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It’s been one year today; although nobody says it.
They silently speak it in their postures, their eyes, their subduedness.
Their silence on the subject screams, an agonized wail in a yawning chasm that is loss, mourning, and regret.
Crosshair hears it. Because it’s his fault, isn’t it? That Tech is gone? Of course it is, and he won’t listen to their kark about it being Tech’s choice, that he did what he did because he loved all of them. That Tech did what he did to save them, and they will honor his sacrifice.
Crosshair doesn’t want to be soothed, doesn’t want to be absolved.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he tells his siblings at midday meal.
He has to leave, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if he stayed.
“Where are you going?” Wrecker asks.
Crosshair won’t meet any of their eyes, their gazes make his skin burn. “I need some time.”
“We understand,” Hunter says.
Crosshair believes they will try, and hopes they never do.
He finds a quiet beach, gathers wood for a fire, and puts out his bedroll. He goes fishing for his late meal, standing in the surf, waves lapping around his knees. He roasts his catch over the fire, the crackling of burning wood integrating with the song of swelling nighttime. The stars appear, constellations Crosshair doesn’t know the names or patterns of forming before his eyes.
Tech would know.
Tech knew almost everything.
And he shouldn’t be dead.
“Who gave you permission to die?” Crosshair demands of the void where his lost brother should be.
“Tech rarely asked permission for anything,” Hunter replies.
Crosshair scowls into the flames as Hunter steps into the circle of firelight, a pack over his shoulder.
“I said I’d be back tomorrow,” Crosshair tells him.
Hunter tosses his bag next to Crosshair’s. “Told Wrecker and Omega the same thing.”
“I said I need some time.”
“And you got some.” Hunter sits down in the sand across from him, the fire between them. “I know what you’re doing.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’re blaming yourself for what happened to Tech.”
“And you don’t?” Crosshair spits.
“I blame a lot of people,” Hunter says. “I blame the Empire, I blame Hemlock, I blame Saw Gerrera…I could go on and on, but I don’t blame you.”
“But did you?” Crosshair asks. “Before?”
Hunter sighs, clasps and unclasps his hands. “I blamed you for a lot of things, before. Doesn’t mean all those things were justified.”
“If I hadn’t sent that message, you would never have been on Eriadu.”
Hunter huffs. “Message or not, Crosshair, we would have come for you. The moment Tech found your CT number on the prisoner manifest–”
“Why?” Crosshair interrupts angrily. “I earned that prison cell, Hunter. You should have left me there!”
Hunter frowns at him. “By the Empire’s standards, Crosshair, we all earned that cell, even Omega.”
Crosshair thinks bringing their sister into it is a low blow. “It’s not the same.”
“Here’s the thing, Crosshair,” Hunter says. “You weren’t with us, and I made a call.”
“Stop it,” Crosshair whispers.
Hunter doesn’t stop, shadows flickering across his face, the gleam of tear tracks catching in the light. “So, if any of us are to blame, for any of this…it’s me, Cross. Got it? Every single call I’ve made our whole lives, the good and the bad, I’ll have to live with.”
Crosshair swallows. “Sounds like we’ve both got our share of the blame then.”
Hunter doesn’t answer.
Maybe there’s nothing else to say.