the medic swipes one of the now vacant chairs, dragging it across the floor so she can sit and face the group at once.  

“It was heatstroke,” she begins, confirming Tech’s diagnosis. “Her core body temperature had reached 42 degrees, which put a huge amount of stress upon her organs. Her seizure ended pretty much immediately after we brought her back, but a second, extended fit began not long after.”

Even having known about the first seizure, the news of the second is a harsh blow to all of them. Hunter in particular looks devastated, being all too familiar with how it feels on the other side.

“Due to the prolonged nature of the second seizure, we had to administer a benzodiazepine to control it,” the medic continues. “As the medication has a sedating effect, we had to intubate Omega to secure her airway. As soon as that was done, we began external cooling measures, using ice packs and cold water spraying in an attempt to bring her temperature back down to an acceptable level.”

“An attempt?” Tech cuts in. “You mean to say that it was not successful?”

“Exactly,” the medic confirms. “Initially, we did see some progress, but then Omega’s temperature began to rise again.”

The medic pauses then, looking at each one of them in turn, clearly used to anxious family members overwhelming her with questions. If the scenario had been different, perhaps they would have felt the need to do so. Indeed, they had certainly terrorized their fair share of medics, but that was when one of them had been felled by something they were at least a little familiar with.

As soldiers, they were prepared for blaster wounds, broken bones, and concussions – all those injuries which were commonplace on each and every battlefield. Even despite the Kaminoan's rigorous vaccination schedule, they were also experienced with illness, as the cramped conditions and lack of proper rest they were afforded had any sickness spreading like wildfire.

Warm weather had always been a rare delight for them, particularly when it came with the freedom to actually sit down and enjoy it. They had spent so many years training indoors, isolated from the outside elements, and then so many more being subjected to some of the worst conditions the galaxy had to offer.

Time and time again they had dragged each other through the danger, patching up their wounds in their ship so small it didn’t even have a medbay, all to end up here, on an island so perfect it seemed as if, now with Hemlock dead, that they would never be in danger again.

They had never anticipated that warm weather was something they needed to prepare for.

So, feeling completely out of their depth, they sit in relative silence, and listen intently to the medic speak.

“To treat her more effectively, we began a process known as endovascular cooling,” she continues. The words are unfamiliar to most of them, but the grimace which takes over Tech’s face tells them that he is aware of what it means and that it is not very pleasant. “The procedure involves a catheter-based device being inserted into the femoral vein, which cools the patient’s blood directly as it circulates,” she explains. “This process worked very well, but we also kept applying the external cooling measures to assist.”

“So... she’s going to be okay?” Wrecker asks tentatively, still afraid of the answer even with the medic’s light disposition.

She nods. “We’ve run several tests to check her organ functions, and we haven’t detected any damage which will affect her in the long term. Though things are still a little touch-and-go, so she’s still being closely monitored. Because she experienced two seizures, we’re going to have to perform some neurological checks once she is conscious again, but I’m confident that there is no risk of that either.”

At once, it is as if the air has been returned to the room, each of them finally able to breathe freely again. The shock of it all has each of them so startled that they can only breathe through it, fixed to their seats, struggling to process the weight of the information which had just been dropped in their laps, regardless of how positive the news actually was.

“Would you like to see her?” the medic finally asks, when it becomes clear that none of them are capable of saying anything without her prompting.

To everyone’s surprise, including Crosshair’s own, he is the first to regain his words.

“Please,” he gasps.

 “Now, she might look a little alarming,” the medic warns, as she leads them through the identical-looking corridors which make up the clinic. “She’s been fitted with a nasogastric tube to monitor her for continued fluid loss, in addition to the catheter I mentioned earlier. She’s also receiving fluids and medication through an IV line to keep her comfortable while she’s intubated.”

It makes Crosshair’s heart clench, wishing they had someone to explain such things to them when Hunter had first been admitted for a seizure. He had been whisked away by the Kaminoans with no mention of what they were going to do to him, and with the ever-present risk of decommissioning hanging over their heads, they had felt there was no other choice but to sneak into the medbay to see him.

He flashes back to that moment, frozen in the doorway with Tech and Wrecker at his side, taking in the sight of their brother, their eldest, their leader, covered by so many tubes and wires that they could barely make out where the machines ended, and Hunter began.

