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Letting Omega go to join the Rebellion was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Hunter had ever had to do. After years of raising her, nurturing her, and watching her blossom into an incredible young woman, she decided to spread the wings he had given her and fly solo. And now there he is, hands clasped behind his back, bidding goodbye to his heart as it flies away to conquer the galaxy on her own.
He knows she’ll be fine; he and his brothers have taught her plenty, yet watching her take off in her ship and disappear between the clouds in Pabu’s starlit sky, while making him proud, also leaves him starkly, almost hauntingly hollow.
The first time he felt the first taste of this was back on Saleucami, when he tried to leave her with Cut and Suu.
In his mind, he was doing the right thing. Acting in the best interest of the kid. But when she walked away with the family, with her head hung low and shoulders trembling slightly from the sobs she was trying to contain, his feet felt glued to the ground. He didn't move until he had to. And even then, he couldn't turn away from her until it was absolutely necessary.
For a while, he tried to put a name to that feeling. It resembled stretching himself too thin, being part here but also there with her, in two places at once. Gravity was pulling him in both directions simultaneously — until she ran back to them at the ship, waved her little hand at him from behind a crate, screaming “Wait for me!” and in a fraction of a second, Hunter snapped back together like a rubber band let loose.
That, he realized later, was what it felt like to leave his heart behind. That sudden snap was what it was when that heart returned to his chest and settled down where it's supposed to be.
Since then, Hunter has felt it every time he and Omega were separated.
Even when it was completely safe, when they were simply in different places doing different things during their day and she was perfectly fine under the watchful eye of their other brothers, that weird tug was still there, ever present inside his chest, as if Omega tied a rope around his heart, then attached the other end to her own, and pulled. It only loosened when she was back at his side, or at least when he was able to sense the flutter of her heartbeat across the room.
When she was forcibly taken away from him, the sensation became sharp, the rope burned, and he desperately clutched his end of it in his hands, trying to pull himself back to her. The farther away she was from him, the more of his heart he was losing. The months she had spent imprisoned on Tantiss were by far the darkest time of his life; he couldn't even recognize himself in the mirror, that much of him was missing.
He thought he was whole again when they left that godforsaken mountain behind them once and for all. He was certain his heart couldn't be more full when Omega leaned against his arm, a content sigh leaving her as she finally relaxed. He closed his eyes, filled his lungs with fresh, salty air, and turned his face towards the Pabu sun, thinking, this is it.
But the feeling remained.
Somehow, it became even more tender. Vulnerable to the tiniest of pulls. It felt like the rope around his heart had tightened its grip. For the first few weeks of their freedom, he couldn't catch his breath without Omega falling asleep in his arms at night. He constantly felt her tugging at the rope as she ran around the island, enjoying her childhood to the fullest. Even when she was spending time with Wrecker or Crosshair, the two people in the whole galaxy she's the safest with besides him, Hunter didn't feel quite right.
Shep told him it was normal. That it was just his anxiety; it would calm in time. But Shep didn't know. Shep hadn't lost his daughter like Hunter lost his. He never had to lose himself in order to get her back.
And Hunter sincerely wished the man that he'd never have to.
As the months went on, he kind of got used to the feeling. It didn't lessen, but it became bearable. Omega had her own bedroom now, but Hunter's day would never be finished without tucking her in. His brothers were teasing him because of the habit, and he often caught Omega rolling her eyes affectionately; it made him fear a little for a day when she’d tell him she didn't want him to do it anymore, but that fear disappeared every time her little fingers curled around his wrist to keep him at her bedside for at least five more minutes.
The constant worry, ants crawling right under his skin whenever she wasn't in his sight, the chaotic race of his heartbeat when she was too far away to sense hers. He's learned to live with it, somehow.
Even when he couldn't sleep at night because she was over at Shep and Lyana's house, having a sleepover with friends. Even when he was forced to spend the days without her because she was at school. Even when he stayed vigilant in a little worn-out armchair that stood in the living room of their house, waiting for her to sneak back in after her nightly escapades with Lyana and the boys.
The pull of the rope stretching between them was there, but it became just as integral a part of him as any of his enhanced senses were. Even as Omega kept testing the distance as she grew older, going further and further away, it always pulled her back in, bringing them back together.
Hunter was content with it.
Thinking about it now, he should have seen it coming.
She’s nineteen when she first hears of the Rebellion. He lets her go on a little scavenger hunt to a neighboring system with Phee and Wrecker, and when they return, Omega's eyes are filled with the kind of childlike joy and unbridled excitement that Hunter has not seen in her since the day he met her. She jumps off the ship like a Moon-yo, looking at him in the same way she did when she first saw hyperspace almost a decade ago, and grabs his hands, shouting, "They are fighting, Hunter! People are fighting back!”
