Chapter Text
“That’s not fair.”
Her eyes are bright with young fury, unflinching in her defiance, like this new act of rebellion would waver his tone. He doesn’t falter, unwilling to give in to something so naive.
“It was dangerous, and reckless, Omega you know this–”
Words spurring further, heat tightening and coiling in his chest. He can feel his impatience rear like an animal, the urge to yell louder as if that would somehow make his point clear. She had grown, now– in the spell of months between their permanent stay on the island. They all had, in some sense. The nightmare of the past had quieted. All the friction between their trauma lessened. And yet Omega was, and continued to be, one of Hunter’s biggest enigmas.
He could scarcely forget how subdued they’d been upon returning to the island. The scraps of normalcy they’d somehow managed to establish the weeks before slipping between the cracks of the very thing they couldn’t outrun. The mayor had welcomed them back with open arms, and Phee just as so, but the shift was self-evident. And their own pain, self-serving. It took weeks for Crosshair to look him in the eye. Weeks for Omega to get through one night without waking him up with nightmares. They salvaged the broken pieces as much as they were able. Forcing themselves into rigid routine just for the sake of its familiarity. As a soldier, he was sure it was the only thing that maintained his sanity. His pain had always been something he carried, something he put to sleep each night.
His little family stitched back together, settling into their respective niches with as much zeal as animals in cages. Wrecker spent most of his daylight pouring himself into the physical work, unrelenting in his determination to help rebuild after the sea surge. Crosshair, rather– haunted the house like a ghost, when he wasn’t sprawled across the furniture with some faraway look in his eye, a cigarette hanging between bone dry lips, he was furiously scrubbing his weaponry, taking each gun apart to its very bolts and seams, cloth oil-stained and overworked.
Hunter felt like a wound.
Peace was never secure. It had always felt like this unattainable commodity, an unchecked pipe dream, something only those without the war could wish for. And there was some part of him that worried for the consequences of settling down, of what putting down roots really meant . Life had been easier when he could run from any conceivable danger a man could face. But even now, being so far removed from the action, he still felt battle-itching and ready. The calm before a storm.
And it seemed Omega did too.
She had grown, even more than he remembered. Hard pressed to notice time passing without its palpable signs. The baby fat had lessened from her face, she was taller– leaner. When before, she was barely taller than his waist, she now had sprouted a few inches, tally marks scratched into a sign post just outside of Shep’s home. You’ll be as tall as me one day, kid! Wrecker had cheered, the burly man hoisting her up over his shoulder with her surprised yet not unbidden yelp.
But in the months gone and fleeting, (It had been… what, almost 6 since that wretched day?) The small family, dare he call it, had every sort of trouble that came with getting comfortable with a life they had never known. The stillness, he learned, was something that they just had to get used to. Not that he would want anything else.
So that is why, now– one of Pabu’s many moons barely kissing the ocean beneath the island, the rough crack of bird calls into the open air, the night is sourly interrupted by two mischief-filled young girls. Shoulders hunched, from shame of feeling sorry or shame of being caught, Hunter couldn’t tell. But that didn’t unscramble his brain any further. He had been thrusted from a deep sleep merely 10 minutes ago, and anger, fear of her safety, and exhaustion were all crossing their wires.
“We didn’t go out that far! The tide was low when we checked–!”
“ It’s the middle of the night, Omega–”
He stresses, voice bordering on the edge of some sort of plea. The Mayor Shep stands beside him, brows drawn low, the man waking up from the ruckus just as the rest of them did. The man had the patience of a saint– and that was something Hunter would be forever grateful for, because he was sure he too neared the end of his rope.
It wasn’t a surprise most of the house had woken up. The girls weren’t exactly subtle. And the rest of them were tightly packed. With most of the housing on the island decimated in the disaster, privacy and separation were seldom granted. Most of the villagers and refugees were almost 15 to a home, Shep being kind enough to share even his own home with the squad upon returning from Tantiss.