With the cautionary message fresh in their minds, when they arrive at the small ward labelled ‘Paediatric Intensive Care Unit’, they all pause, none of them wanting to be the first to enter. The medic goes instead, opening the door and quietly ushering them in behind her.

As expected, the room is silent, save for the steady beeping of the monitors and the rhythmic hissing of the ventilator as it moves precious air in and out of their sister’s lungs. Laying on the bed, covered not by blankets but by cooling pads, clad only in a flimsi-thin hospital gown, Omega looks tiny – even smaller than she had when they first met on Kamino.

“Omega, your brothers are here,” the medic says softly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

“I thought... I thought she was still out?” Wrecker questions.

“She is,” the medic informs him, “But even while sedated the brain can process sounds and sensations. We highly encourage contact between patients and their families as it can be a source of comfort for both.”

“Can I?” Crosshair checks, lifting the stuffed sun dragon for the medic to see.

“Of course,” she says, smiling at the plush. “Just make sure not to get it tangled in the tubing.”

He moves hesitantly towards Omega’s bed, still a little intimidated by the sheer number of medical devices surrounding her. He chooses her right side – the one without the intravenous line, as the sight of the large cannula stuck in his sister's tiny hand has him feeling a little queasy.

Carefully, he draws Omega’s arm away from her body, just far enough to slot the sun-dragon in so it rests against her side. Now, with the plush tucked close, it appears more like she is only sleeping, instead of forcibly sedated.

Satisfied with its position, he then tugs a chair as close to the bed as can be, settling down into it and reaching for his sister’s hand.

He is pleased to see that the medics have also treated the cut across her knuckles; he cannot even see it now, her hand completely swathed in bandages. The dressing feels coarse and uncomfortable against his palm, but he decides he doesn’t care, consumed with relief at feeling Omega, alive and whole, beneath his hand.

“Omega-“ he begins, but quickly understands that he has no idea what to say.

Ever since they had met, their interactions had always gone the same way; Omega would chatter energetically and ramble without pause, and he would provide her with the occasional brief retort. Even after their time in captivity, during which their relationship had strengthened exponentially, he found that he still preferred to let Omega do most of the talking, which the girl seemed more than happy to oblige.

He wonders what she would want to hear. What he could say to make her feel safe, in the same way she seems to do so easily for him.

‘I was alone down here, until you four were created,’ her words ring in his mind, reminding him of her continued fear of isolation. Perhaps showing her that she was not alone would be a perfect start.

“We’re here, Omega,” he continues, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re all here.”

“Yeah, kid. And don’t worry – None of us are goin’ anywhere,” Wrecker adds, picking up on Crosshair’s chain of thought and stepping up to stand supportively beside him.  

Tech and Echo creep closer too, but neither claims the seat on Omega’s other side – between them all, there is an unspoken acceptance that the spot is reserved for Hunter.

The man in question is frozen barely two steps into the room, having been the last of them to enter. His jaw is clenched so tightly that it looks painful, and the pallor of his face makes the dark ink of his tattoo stand out starkly.

Despite everyone turning to face him expectantly, Hunter doesn’t react. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak – doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

Subtly, the medic moves to hover beside him, likely wondering if he is about to pass out.

“Hunter,” Crosshair calls, drawing his brother’s attention away from their sister's still body. “It’s okay.”

Dark eyes flick between Crosshair and Omega, Hunter clearly more than a little overloaded.

“Yeah, sarge,” Wrecker adds assuredly. “It’s just Megs. The machines aren’t that scary once you’re up close.”

It takes a moment for Hunter to process their words, but then he nods, slowly, and moves to take a seat. As soon as he has lowered himself into the chair, Echo’s hand lands between his shoulder blades, pushing him forward until he braces his elbows against his knees.

“Take a breath, mate,” Echo instructs, rubbing grounding circles into Hunter’s back. A minute passes before Hunter comes back to himself, taking one final, concerningly deep breath before he blinks, flushing pink.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” the medic insists, shaking her head. “This situation can be very overwhelming, especially when children are involved.”

She looks over the room. Though far more spacious than some of the medical bays they had been crammed into in the past, it still only contained the standard two chairs. Clearly, it had not been designed with families as unconventional as theirs in mind.