She talks his ears off until the sun goes down under the horizon, going on about the things she saw and people she has spoken to, and he listens with a smile on his face, trying to match her energy the best he can, then discusses the possibilities with his brothers. The prospect of a galaxy-wide rebellion and the idea of the world finally freeing itself from the Empire's reign are… hopeful. Hunter raises a glass to the freedom fighters, wishes them well from afar. But the way Omega's eyes burn with fiery determination when she talks about the insurgents, the pure admiration and respect that rings in her voice — it makes dread pool in the pit of his stomach like acid. The rope around his heart gives the gentlest tug, starts pulling ever so slightly, even as Omega is leaning on his shoulder, shaking with laughter at Batcher’s shenanigans around the table.
He forces himself to ignore it. Tells himself it won't happen. But he’s a fool.
It’s a waiting game at this point.
The clock starts ticking even faster when Omega gets her own ship.
Ironically, it is Hunter's idea. She is fast approaching twenty-two, her piloting skills have grown exponentially in recent years and he could just tell she was itching for more freedom. He'd never admit how much the dreamy look she often gave the sky above her head scared him, but if he kept her chained to this island like a prisoner, he'd be no better than Hemlock, no matter how pure his intentions were.
The smile that splits her face open when Wrecker uncovers her eyes and she sees the brand new machine parked in the cave by the beach is brighter than the sun above their heads. She lets out a high-pitched shriek and lunges herself at them, arms open wide to gather all three of them in a hug. The brothers hold her tight, laughing at the way she is still bouncing on her feet even inside their embrace, before letting her go and watching her sprint to the ship as fast as she can to explore it.
She names it Artemis — after her favorite constellation that Tech taught her back in the day. Hunter smiles when she takes off, his arms still wrapped around Wrecker and Crosshair, all three of them knowing it will be hours before she lands again.
It shouldn't be a surprise that he finds her still in the cockpit that night instead of in bed. It shouldn't be a surprise that she is in the pilot chair, her long legs bent at awkward angles and unwilling to cooperate to let her curl up in it like she did when she was little, and scrolling through her datapad. It shouldn't be a surprise that all the communication channels are open, a scan for any sign of Rebellion frequently in progress.
And yet Hunter finds himself unable to move when he sees her.
The way her brows scrunch while she looks through the data, the tip of her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, how she doesn’t even notice him standing there even though he isn’t trying to hide his presence — it’s like he’s looking at a ghost. For a second, his brother is back. Hunter imagines him sitting in the co-pilot chair, his goggles slid back to rest over his forehead and hands propped on his knees as he is leaning gently towards Omega, dissecting whatever she is reading. For a moment, Hunter can hear his voice, a cadence soft and ever-patient despite the usual clipped and matter-of-fact nature of his tone still shining through. Tech looks just like the day they lost him — young, bright, smart.
Just like Omega.
It hits him then just how much she looks like Tech. And not just in the means of mannerisms that she had picked up from him, just like she did from the rest of them. Tech is in the shape and color of her eyes, in the curve of her shin, and in the shape of her jaw. Yes, they're clones; they are designed to look the same, but what Hunter is looking at in this moment is something different. Something beyond genetic design.
He opens his mouth to speak, but the speakers crack with the noise of a signal pickup, and Omega swivels her chair to the console, turning her back to him, and starts clicking through the channels.
Hunter releases a quiet sigh and turns to the door. It is best to not bother her now.
Years pass and the Rebellion grows quietly somewhere in the distance. They rarely speak about it, though when they do, it's always with fondness and respect. Echo gives them necessary updates, still with one foot in the fight despite not being an active part of it for years now.
Omega grows up to be a beautiful, confident, brave, and wise woman. At twenty-six years old, she's as tall as Hunter, and the shiny blonde waves of her hair fall down her back in cascades when she doesn't tie it up with one of his old bandanas. She takes her beloved Artemis on further and longer trips, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. Flying is as easy for her as breathing. Watching her land back home breathes life into Hunter's aching bones.
Echo laughs he looks more gray every time he sees him. Crosshair slaps Hunter on the back and jokes that each time Omega disappears between the clouds, more gray hair appears. Omega giggles at the remark, the precious echo of a little girl from the lips of a grown woman, and runs her fingers through his silvering strands, saying she likes it that way.
Hunter doesn't have the heart to tell her that Crosshair is right.
“I want to join them,” Omega announces one day during dinner and Hunter's world ends.
