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Crosshair pressed the stump of his wrist to his side and tried to hide his waterlogged grin, they’d saved the kid, Hunter and he had saved Omega. He’d gotten the validation of making the shot on the binders that held Hemlock to Omega, and the sheer vicious joy of putting a blaster bolt through the bastard who had tortured the two of them for too long. Even the rainy almost-Kamino weather couldn’t put a damper on that.
Lost limb aside, he was feeling good, until he heard the stormtroopers in the hall ahead of them. Hunter pulled Omega back and the two of them stood before her, they’d worked too hard and come too far for the kid, they weren’t about to lose her now. Noise from the other end as well had his stomach plummeting, could they not just have one win? Just one. He was missing a hand for stars sake. As ready as they could be, Omega pressed to the wall behind them, they braced for a fight.
Only for Echo to round the first corner, the reg perking up at seeing them, followed by a ragtag collection of other regs, still in their prison jumpers. Most of them were even armed. They swarmed Crosshair and Hunter, setting up a line just past them and kneeling, protecting them as every brother knows how from the day they hold their first blaster. He wobbled for a second, then locked his knees.
Not now.
Echo was barking orders, a hand on Hunter's shoulder for a half second as he ushered them back down the hall they had come. “Transport is being secured, we have to get out and get out now!” Echo gestured, again.
Was that…?
The man had a droid hand where his scomp link usually was.
Crosshair shook his head and moved, following his directions, keeping Omega in front of him and behind Hunter. The child had put too much into getting him out for him to risk not returning the favor now.
It was surreal, moving as a unit down the winding halls. Clone Force 99 had never been bigger than the four of them, five once they added Echo. Moving in a mass of bodies, easily twenty of them or more, felt both powerful and distinctly uncomfortable in turns. There was contact at the back of the pack, blaster bolts hammering into the walls only to be returned by one of the many jumpsuit clones. Echo wheeled around, pushing them all past.
“Zinger, take front! Mayday, in the back! Cover us door by door as we go!” the others flew seamlessly from position to position, whole squads moving when one man moved. Crosshair froze, staggering as the bodies flooded by. Hunter paused and turned as his heart rate rocketed in his throat.
Surely he heard that wrong. Surely it was a different clone. That happened, that happened a lot. There were only so many names that a trooper would take, could take.
Crosshair turned to the back of the pack, seeing a triangle of men holding the back line. At the farthest door was the same mop of dark hair every reg had, the same broad shoulders, and a mess of a beard that wasn't entirely unpopular, especially here. But there was something in the set of him, the tilt of his hips where he knelt, the nursing of a knee.
He had to know.
“Cross, come on! You're going to hold us up!” Hunter called. Crosshair turned back, torn. Hadn't he just sworn to repay the girl for how hard she tried to break his ungrateful shebs out of this place?
Yet, there she was, bold as the brass. She gave one solemn little nod, an understanding of… something, something no doubt scrawled across his gaunt features. “He’s got it Hunter, he won't fall behind. Let's go.” She turned him with one hand in his and a few quick steps, he threw one last look, eyes wide and brows imploring him to quit being him and just fall in line with the plan.
When had Crosshair ever listened to that stupid plea on his sergeants face?
The collection of troopers had moved on past him at this point, securing the next crossroads, as Crosshair knelt next to the man in the far back, securing the rear. He waited as he dropped two more stormies, then spoke.
“Mayday…?”
He hadn't meant it to be a question, had meant to keep his biting cold, but there it was. The trooper froze like prey nonetheless. Crosshair reached out but dare not touch. He had barely registered the sounds of boots on duracrete when Mayday squeezed the trigger again.
Two more bodies dropped.
“You dragged me back, but you weren’t there when I came to.” He still didn’t turn, “Officer wouldn’t say what happened, I was thrown in here for incompetence and insubordination.” Two more shots, and a mess of noise as the stormtroopers ducked back.
