Chapter Text
“You have two choices, captain. You can spend the next six weeks in medical under the careful watch of a medic to make sure you don’t do anything stupid; or, you go home for six weeks and let your brothers make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
Omega rolls her eyes. “You forget it was my brothers who taught me most of my ‘stupid’ stunts, Hera.”
“Maybe,” Hera admits. “However, one look at your injuries, and I have a feeling they’ll become the most insufferable mother nexus you’ve ever seen until you’re cleared for active duty.”
“That’s not a feeling, Hera,” Omega groans, trying to shrug into her jacket with her one good arm, “That’s a kriffing fact. I’m never going to hear the end of it when they find out what happened.”
“You haven’t told them yet?” Hera gasps, helping Omega thread her injured arm through the other sleeve.
“Of course not. If I did, they’d be storming the base right now demanding to see me. It’s not like I’m on my deathbed, Hera. I crashed, I survived, I’m fine.”
“Your definition of ‘fine’ needs work.”
Omega slides off the medical cot, favoring her left leg. “I’ll take that into consideration while I’m forced to lie around for a month and a half.”
“Good.”
As Omega starts to limp out of medical, Hera stops her, pulling her into an embrace, carefully avoiding Omega’s cracked ribs. “I’m so happy you’re alright, Megs.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Omega mutters with a grin.
Hera laughs. “Don’t give your brothers too much trouble, got it?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
**
On General Syndulla’s orders, Omega is not allowed to fly herself back to Pabu. Instead, she is being transported by a shiny new recruit everyone calls Iggy, for whatever reason. They land in the middle of the planet’s night cycle, Omega directing Iggy to the cave that typically houses her own ship when it isn’t being held hostage by Hera.
“Need help with your bags, captain,” Iggy asks as Omega pushes herself unsteadily to her feet.
Omega waves him off. “It’s one bag, and I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”
That makes Iggy grin. “Understood, captain.”
Despite protests, Iggy does help her down the ramp and hovers as Omega gets her footing on the uneven cave floor. He tries to convince her to let him walk her up to the house, but Omega insists that she’s fine. She finds one of Batcher’s long pieces of driftwood the hound has a habit of hoarding in the corner. “See, I’ve got a walking stick, I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Iggy relents. He gives a sloppy salute. “See you in six weeks?”
“Six weeks,” Omega agrees.
Omega watches him off, leaning heavily on her makeshift cane. Somehow, being so close to her brothers and their anticipated mothering makes her feel less valiant about her wounds. No matter how old she gets, how experienced she becomes, she feels like a child again with her brothers nearby to protect her.
As she makes her way up the worn path, her injuries make themselves known. The laceration on her thigh pulses under the bandage, her sprained shoulder and elbow ache in her sling, her cracked ribs throb with every intake of air. Maybe she should have let Iggy carry her bag.
Omega focuses on her surroundings, the familiar sound of nighttime breathing around her, the muted roll of waves on the beach. The scent of fresh air and sea laced with the sweet smell of local flora. How many dark nights did she sit with her brothers, watching the stars and listening to stories? Countless nights leaning against Hunter or Crosshair or Wrecker until she fell asleep to the rumble of their voices, to then be coaxed awake to go to bed.
When she finally makes it to the back door, she pulls out the key already tucked in her coat pocket, and makes her way inside. She drops her bag by the door, propping her stick next to it, then limps as quietly as she can to the kitchen. She hopes to find leftover supper put away, or, better yet, cookies in the corner cupboard.
She checks for the cookies first and finds them, plucking the box from the shelf and putting it on the counter before turning to get two cups. Right on time, the kitchen light clicks on, and Omega smiles.
“Omega?” Hunter asks groggily.
She doesn’t turn. “Took you long enough,” Omega says lightly. “Hungry? I was just making myself a snack.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. Did it work?”
Hunter snorts. “We would’ve waited up for you if we’d known.”
“Exactly,” Omega says, moving to get out the milk, “you old guys need your sleep.”
She hears Hunter step closer. “Omega, are you injured?”
“I’ll be alright,” Omega says, but her body betrays her and she nearly stumbles on a side step.
Hunter catches her bad elbow.
The pain is immediate, and Omega tries so hard to stifle the cry that reactively comes. It only partially works, the sound escaping like a shrill whine in the back of her throat.
“What–where are you hurt?” Hunter demands, withdrawing his grip but stepping closer.
Omega leans against the counter, waiting for the wave of pain to fade. “Uh, that’s not a short list,” she grits out.
“You need to sit down,” Hunter says. “Did you walk all the way here from the cavern?”
“Yeah, not the wisest decision I’ve ever made,” Omega admits.
She finally turns around, letting the light expose her visible injuries. She hasn’t looked in a mirror recently; however, she knows must look even more awful than she feels. The look in her brother’s eyes confirms it.
His expression tightens. “You should be in a medical bay.”
“Well, it was that or this, and I’d take an opportunity to visit my brothers any day.” Omega lifts her good arm, and Hunter brings it over his shoulder, taking most of Omega’s weight as she hobbles into the common room. Omega is thankful he doesn’t try to carry her.
Once she’s settled on the couch, Hunter looms over her. “Well, I’d like that long list of injuries now.”
With a sigh, she gives it to him, doing her best not to gloss over pertinent details. When she gets to the laceration on her leg, Hunter looks down at the bandaging. “Looks like you reopened it with your little hike from the beach,” he says, and Omega glances down. A small bloom of blood stains the careful wrap.
“Kriff,” Omega curses.
Hunter massages the bridge of his nose, heaving a lung deep sigh. “I’ll check it over and get it re-wrapped. We’ll send for AZI in the morning.”
Omega nods, sinking into the worn cushions. “Okay.”
Hunter stands up, but before he leaves, he rests a hand on Omega’s head, calloused fingers tousling her hair. “It’s good to see you, kid.”
“You too,” Omega returns softly.
She knows her brother will take care of her, just like he always has.
**
Omega wakes to sunlight pouring through her window. Miraculously, neither Wrecker or Crosshair woke up during the night while Hunter redressed her wounds and got her situated in bed. She can’t even remember Hunter turning out the bedroom light before she fell asleep.
She turns her head and sees an old comm unit on her bedside table, a torn piece of flimsi propped against it. Do not get up. Call if you need anything it says in scrawled letters. Omega rolls her eyes and smiles.
“Do you think she’s awake?” Wrecker’s version of a whisper practically rattles the door.
“If she wasn’t, she is now,” Crosshair hisses back.
Omega’s smile deepens. “I’m awake!” she calls out.
The door flies open, Wrecker’s exuberant presence filling the room. “Megs! Why didn’t you tell us why you were coming?” he cries.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Omega says, laughing, moving to push herself up on her good elbow.
Crosshair is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “Liar. You just didn’t want to tell us you crashed a stolen TIE fighter.”
“It’s a good story, I promise,” Omega assures him.
The ex-sniper smirks at her. “It better be.”