The silence that falls around the table is deafening. Omega holds her chin up high, piercing each one of her brothers with a brave and serious gaze. There's no trace of her usual bubbly excitement in her eyes. That dopey grin doesn't split her face in two; her lips are shut tight, her expression determined and sure, and when she looks at him, Hunter feels like he's looking in the mirror.
She's a reflection of everything he once was. It should fill him with pride. It does.
But the only thing he feels right now is fear.
Wrecker's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Crosshair is fixing Omega with an unreadable gaze. But hers is still locked on Hunter — bold, daring eyes of an adult where Hunter can see nothing but the girlish glow and innocence of a child.
“I already talked to Echo—”
“No,” is the only thing he manages to get out, his tone clipped and sharp like the edge of his vibroblade. He doesn't wait for a response; he doesn't think he can. Just stands up from the table and walks out, slamming the door to the house behind him.
He doesn't want her to see him suffocating.
They fight about it.
It's a match worthy of the ones he and Crosshair used to have in their youth. Words fly in the air like blaster bolts — words that neither of them ever imagined saying to one another.
They’ve had their fair share of disagreements in the past. But never like this. They never ended up shouting in each other's faces.
She shoves him in the chest, calls him selfish. He raises his voice to a roar, tells her how kriffing stupid she must be to waltz back into the Empire's clutches after they spent years trying to keep her away from it.
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Omega physically recoils back from him, her furious eyes clouding with tears and he wants to reach out, his anger leaving him like air from a balloon, but she slaps his hand away with a short don’t and turns her back on him, slamming her bedroom door in his face. And he's left there, listening to her sobs coming from the other side, and each one is like a dagger to his heart.
He's never made her cry before.
They don't speak to each other for a week.
It's not like he doesn't want to. But Omega has decided to avoid him at all costs, and he thinks it's best to give her space. He screwed up enough; there's no need to make it any worse. Still, it's tearing him apart to watch her leave the room every time he enters it and walk past him as if he isn't even there. Every attempt to catch her gaze is futile; she refuses to even acknowledge him. The rope around his heart is pulled taut, leaving bruises and burns; he doesn't need to look to know that it's frayed.
Wrecker decides to play mediator. Hunter appreciates the effort but it doesn't do anything anyway. His brother tries to rope him and Omega into whatever he has planned for the day — fishing, cooking, repairs and other activities — but Omega always excuses herself, as gently as she can, to not hurt Wrecker’s feelings.
Hunter watches in silence as Wrecker’s shoulders drop and that hopeful smile disappears from his face.
“I'm sorry, Hunter. I tried.”
“I know you did, brother.” Hunter sighs and pats him gently on the arm. “I know you did.”
Crosshair is the one who becomes her shoulder to cry on, which fills Hunter with equal parts hurt and relief. Although relieved that she has someone to lean on, it does not alleviate the slight sting of betrayal. One night, when he finds himself heading to her bedroom, having gathered enough courage to go and try to smooth things out, he freezes mid-step when he notices the light filtering into the hallway through the creak in the door and hears muffled voices from the inside. His senses aren't as sharp as they used to be but he can still make out the unique cadence of Crosshair's voice as well as Omega's soft and shaky one. She's crying again; there's no doubt about that, and she's also angry.
Carefully, Hunter peeks through the miniscule crack and sees the pair sitting on Omega's bed, their backs against the headboard. Her head is resting on Crosshair's shoulder, her palm held gently in his. She's saying something but her face is pressed so deep into the crook of his neck that the words come out muffled. Crosshair doesn't reply, but his good hand squeezes hers tightly and he tilts his head, resting his cheek on top of hers.
Whatever Hunter intended to say vanishes. Sighing, he steps away from the door and returns downstairs, resigned to another sleepless night in his bed. But just as he is about to lie down, there is a knock on the doorframe, and when he looks up, his gaze meets Crosshair's.
“You need to fix this.”
Hunter drags a hand over his face.
“And what makes you think I can?”
For a long moment, Crosshair doesn't reply; he just continues to chew on his toothpick, his body leaning against the doorframe. Finally, he uncrosses his arms and pulls the piece of wood from his mouth, then fixes Hunter with a stare.
“Don't be fooled by her anger, Hunter.” He says. “She wants you to.”
The sun has barely risen when he finds her at the cliffside, meditating. If Omega notices his presence, she doesn't let it show; she just sits there, still as a statue, save for the slow rise and fall of her shoulders with every breath, her long hair loose and flowing in the calm wind like a flag. Hunter hesitates for a moment, feeling out of his element like he hasn't in years, before deciding to join her. He sits in the grass by her side, crossing his legs in a mirror of her position. The few inches of empty space between them that he would have closed by now without hesitation in any other circumstances feels like an endless abyss.