“I’ll arrange for some more chairs to be brought in,” she tells them. Then, seeming to fully take in their collectively dishevelled appearances for the very first time, continues: “And I’ll see if we’ve got any spare beds. You guys are going to be here for a while, and you all look like you need some rest.”

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The next hour is a flurry of activity, with medics popping in and out to continue their close monitoring of Omega, and to deliver the promised furnishings so they can all rest their weary bodies.

Just as things have finally seemed to die down, each of them sitting comfortably in a chair at Omega’s bedside, there is a gentle knock at the door, before Phee pokes her head in.

“Hey,” she greets softly. “Am I okay to come in?”

At the array of silent nods, she moves further into the room, revealing that she is laden with several heavy-looking bags. As soundlessly as possible, she offloads them onto the floor, huffing with exertion.

Tech jumps up to offer her his seat, but Phee only regards him with a look of fond exasperation.

“Don’t be daft, brown eyes,” she chuckles. “You sit right back down.”

Tech sinks back into his seat as Phee crouches, tugging open the first bag.

“I packed up your campsite and took everything back to the house,” she begins, still keeping her voice low. “I waited there with Lyana until Shep came back with that hound of yours – she’s been fed and put to bed.”

Not for the first time, Crosshair finds himself feeling incredibly grateful for Phee. Despite their naturally clashing personalities, she had never been anything but kind to him, and it is only because of her generosity that he and his siblings could call Pabu home.

“I grabbed you all a change of clothes,” Phee moves on, tugging various items out of the bags. He’s happy to see that she even thought to bring clothes for Omega, who would need something to wear once she was allowed to go home. “I wasn’t sure if you guys would be comfortable here – I know you’ve all got a complicated history with medical stuff,” she says, tugging open yet another bag and revealing several of their home comforts: warm blankets, the charger for Tech’s datapad, Hunter’s earplugs, and most importantly – Lula.

Wrecker lets out an elated cry before remembering where he is and quietening down before any of them remind him to do so. He clutches the tooka to his chest, giving it a brief cuddle, before tucking it safely beside Omega.

“What’s that smell?” Hunter asks, his nose wrinkling as he glances towards the final bag.

“Oh,” Phee announces, “I almost forgot!” She opens the bag, pulling out several mismatched containers of various shapes and sizes. “Several of the villagers stopped me on my way over – they’re finishing up the festival now and wanted to make sure you guys had something to eat.”

Each carton contains enough food to feed a small army for several days, all of it newly warmed and looking just as enticing as it had at the festival. Even so, Crosshair doubts that they will be able to even make a dent in it, with all of their minds occupied on something far more important than food.

“Don’t worry,” Phee says, noticing his doubt. “This was all freshly made this evening, so it will keep for a couple of days.”

Before long, they have all changed into the most comfortable civvies they own, settled under blankets as they enjoy what food they can manage, taking strength in each other’s company as they wait patiently for Omega’s temperature to drop.

And it does.

Slowly but surely, and only by a minuscule fraction of a degree at a time, her body temperature returns to normal, each change meticulously tracked by Tech.

Just as the sun is beginning to rise, the one window in the room allowing them to watch the golden rays bathe the Pabu landscape in warm light, Tech sits upright with a momentum which startles them all.

“I believe Omega is now stable enough to no longer require sedation,” he tells them, looking over the statistics collected on his datapad.

He is proven right only minutes later when the lead medic returns to inform them that they will now begin weaning Omega off the medication keeping her under.

“As she wakes up, she’s going to start breathing over the ventilator,” she says, motioning towards the intubation tube. “When that happens, give us a call, and I’ll come back to remove it.”

The promise that their sister would soon be awake has them all in higher spirits, but as it turns out, the process ends up taking quite some time. Over the next few hours they all end up taking the opportunity to get some much-needed rest, either in their chairs, or in Hunter’s case, the bed, once they all noticed his exhaustion was making him uncharacteristically grouchy.

At the six-hour mark, Crosshair, with his head resting upon Echo’s shoulder and his eldest brother’s head atop of his, becomes aware of a subtle change in the sound of the ventilator. Before, it had made only steady hissing noises, but now, those have been joined by a strained sort of wheeze.

He raises his head, the movement dislodging Echo, who jolts awake.