The clone staged behind them spoke up, loud enough to be heard by Mayday but not to carry much farther, “Clear, move up!”
Forced to turn in order to find his next vantage point, Mayday came face to face with Crosshair.
He looked… healthier. Even here, even jailed and trapped and likely tested on and tortured just like the rest of them. His cheeks had filled out, the dark circles weren’t so prominent. Shadows still flit across his eyes, wavering candlelight in a snowstorm, but he wasn’t wasting away on half rations at half the pace. At least here he was eating, sleeping, not having to live in constant vigilance.
“Move.” He rumbled, and Crosshair obeyed, backing up to the next viable vantage point and settling in behind him. “What happened, Crosshair?”
Crosshair ran his tongue along his teeth, wishing for a toothpick or straw or something to occupy himself rather than sit here and speak stupid truths, “Is now really the time for a conversation like that?”
Mayday grunted, popping out from their cover and laying down a few shots to keep the encroaching troopers back, then turning. “I’ve spent every day in this forsaken place wondering what the hell happened to you, now I’m fighting for my life,” a pause as he once again laid out cover fire, “our lives, actually, and I find you here? I’m not dying without knowing.” He looked meaningfully at Crosshair, making the clone meet his eyes, holding his gaze for a heavy moment among the blaster fire.
“Then don’t die.” Crosshair answered dryly.
Mayday scoffed, turning back to his assignment. Crosshair sat and watched the retreating troopers, Hunter staging himself between Omega and all the fighting. The girl had been good for them, for all of them.
They fell back once more, still having not spoken, when Crosshair finally took a deep breath, “We had a disagreement, when I brought you back.” Mayday didn’t jump, he didn’t even turn, but Crosshair could feel all his attention diverted to him the moment he opened his mouth. “It resulted in an… early termination, for him, and a jail cell here for me.” He took another deep breath, wishing to himself that Mayday wouldn’t hear the way it shook. “Thought you died, thought he left you there.”
“Thought you left,” Mayday grunted, a body fell and the trooper behind them called for them to move back again. He turned and pinned him with his gaze again, “Thought they killed you rather than bring you here for insubordination, like me.”
Crosshair could see Echo fiddling with a panel, Hunter guarding him and Omega against the corner. They were almost free. He could say it now, he had to. As soon as they were out of here he would lose his courage, this place terrified him, but here was Mayday, just like Hunter, just like Omega, fighting to get him out.
He could say it.
Just say it.
“I wouldn’t have left your side, if they had given me the choice.”
Close enough.
Mayday grinned, finally. A quirk of half his mouth, wry and sassy and just as dry as he was. He got it, surely he got it.
“And now?”
“I’m still holding the rear with you, aren’t I? Even if I have no blaster to do anything remotely useful with.” Crosshair quipped.
The reg laughed, something brittle about him finally shaking loose, like when the Aiwha breached and shook the water from their heads. Free. Soaring. Himself again.
Behind them, Echo made a noise of triumph and the door wooshed open, Zinger and his men clearing the area as everyone filed in. Mayday and Crosshair were last, holding the newly opened doors against incoming stormtroopers, few as they were.
“All the other emergencies seem to be taking precedence over the fleeing test subjects,” Crosshair scoffed, “Lucky us.”
Mayday hummed, “Lucky us indeed.” and Crosshair couldn’t help but feel they were talking about two different things, “Get on the transport, Crosshair.”
He stalled, “Regs first.”
The glare the other clone leveled at him was enough to draw him up short. He’d never seen Mayday look legitimately angry in the short time they spent together. The man had always been as relaxed and carefree as his shitty station allowed, even with the dry humor and snide remarks. Now though, that glare could make the taskmasters of Kamino flinch.
Crosshair dropped his voice, cowed, “I didn’t leave you in the snow, what makes you think I would leave you here?”
Mayday paused, “No blaster, no opinion. Get on the transport.” He grinned, “I’m right behind ya.”