Silence is stretching for miles, and each passing second Hunter spends holding his breath, waiting for her to push him away or just get up and leave him there without a word.
But Omega does something that surprises them both — she rests her head against his shoulder.
His heart nearly explodes inside his ribcage. His eyes well up with tears, his chin trembles, and his breath gets caught in his throat. But he reins it all in, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly rests his cheek against her hair.
“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” he tells her, quiet and sincere.
“I'm sorry I scared you,” Omega whispers back.
She sounds so small, so innocent. It takes him back to the very beginning of their journey, to those big brown eyes looking at him with heartbreak as she asks, did I do something wrong? If he thought his heart wasn't breaking already because of what he was trying to make her do back then, it had shattered into pieces the moment he heard those words. This time he feels a similar way, like he's been punched in the gut, all air leaving him at once.
Still, he can't deny it. She did scare him. He hasn't been this scared since the day he watched her being taken away to Tantiss that first time.
A long, heavy sigh escapes him, followed by silence. He doesn't know what to say — spent all week writing speeches in his head only to be left speechless in the end. All he can do is stare ahead, admiring the sea of purples and pinks the rising sun is painting the sky with. Watch the calmness of the ocean while battling a thunderstorm inside his heart.
Omega lifts her head from his shoulder; he misses her instantly. But she doesn't go far. Right away, her arm sneaks under his, her lean and smooth palm coming to slide into his rough and calloused one. Looking down with a soft smile, Hunter laces his fingers through hers and squeezes tight. Her hand used to be so small in his hold. Where did all the time go?
Her eyes are boring into his skull when she speaks.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Hunter.”
He looks at her then, their eyes meeting for the first time in a very long, hard week. The anger he'd seen in these brown irises last is gone, replaced by a mix of anxiety and hope. Omega licks her lips and squares her shoulders, as if expecting another lecture, but he has none of that for her today.
He thinks carefully on his words before he replies.
“I… understand why you want to do this. You’ve always had a high sense of justice, higher than most. But kid,” he lets the full scope of his worry reflect in his eyes, “I need you to look me in the eye and tell me that you understand what you're getting yourself into.”
She tries to give him a comforting smile but it comes out sad. Hunter feels her squeeze his hand.
“I know that all you want to do is keep me safe. I get that. But you haven’t seen them, Hunter. When we fought the Empire all those years ago, people had no hope. No one understood what was happening back then. And now… the Empire may be stronger and more secure, but people are fed up. And they had years to prepare. As did I.” She ducks her head to catch his gaze fixed on the sky, and he feels compelled to return it. “I have all these skills, all this knowledge, and the training, and I’m sitting here while others who don’t, pick up their weapons and head out to fight. It doesn’t feel right to me.”
A lump forms in Hunter’s throat. Deep down, he knows she’s right. Years ago, he would have felt the same. Hell, he had, as a young cadet in training, just itching to get out there and fight in a war that wasn’t even his.
Guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Sighing deeply, he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. His gaze stays on it as he brushes his thumb over her soft skin.
“I do want to protect you,” he says. “That’s my only objective in life, has been ever since I first laid eyes on you. This objective is why we’re here, why we have this life. And if that makes me selfish—”
“I didn't mean that.” Omega says quickly, her face twisting with guilt.
Hunter lifts her chin back up, smiling. “But you were right. Because when you said you wanted to join the Rebellion, everything in me wanted to scream: Why her? Why does my child have to go to war? Why can't it be someone else?”
His voice breaks and he has to look away so Omega doesn’t see his tears. It’s hard to imagine it, let alone speak of it.
She leans against him again and snuggles in as close as possible, hugging his arm to herself like she would her Lula. Her forehead brushes against his graying beard.
“I can't sit still, Hunter. Not anymore,” she whispers.
He knows. It hurts more than he could have ever imagined, but he knows.
“Oh, baby girl,” Hunter sighs and pulls his arm from her grasp to wrap it around her instead, smiling as he kisses her temple. “You could never sit still, even if you tried.”
Two weeks later, she sneaks out of the house with a bag slung over her shoulder, but when she reaches the caves, Hunter is already there.
He knows her like the back of his hand. He knew she’d try to leave without saying goodbye, to spare them and herself the pain. Maybe also to avoid the possibility of someone stopping her. He’s not planning to stop her, as much as he would love to. But he’s not going to let her leave so easily, either.
He might have eventually agreed to this, but when the moment actually comes, it feels impossible.
She wants to be their pilot, and he knows she’s a damn good one so she’ll fit right in. Soon, all of the Rebellion will hear about her famous tech-turn. Part of him wants to go with her just to see their faces when she does it.