“What is it?” he murmurs.

“The ventilator,” Crosshair whispers, not wanting to startle any more of the room’s occupants, all of whom seem to be either asleep or verging on the edge of it. “Tech,” he calls, leaning over to gently shake his brother’s knee, the only part of him free from the tangle of limbs resulting from both he and Phee somehow cramming themselves onto one chair.

“What is it?” Tech hums tiredly in response.

“The ventilator,” Crosshair repeats. “What’s wrong with it?”

Slowly, Tech shifts upright, allowing the blanket to fall and pool upon his lap. Beside him, Phee huffs, but doesn’t wake. He retrieves his datapad from where it had been set safely on the floor, watching and listening to the ventilator for a few moments.

“Ah,” he says, pleased. “Omega’s respiratory rate has increased beyond the limits of the ventilator. She is breathing on her own. Echo-“ He instructs, knowing that he has no hope of moving with Phee pinning his body to the chair, “Please call for the medics.”

Almost immediately, a trio of medics bustle in, checking over each of the machines to confirm Tech’s analysis.

“You’re right,” the lead medic says, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s get this thing out.”

Removing the tube looks to be an intensely painful process, one which both Crosshair and Echo refuse to watch, the sound of their sister reflexively choking around the tube disturbing enough to hear. Tech does watch, but it isn’t clear whether he is doing so to study the process later, or simply due to morbid fascination alone.

Either way, they are all immensely glad that both Hunter and Wrecker remain asleep throughout the process – both of them likely would have found the procedure too distressing to handle. Indeed, Hunter has the misfortune of waking with the medics still clustered around Omega’s bed, jolting upright in a blind panic as he demands to know what is going on.

“Everything’s fine,” Echo is quick to reassure him. “They’ve just removed the ventilator.”

Hunter falls silent but doesn’t relax until the medics back away, revealing that Omega is now free of the vent, a standard oxygen mask fitted over her face instead.

“We’re going to leave the nasogastric tube in for now,” the medic informs them, “I’m not worried about fluid loss at this stage, but given how long she could take to wake up, we might have to start feeding her through it.”

That idea has Crosshair’s stomach clenching in discomfort; he has his own experiences with feeding tubes, and remembers vividly just how horrific the process could be. It takes him a few minutes to silently talk himself off of the mental ledge constructed in his mind – these medics are not Kaminoans, and will not pin his sister down as she screams and cries and fights against the tube. However unpleasant the procedure will be, they will at least be gentle with her.

The medics continue their work, removing both the catheter and the cooling packs, drawing the thin sheets up around Omega and making sure to readjust both Lula and the sun-dragon when their ministrations dislodge them from their positions.

Once they have gone, Hunter rolls himself off the bed, and makes his way over, stopping at the chair holding Tech and Phee.

“Swap with me,” he says bluntly, regarding their uncomfortable-looking arrangement with obvious disdain.

Tech is all too ready to oblige, nudging Phee awake and leading her over to the empty bed, both of them crawling onto it and falling back to sleep within barely a minute.

Echo too has shifted, already half-asleep again with his head leant upon his hand.

An ache in his neck making itself known, Crosshair stretches, resulting in a series of cracks so loud that they pull a set of bewildered sniggers from both himself and Hunter.

“That didn’t sound good,” Hunter comments, frowning even as he smiles.

“Neck just hurts,” Crosshair shrugs.

“C’mere,” Hunter beckons, even as he is already shuffling his chair closer. Crosshair meets him halfway, allowing himself to be manoeuvred into resting against Hunter’s shoulder. “Go to sleep,” his brother says, his voice quiet and yet still commanding. “I’ve got the watch.”

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By the time Omega does regain consciousness, eight more hours have gone by, the sky outside beginning to darken again. Phee had headed home, and Shep and Lyana had already been and gone too.

Of course, it is Hunter who notices the change in her breathing pattern first, the very subtle increase in pace which lets him know what is about to happen.

“She’s waking up,” he announces, drawing all of their attention.

Only seconds later, her eyelashes begin to flutter, and then she blinks, opening her eyes and regarding them all with a look of groggy confusion.

She doesn’t seem quite all there, remaining silent as she glances down at the IV line protruding from her hand, a weak frown drawing her eyebrows together before she reaches out to tug on the line.