Hunter didn’t know what he did to deserve that man’s kindness. The sea surge– then the Empire… and yet he barely raised his voice. Welcomed them back without any voiced complaint. It was, and still, has taken the small community months to recover from such a thing. Limited resources scrambling to preserve life with too little to go around. They’d been hard pressed to find the space anyway, and yet Shep shot down Hunter every single time he attempted to repay his kindness.
The sergeant knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
So when the door shook open and muttered frantic voices reached his sensitive ears, he was out of his cot and into the living room in the seconds only a soldier could accomplish. Shep stumbling in only a few minutes later.
“It wasn’t our fault.”
She scoffs, and this new tone she takes– attitude, bold enough to think, unsettles him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, but fighting was something they’d been doing more often lately. Hunter didn't know why . She seemed to push every boundary, something she never did maliciously before they’d settled here.
Not that Omega was ever malicious, but her tone took this vexing air. Like she was fighting with him just to fight with him.
“Lyana? Do you have anything to say?”
Shep asks, voice characteristically even and neutral, trying to rein Hunter back in from the circular argument they were dissolving into.
She scrunches her nose, the both of them standing there, soaking wet, shaking, giving each other a long look that Hunter cannot for the life of him discern. She speaks after a moment, voice soft.
“It was an accident–”
“What is going on–?”
Hunter turns before he watches Crosshair emerge from the adjacent bedroom– the one he was sharing with Wrecker, no doubt woken from the commotion. The man is leaning against the hallway, dressed down in nothing more than sleep clothes, eyes glinting against the cool-toned, flickering kitchen lights. His gaze moves between them, raw and nothing if not pissed off, before landing on Hunter.
He releases a breath, forcing calm into his frazzled thoughts. “It’s… the kids thought it would be a good idea to take the Mayor’s boat out in the middle of the night. And crashed it in the reef. ”
He says flatly, arms crossed. Crosshair blinks, turning to glance at the two girls standing in the entryway. He doesn’t respond, but his chin tilts upward, studying the both of them with an air of indifference.
Omega has the decency to appear more guilty, turning her face away to the further wall. Lyana doesn’t move, and Hunter wonders if she’s close to tears.
Omega sucks in a breath, finding more strength in her argument at Crosshair’s interruption.
“We didn’t mean to–”
“You should not have been going out at this time of night in the first place.”
Hunter snaps, quickly speaking over her with the gripe of an angry parent. He feels his ears warm as Crosshair snickers, waving noncommittally toward the two girls.
“...Seriously? Could this not wait until morning?”
Hunter bites his tongue to prevent his ire turning to his brother instead, sighing long and hard. No, he supposes it should. There was nothing he could hope to accomplish tonight anyway. Aside from being cold, wet, and tired, the two girls were relatively unharmed. But that doesn’t stop him from pointing out the obvious:
“They could have been seriously hurt.”
This, at least, Crosshair doesn’t refute. The man stays silent, head tilted slightly as he takes in the scene. They were lucky the whole house didn’t wake up. And that Wrecker is a deep sleeper.
“Perhaps Crosshair is right.” Shep adds softly, “We’ll address it in the morning, when you both have cleaned up and had a night’s rest.”
The room lingers in an uneasy quiet, the only sounds the faint dripping of water from their wet clothes and the distant whistle of night wind outside. The two girls glance between all their faces, before returning stubbornly to the floor. He wonders how the morning will fair– wonders if sleep will give them some sort of clarity. Hunter never wanted to be overbearing to the point of it being… unnecessary, but there’s this illogical fear that almost always grips him when it comes to Omega’s, and his brother’s, safety.
The girls shuffle toward their room down the hall without another word, and when the door creaks distantly, and he is certain they are out of earshot, Shep turns toward him tiredly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“We can take out a few of the remaining fishing boats to search for debris in the morning. Perhaps it can be rectified if not salvaged for parts. The boat was… old, anyway. We can at least be grateful neither of them were seriously hurt.”