“You’ve all fought enough,” she tells him, as if reading his mind. “But this? It’s my fight. I’m ready.”
She stands up, her hand leaves his shoulder and for a split second, Hunter is overcome with panic, reaching after her to stop her from leaving.
“But I’m not,” he chokes out, tears burning the back of his eyes.
Slowly, he stands up as well. His bones ache, moves not as smooth as they used to be. He used to not care about his accelerated aging, now he curses it every day.
Omega wraps her arms around him and he holds her as if it were the very last time. He refuses to believe it is. It astounds him how tall she is and how different she feels in his arms compared to when she was little, but she still fits in just as perfectly. He longs for the days he could still pick her up, when she would fall asleep curled up on his chest while he reclined in the pilot seat. He misses the days he tucked the blanket over her as she dozed off in the Marauder’s gunner's mount, the way her tiny hand felt in his as they walked through the streets of Ord Mantel together.
She’s grown now. And it’s time for him to let her be grown.
“If you ever need us, we’ll be there,” he tells her right before she boards the ship. Watches her slide into the pilot seat and start the takeoff sequence. She salutes him and he smirks, saluting back. His chest fills with enough pride to fill the entire ocean surrounding this island.
He keeps his eyes on the ship until it becomes nothing but a small dot between the stars.
And when she’s gone, Hunter allows himself to feel the tug of the rope against his heart one last time before releasing his end from his grip.
She comes back as often as her duties allow her. Always runs into his arms first, then lets herself be thrown in the air by Wrecker, only to be crushed in a hug by Crosshair next. She talks miles a minute, recounting all the wins and all the losses. Her eyes shine like never before when she tells him that her old friend, Hera Syndula, is now a general like her father and how nice it was to catch up with her after all these years. She even shows him a picture of the Twi-Lek woman holding her infant child in her arms. The boy is half human and has green hair after his mother, but his eyes remind Hunter of one young Jedi padawan he once saved in a snowy forest a whole lifetime ago.
The entirety of Pabu gathers in the landing zone when, one day, an X-Wing lands in the middle of the square. Omega stands up in the cockpit, her orange pilot suit like a neon in the sunlight, her long hair spilling out when she takes off her helmet.
“Ha! Is that my girl in that X-Wing?” Wrecker roars at the sight, grinning widely.
Omega sends him a wink. “You bet it is!”
She lets them all take it for a spin. Breaks the news during dinner that Hera gave her her own squadron to lead, says they’ll be heading out for an important mission soon, a mission she’s in charge of.
Her smile is blinding. It’s clear as day that she’s finally doing what she was always meant to be doing. Hunter takes her face in both of his hands, kisses her forehead sweetly, and tells her that he couldn’t be more proud.
Next time she visits, over two months later, she docks Artemis in the cave and doesn’t come out until he comes to get her. When he finds her sitting on the ramp, her head held in her hands, he knows. She doesn’t need to tell him the details, everything is written in her heartbroken, tear-filled gaze.
Her squad. Gone. Mission failed.
“Oh, baby girl…” Hunter sighs and opens his arms for her. Omega runs into them with a strangled sob, clutching onto him with enough strength to break bones, just like when she was a little girl.
Later, they sit together on an old, weathered bench outside of the house, Omega slumped against his side.
“How did you do this?” She asks him, her ear pressed to his chest. “You always made it look so easy.”
Hunter runs his fingers through her long hair, dropping kisses on the crown of her head.
“Leading is never easy,” he tells her. “It’s not supposed to be. Making tough calls takes a certain kind of strength, the same as carrying the burden of the consequences.”
Tears slowly roll down her cheeks but she stays silent. Hunter does too; he knows she’ll blame herself for this for the rest of her life and there’s nothing he can say or do that will ever make it go away. As a leader, she’ll have to learn to live with this.
That night, she falls asleep in his arms like she used to do after Tantiss, her head on his chest and ear pressed to his heartbeat. Hunter holds her close as he dozes off, wishing and hoping he could take this burden off her shoulders and add it to the never-ending pile of his own failures instead.
There are days when she comes back beaten and bruised, with a broken arm or a stitch or two. But the smile almost never leaves her face. She takes her job even more seriously than before, asks for advice when she needs it. Years pass and she becomes one of the best pilots in the Rebellion, her tactical and piloting skills valued and respected among her peers.
And one day, she lands on Pabu to a crowd of people welcoming her with loud applause. Stricken with surprise, she looks around, her cheeks turning a pale shade of pink. Hunter steps forward with his brothers at his sides, and when they envelope her in an embrace, welcoming her home, Omega whispers two words into his ear.
“We won.”