Luckily, her movements are still slow and weak, giving Hunter ample time to catch hold of her wrist before she can pull it free.

“Easy, Omega,” he soothes, setting her arm back down at her side and holding it there. “It’s alright.”

Omega slurs a response that just barely sounds like Hunter’s name, followed by a feeble “What happened?”

“Ah, you’re awake,” the lead medic observes, having somehow slipped unnoticed into the room while all their attention was on their sister. “How do you feel, Omega?”

“Tired,” the girl replies, sounding even more exhausted than she claims. Even as her eyes move across the room, focusing on each area in turn, it doesn’t seem like she is actually taking anything about her surroundings in.

“That’s to be expected,” the medic explains. “You’ve been asleep for quite a while, which can be tiring.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Omega mumbles, even as her eyes slide shut. The comment has them all smirking, their reactions telling the medic that such an observation from her was very common. 

“Why don’t you get some more rest,” the medic prompts, “Perhaps it will make more sense when you wake up.”

Whether she agrees with the logic or not, Omega seems to agree that more sleep is a good idea, moving slightly onto her side and going still once more.

“Aren’t you gonna run those tests?” Wrecker asks, referring to the neurological checks the medic had mentioned earlier.

“Just that small interaction has me even more confident that there is no brain damage,” the medic says, “She was able to both understand what I was saying and form comprehensible responses, even though she is still very tired. I’ll come back to run the tests when she’s a bit more cognizant.”

She makes it almost out of the room before she pauses, turning back to face them.

“Just as a warning,” she continues, “Some patients, particularly children, can find that waking from sedation is a scary process, and they get quite emotional as a result. Make sure not to push her too fast.”

Almost two more hours go by before Omega wakes again.

When she does, it is not immediately noticed, with Echo and Tech having popped out to get some fresh air, and the remaining trio engaged in quiet conversation. Wrecker is the first to spot her watching them, leaning forward to place his large hand on her ankle, both of her hands already held by Hunter and Crosshair.

“Hey, kid,” he greets, a huge smile splitting his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Omega mumbles, struggling to push herself upright. Hunter seizes the remote for the bed, pressing a button to raise the head until a level is reached where Omega can recline back onto the pillows and still see them easily. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Crosshair prompts.

“I remember... being at the festival...” Omega begins, still looking entirely confused. “I didn’t feel well. I went to get a drink and... then it’s all blank.”

“You collapsed, kid,” Hunter tells her, grasping her hand tighter. “You were suffering from heat stroke, and by the time we found you, it had made you really sick.”

“How sick?” Omega asks, looking down at the IV line still running into her hand.

“You were mumbling about tests and stuff,” Wrecker reveals, face downcast and sad. “We think you thought you were back on Tantiss.”

“Oh,” Omega mumbles, averting her gaze and fiddling with the hospital blanket in a way which makes her discomfort clear.

“But it’s alright,” Hunter jumps in, trying to keep her mind off the subject. “We got you here and you were treated in time, and you’re going to be just fine.”

Omega nods, granting him a weak smile, but then her eyes flit over to the window, brow furrowing when she notices the now-black sky outside.

“Wait...” she mumbles, “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a day,” Hunter says.

“A day?” Omega exclaims, and the machines around her begin to emit a series of shrill beeps, notifying them that both her heart and respiratory rates have suddenly increased.

“Omega-“ Hunter stars, only to be shocked into silence as the girl yanks her hand away from his, pressing it to her mouth as she dissolves into noisy sobs.

It is at that moment that the door slides open, Echo and Tech stepping inside, their shared looks of rejuvenation disappearing in an instant as they take in the scene before them. Initially, they all make the mistake of assuming that this is simply the emotional reaction to the drugs that the medic had mentioned earlier. However, that idea is proven completely wrong when Omega speaks again.

“I’m sorry-“ she gasps, her breaths hitching dangerously.

The look of alarm which flashes across Tech’s face reveals his worry over what effect such a reaction would have on her lungs, especially so soon after being removed from the ventilator.

“What in the galaxy is happening here?” Echo asks, keeping his voice soft as he moves closer. Omega opens her eyes just long enough to notice him, her cries only getting louder.

“Echo-,” she wails, “I’m so sorry. You came all this way, and I- I ruined everything.”