Zinger himself stood on the loading ramp, counting and recounting as everyone filed in, confirming everyone was there. He slammed the button and called up to the pilots, the transport tearing away from the compound and into the sky.
Collapsing onto the jump seats, Mayday let out a breathless laugh, looking up at the towering form of his companion. Crosshair was standing, swaying dangerously and tucking an arm to his chest protectively. Mayday frowned and reached out. He set a gentle hand on the tucked limb, and Crosshair flinched.
“Adrenaline is wearing off,” he moved slightly, showing Mayday the stub where his wrist ended a little too high up his singed blacks. “Stings just a bit.”
A sharp gasp saw Mayday back on his feet and crowding Crosshair into a quiet corner of the cramped ship, hand darting under a jump seat for the medical bag stashed there.
“The hells happened?” He hissed.
Crosshair grinned wryly, “Tantiss.” Mayday just growled at him in response, earning him a chuckle.
He cleaned the wound with the sharp stinging antiseptic and gauze pads, running the liquid itself into the deeper parts of the wound and causing Crosshair to flinch and hiss.
“Sorry.” Mayday mumbled, pressing an absent minded kiss just above the newly cleaned wound as he set about with the bacta wraps. “Not much for a stub, but we can get some bacta and a tight wrap on it-“ He froze, as if just realizing what he had done, looking up at the taller clone.
“Guess I don’t have to ask then,” Crosshair quipped.
“Ask what?”
“If my medic knows how to kiss it better.” his face was scarlet as he said it, a blotchy blush spread from his ears down his neck. Mayday wondered if it stopped there or ran all the way under his blacks and down his chest.
He groaned, rolling his eyes and turning back to Crosshair's missing hand, finishing the bandages neatly and tightly.
Crosshair cleared his throat, and Mayday leaned in slow. When the taller clone didn’t back away, he pressed his nose to the hinge of his jaw, “Never thought I'd get to do this, with how prickly you were, but you carried my sorry carcass back to that base for a reason, didn't you?”
“Sounds like you already have an answer.” Crosshair hedged, leaning his head back.
“Tell me.” His beard tickled and scratched as he spoke, pressing the words into Crosshair’s overheated skin. His breath didn’t catch or stutter, he didn’t need to take an extra minute before speaking, the man hadn’t effected him that deeply.
Liar. Crosshair was such a liar. He’d thought of this too long.
“Make me,” he challenged, just to feel that growl pressed right against his jugular. He groaned as Mayday pressed a kiss to his jumping pulse, open mouthed, and bit. It was barely a nip but Crosshair’s knees went weak as Mayday licked the sting from the gesture and kissed again.
“Maybe when you're healed up right, Crosshair.” He pulled back, hands on Crosshair’s belt, his hips, holding him steady in this quiet corner all their own.
“I couldn't leave you behind because you're… Different.” It was said in a rush and a stagger, “like us, you don't go down easy.”
Mayday grinned fondly, “You'll find that's true for a lot of troopers.”
“Not like that,” he shook his head, “not like you. The rest of the regs we rescued today, they're not like you.”
“Each and every one of them is just like me, Crosshair.” The trooper looked him dead in the eye, holding it for a minute before grinning easily, “You're just finally slowing down enough to see it.”
Crosshair scoffed as Mayday moved to put away the medkit. Not thinking much about it, he reached out to catch his jumper and pull him back, but he reached with the wrong hand. His stump fell short of so much as brushing his retreating back, long fingers and broad palm missing where he could still feel the phantom of them. As such, he was forced to either speak up or watch the man walk away.
As he opened his mouth to speak, to call out, Mayday came back with a blanket and shoved him over to one of the few open jump seats, “Bugger over, you overgrown carrion bird. We’re sharing.”
The two passed out, curled up together, and all Crosshair could think in that slow space between awake and asleep was that he hoped Mayday would like Pabu as much as the rest of his brothers do.