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A stationary home with four walls and a roof was as foreign a concept to a clone as peacetime. Such was a life for natborns, not cloned soldiers developed and raised to fight and die. They didn’t dream of it either, not out loud, at least. They were proud and strong for the Republic, following orders and defending the galaxy against the threat of Separatist forces. It’s who they were, it’s what they did. Nothing less. Nothing more.
Then the Batch came across Cut on Saleucami.
A reg. A deserter.
A husband. A father.
In a house, on a farm.
A life beyond the confines of armor and blaster fire and orders and war.
They were intrigued.
And the concept took root, and thoughts of after the war became offhanded conversations during late night watches, in the glow of hurtling through hyperspace, spiraling toward another mission, another risk, another followed order.
Maybe someday. After the war. If there was an after.
Crosshair had his doubts, and he didn’t want his brothers to hope too strongly and be disappointed. Hunter, to his surprise, seemed the most taken with the idea. Crosshair saw how his brother’s gaze lingered on families as they passed in the street; when he’d been distracted by a dwelling with flowers strategically planted under the windows and around the door.
Now, here they stand, in front of a dwelling, native island flowers strategically planted under the windows and climbing up and over the door frame.
Their home. Theirs.
His brothers’. His sister’s.
His.
Crosshair swallows thickly, glances at his oldest brother. The ex-sergeant looks about ready to burst with joy and pride, although anyone who didn’t know him as well as his siblings would only see a subtle, quiet smile. Omega notices and tugs at Crosshair’s arm, beaming up at him. He’s so happy, she mouths.
Crosshair huffs and smiles, nudging his sister back with his elbow.
Hunter is happy. Happier than Crosshair thinks he’s ever seen him. At peace.
“It’s a little small,” Shep is saying, sounding apologetic, “however, I suppose it is bigger than bunking on a ship like you were used to.”
“It’s perfect, Shep,” Hunter says, “It is more than we could ever ask for.”
The mayor laughs. “Then let me be the first to say, welcome home!”
There are three bedrooms, and Omega immediately chooses the smallest one for herself.
“I want to decorate it like my room on the Marauder,” she tells Wrecker. “Can you help me?”
“Sure thing, kid,” Wrecker says, smiling down at her and ruffling her hair. But Hunter doesn’t miss the sadness in his voice. Omega doesn’t either, exuberant expression flickering briefly as she throws her arms around Wrecker’s waist, hugging him tight.
That leaves the other two rooms, each furnished with two beds.
“Crosshair and I’ll share a room,” Wrecker says, the moment of sorrow passing as he shoves a fist into Crosshair’s shoulder. “Right, Cross?”
Crosshair heaves an exaggerated sigh, but smiles. “I suppose if one of us has to put up with you snoring, it might as well be the one without enhanced senses.”
“I don’t snore that bad,” Wrecker protests as he and Crosshair claim the room across from Omega’s and disappear inside. Hunter can hear them lightly bickering over who gets which bed.
Hunter looks down and sees that his sister is still there, face turned up to look at him. She reaches out and takes his hand in both of hers. “This is the path you’ve wanted for a long time, isn’t it?” Omega asks, voice gentle.
Hunter has to look away, glances at the ceiling – their ceiling – to blink away the sensation that burns his eyes. It isn’t the path he’d even considered possible until he met Omega, until he realized he wanted nothing more than to give his little sister the safety and security he and his brothers never knew. He tried to give it to her through Cut and Suu, but the Batch was the path Omega had chosen. Her place was with her brothers, and she would follow them anywhere.
So, yes, this is the path Hunter has wanted for a long time. Before the end of the war, when it was just a dream. After the war ended, and it was just a hope. And now, stepping onto it, their reality, stretching endlessly before them.
If only Tech was here, then it would be perfect.
Omega swings his arm, regaining his attention. “Are you alright?” she asks.
Hunter takes a shaking breath, steadies his voice. “Yes,” he tells her, sincerely. “I’m more than alright. We’re going to be happy here.”
And they are.