“Hey, you haven’t ruined anything,” Echo tells her, deftly sidling past each chair and sibling in his way until he reaches his sister’s side. “Do you hear me, Omega? This is not your fault.”

“Yes, it is! I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t stop because I was so busy! I just- I just wanted-,” she chokes, rapidly losing control of herself.

Echo perches on the edge of her bed, completely disregarding the tubes as he pulls Omega into his lap, pressing her tightly to his chest and giving her no choice but to follow his breathing pattern.

The rest of them watch in stunned silence as, against all odds, the method seems to work, Omega’s vitals stabilising as Echo rubs soothing lengths up and down her back.

“It’s alright, ad’ika,” he coos, practically rocking her.

Omega slowly lifts her heavy head from where it had been resting on his collarbone, the outburst having drained what little strength she had managed to regain.

“I just wanted to make the day special for us,” she mumbles, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks again even as her breathing remains steady. Echo is quick to wipe them away with his thumb, still holding her protectively.

“It was special,” Wrecker interrupts, also wanting to reassure the girl. “I had a great time – up until, you know.”

“I concur,” Tech agrees, watching Omega intently. “You did a very good job introducing us to the traditions of the solstice. I promise you, Omega, your efforts were not in vain.”

“I just wish it had been different,” she quietly replies, her face still lined with grief at the missed opportunities.

“Trust me, kid, so do we,” Hunter tells her, placing his hand on her trembling shoulder. “But you’re okay now, and that’s what’s important.”

It is then that the lead medic stops by on her ward visit, and decides that now is the best time to conduct the neurological checks, mostly to distract Omega from whatever had made her so upset.

As expected, she passes every test with flying colours, leaving them all secure in the knowledge that, other than feeling bitterly disappointed that the universe had once again snatched away a chance to experience a normal childhood activity, that there was nothing that would cause her further issues upon leaving the clinic.

With the medic happy to discharge her, then came the task of removing the nasogastric tube. Crosshair is the one to volunteer to hold her, knowing full well how difficult the process can be, both physically and emotionally.

Omega takes it like a real trooper, leaning into his hold and clutching at her toys as the medic instructs her to take one deep breath, then begins to pull the tube out piece by piece. Only once it is completely out does Omega allow herself to falter, falling back into Crosshair’s arms coughing and spluttering.

“Good girl,” the medic praises. “Well done, it’s all over now.”

Tech appears with a cup of water, holding it so she doesn’t have to do so with such shaky hands.

“My throat hurts,” she grumbles after she has finished the drink.

“That’s very normal,” the medic explains, informing Omega of the problems created by having two tubes down her throat at once. “You can expect some tenderness over the next few days, which can be treated with pain medication. You’ll also probably feel tired for the next few weeks, so try to rest whenever possible.”

The medic turns, watching Tech set down the empty cup to note all the information down on his datapad.

“You’ll have some problems regulating your temperature, and you’re also now going to be more susceptible to heat stroke in the future,” she finishes, “So you’re going to have to take extra precautions in hot weather from now on.”

With that all said and done, Hunter and Tech leave with the medic to handle Omega’s discharge paperwork. Wrecker and Crosshair begin to pack up their belongings, while Echo helps Omega out of the hospital gown and into her own clothes, the material of the garments pyjama-soft.

“There,” Echo says, contended, finishing tightening the drawstring waistband on her trousers, “Happy?”

Omega doesn’t react, her gaze elsewhere.

Echo follows it, finding her staring directly at her festival dress, lying discarded on the table waiting to be packed away, left in pieces from the medics having to cut her out of it.

“Mega,” he murmurs, grateful when Crosshair quickly grabs the dress, folding it with care and placing it inside the bag, completely out of sight. “I’m sorry.”

The girl remains silent, her eyes going watery, and she doesn’t resist as Echo sits down beside her, pulling her into a hug. “For the record,” he tells her, “You looked very pretty.”

“Yeah!” Wrecker exclaims, lowering himself to sit on her other side. “Like a princess!”

Omega can’t help but smile at that. Then, she glances downwards.

“Uh, guys,” she says, “Where are my shoes?”

Wrecker visibly deflates.

“Oh, uh. I think I packed them,” he admits, sheepishly.