Hunter pauses for a moment, humming. “Right… in the morning.” He agrees, giving a small nod toward the Mayor as he returns back to his room down the opposite hallway. The house grows quiet once again, and Hunter pays half a mind to move toward the counter, sitting on one of the bar stools just to hold his head in his hands. He was exhausted– limp with the stress, and he sucks in a breath, barely hearing Crosshair come up across from him, tired eyes blinking into awareness as he takes in the sergeant.
“ We were twice the morons she is, at this age .”
The sniper says softly, and Hunter snaps his head up, a scowl deep and a retort ready at the insult–
Crosshair leans back, huffing softly before Hunter can voice it. “I’m joking. Hunter.”
And the sergeant just rolls his eyes, arms crossing defensively against his chest. He bristles slightly, working his jaw. Listening just a little to make sure any noises from the girl’s room had settled before attempting to continue the conversation.
“...s’not funny.”
He grumbles, but Crosshair just raises a brow, a smirk born and ready. How the man had any qualms to poke fun at him at this time of night was beyond him.
“What, already too tired of playing daddy–?”
“Oh, for fucks sake Crosshair–”
“You’re ridiculously easy to make fun of.” the sniper says plainly, stupidly, and fishes for a toothpick from his pocket, slipping the thing between dry lips with a pointed look. Hunter just glares at him, gaze catching on the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window. It was later than he thought. Time was a funny thing. Crosshair hesitates for a long moment, the silence stretching, long and winded. Before speaking again, soft with hesitance.
“She’s… arguably safer here, than she’s been her entire life. It’s… I don't know. Understandable. Her behaviour.”
Hunter perks up to look at him, brows drawing forward. It was rare, when the man would let slip his own wisdom. But Hunter also seemed to forget just the amount of time the two of them had spent on that mountain. Crosshair knew Omega better than even him, sometimes. Despite the thought igniting some sort of baseless jealousy. He swallows his pride, turning those words in his head.
“Why?”
“She’s… never had this before. Life for her was about surviving. Now she can just rebel for the fun of it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Hunter deadpans. If he doesn’t believe him, or he just finds solace in arguing with his brother, he couldn’t tell.
“You’re impossible.”
Crosshair sneers, rounding the counter with flippancy before moving back toward the bedroom. Hunter stops, words burning through his gut before he can stop them.
“—Cross.”
He barks, breathing through his teeth, all that ire slipping from his hands like water. Just as fast as it had come. The sergeant takes a moment to compose his features, softening the gritted exasperation.
“...I think she just hates me.”
Hunter says sarcastically, although with the faintest air of serious edge. Like that’s a real fear somewhere in the back of his mind. Crosshair stops in his stride, stance rigid with telling, his brother (always so stern as a sergeant) was undeniably easy to read. Crosshair sighs, crossing his arms, but doesn’t turn back around.
“…Don’t be ridiculous.” The sniper hisses, infuriated. No doubt feeling the heavy gaze of Hunter’s judgement like a weight against the back of his head. It was something he, for the better part of their lives, never seemed to get used to.
“If I’m the one who has to tell you that kid loves you,” He continues, licking his lips, the truth so plain and overt, he wasn’t sure why this was something the sergeant truly worried over. “something is seriously wrong in your head.”
And Hunter watches him retreat back into the bedroom, door closing with a whisper no louder than the crickets outside the kitchen windows.
The quietude that follows feels heavier somehow. He stays rooted in the chair, gaze fixed on the dimly lit hallway leading into the bedrooms. As if he’d see any movement there– but doesn’t. He exhales, the action purposefully drawn, dragging a hand down his face. The house is still . He reminds himself. Everyone is safe. That is supposed to be enough.
And yet as he drags himself back to his own bedroom, beating heart thudding against his chest with poignant unease, he cannot shed the consuming foreboding that settles somewhere in his mind.
Yes. The morning. He thinks. We’ll talk about it in the morning.