Across the room, Crosshair huffs, already preparing himself to reopen every bag to search for them.

“Doesn’t matter!” Wrecker exclaims, standing and scooping Omega into his arms in one smooth motion. She squeals, but quickly settles, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “Not like you’re walking home anyway!”

They leave just before dawn, wanting to avoid the summer morning heat worsening Omega’s still weakened condition. Wrecker carries her all the way home, the others trailing behind them until their house comes into view and Tech runs ahead to unlock the door.

Inside, bags are dumped anywhere they can be, and shoes are kicked off in a similar fashion. Omega braces herself to be put down, but is surprised when Wrecker starts moving again, heading up the stairs towards her bedroom.

“Wrecker,” she whines as she is deposited into her bed. “I’m not tired!”

“Sure you’re not,” her brother says, taking time to plump each pillow before pushing her to lie down, then tugging the myriad of brightly-coloured blankets over her. He is pleased to see that, despite her insistence otherwise, Omega is indeed tired, her eyelids already drooping once more.

“Wait,” Omega mumbles, sounding distressed. “I haven’t got my toys!”

Wrecker had to admit, that that was a valid reason not to go to sleep, so he hurried back downstairs, retrieving both Lula and the sun dragon and heading back to Omega’s room, tucking the animals in beside her.

He bustles around her bedroom, closing the window and tugging the curtains across to block out the light of day. Then, he returns to her bedside, tugging on the tail of her new plush.

“What are you gonna call this one?” he asks her.

“I don’t know yet,” she admits.

“Well, maybe it’ll come to you in a dream,” Wrecker says, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sister’s head. “Goodnight, Mega,” he calls, flicking the light off as he steps outside.

“Technically, it’s good morning,” Omega calls sleepily.

Wrecker shakes his head fondly but doesn’t comment further, pulling the door half-closed behind him.

☆⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚★｡⭒˚｡⋆☆⋆˚⭒⋆.˚★｡⭒˚｡⋆☆⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚★｡⭒˚｡⋆☆⋆˚

Omega wakes to the sunset, rays of fading light peeking around the edge of her curtain to leave a kaleidoscope of colourful patterns on her bedroom wall.

Her body is still aching with fatigue, but the thought of lying there for a single second longer immediately sours her mood.

Wondering what her brothers are doing, she pulls herself up and out of bed, taking it slow to ensure she doesn’t fall. The last thing she wants is for her brothers to hear the crash, running upstairs in a blind panic to find her lying on the floor, and immediately ushering her back to bed. If she managed to make it downstairs, even if they insisted on her getting some more sleep, at least there was a chance of taking a nap with them on the couch.

Stuffing her feet into her slippers and wrapping her favourite of her many blankets around her shoulders – a crochet quilt which was more of a work of art than a piece of bedding, that Phee had found for her at a market off-world – she grabs both Lula and the sun-dragon, before shuffling into the corridor.

She makes good use of the bannister to help lever herself down each small step, currently unable to skip downstairs as she normally would. The second level yields no signs of activity, so she continues to the ground floor.

It is still suspiciously quiet, but she soon comes across Crosshair, sitting at their dining room table, focused intently on something in his lap.

“What are you doing?” Omega asks, tottering into the room.

“Why are you up?” Crosshair questions.

“I asked you first,” Omega retorts.

Crosshair’s defensive snarl has her curious; she moves closer, watching intently as her brother conceals whatever it is beneath the table. She enacts a solely fake stumble, and just as expected, Crosshair jumps up to guide her to a chair, giving her the perfect opportunity to catch a glimpse of what he is hiding.

It’s her dress.

Her festival dress.

She lunges for it, pulling it close and turning it over in her hands. The large, clinical slices through the material are gone, sealed shut by rows of neat but strong stitches, the thread the exact same shade of blue as the dress itself.

Crosshair had repaired it.

“Thank you, Crosshair!” she cries, launching herself at her brother and hugging him tightly around the waist. He freezes for a moment, arms raised in the air, still not used to being hugged with so little warning, but then he relaxes, resting one hand on her shoulders and the other atop her head.

“That was supposed to be a surprise,” he grumbles.

“I don’t care,” she mumbles, face still pressed close to his stomach. “I’m just happy you did it.”

They stay like that for a few moments, until the back door bursts open and Hunter steps inside, slightly red in the face and clearly physically exerted, his bandana missing and his hair curling around his face.

“Oh,” he remarks, spotting the pair. “I was just coming to get you.”

“Me?” Omega asks, “What for?”

Hunter extends his hand to her, waiting patiently for her to hobble across the floor to take it.

“Come on,” he says, motioning for Crosshair to follow too. “You’ll see.”

Stepping outside, Omega’s mouth drops open in wonder.

Their large porch has been decked out in decorations, the homemade ornaments she had enlisted their help to put up on the morning of the festival having been taken down and moved to the back of the house instead. The decorations are interspaced with rows of warm-toned fairy lights, which twinkle comfortingly as they reflect the light of the sunset.

The wooden floor beneath their feet is completely covered with blankets and pillows, and it looks to be the most inviting thing Omega has ever seen. All in all, the whole display not only reminds her of the festival, but also of her first room on the Marauder, the memories making her feel emotional all over again.

“Hey now, no more tears today,” Hunter gently teases, poking her in the side until she giggles. “Here now, sit down.”

He holds her hand until she is settled in the middle of the soft blankets, giving her the perfect view of the garden before her. She inhales the salt-fresh floral scent, and it is then she spots her altar, now far closer to the porch than she had originally constructed it – practically right on top of the porch, even.

“Yeah, we moved it closer,” Wrecker admits, waiting for her reaction. “We didn’t want you to miss out on the fun.”

Though Omega wants to roll her eyes, she knows her brothers are right to be cautious. Even now, with the sun setting, she can still feel the heat present in the air, and understands that her remaining under the safety of the porch with its internal fanning mechanism installed by Tech is for her own good.

“So,” Tech asks, “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” she replies, still in awe of their efforts. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Echo says, rubbing his hand against his knee in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting to hear all about this lovely altar,” he continues, looking over the display.

Omega highly suspects that it was Tech who had moved it. Even she cannot tell the difference between the original that she had made and the reconstructed version. Only one of her brothers had that level of attention to detail.

It still looks absolutely perfect – and feels even more meaningful now, knowing that her brother had taken her explanation that morning to heart, learning enough about the alter and its usage to put it back together himself.

“Why don’t you tell us all about it, Omega,” Echo requests.

She launches into the story of Pabu’s history with the sun gods, and how the altar was used to honour them. Her brothers have come prepared, each one of them clutching the small piece of parchment paper with their burdens to be released already written down. Omega has had her own held safely within the confines of her mind for weeks now, so sure of exactly what it is she wants to let go of. She writes it down just as Tech lights the fire in the small ceramic bowl, and before long each piece has been tossed inside, their burdens now reduced to nothing more than ash.

They proceed with the evening in a much more relaxed manner than the festival itself, but one Omega quickly realises she likes just as much – if not more.

She and her brothers huddle close beneath the blankets, recounting humorous stories from their pasts – their adventures before Crosshair could return to them, the war while Omega was still stuck on Kamino, and their time in Nala Se’s lab, with only Omega old enough then to remember any of their experiences.

There is something kind of beautiful, Omega thinks, about taking their various pasts, and deliberately choosing to focus only on the good parts, soaking their traumas in shimmering golden light, if only for one day a year.

She had been so focused on following the islands’ solstice traditions to the letter, that she hadn’t even thought about trying to form any new traditions of her own. But now, sitting here and watching her brothers laugh as she retold the story of just how long it took the Kaminoans to realise Tech needed glasses, she knows that this post-festival celebration will become a regular fixture in their routine during any future solstice.

Their traditions are certainly different, but still have their own merits; they tell war stories and eat reheated leftovers, and instead of solstice punch, they drink hot moogan tea, Omega’s cup loaded up with honey to soothe her still tender throat.

An unconventional celebration, for an unconventional family, she thinks.

“Well...” Wrecker asks, watching her hold her sun-dragon. “Have you thought of a name for this one yet?”

She thinks deeply, remembering a bedtime story she had once been told by Ninety-nine – a tale of a young girl made from sunlight, who was destined to travel amongst the stars

“Cyra,” she tells them. “It means sun.”

Crosshair nods in approval, as Wrecker lets out an excited cheer.

“Cyra and Lula!” he cries. “I like the sound of that.”