Work Text:
Not Quite Gone
Lady JaRuc
A blue shadow moved around Pabu Island. Now and then, someone would catch a glimpse of it but dismiss the shadow as nothing when he or she actually turned to look for it.
Being careful not to be seen by anyone was a trying task for someone who’d never been a ghost before. Tech imagined dying meant one ceased to exist. His body fell through thick clouds that thankfully covered the subsequent landing so Omega and Wrecker would not live with that imagine burned into their memories…or hearts.
They missed him.
If the brainy brother could quantify missing someone into a mathematical solution then he knew if he compared his amount of missing his family to their amount of missing him, then his amount would be far greater than theirs.
They missed, mourned, and remembered only one person—himself. But Tech missed all of his brothers and little sister. He had never been good at expressing emotions or even showing how he felt through tender touching action, but as he once told Omega, that didn’t mean he cared any less.
His body might be a rotting corpse on Eriadu but he seemed to be in some ghostly form now. How was this possible? Was becoming a ghost a real thing? Of course, there seemed to be no one else like him hanging around to ask. That quite irritated Tech. He simply had no way to learn how to act.
In lieu of how to be a ghost, he sighed and set himself to a new task: he would become the master of himself since no one else was around to tell him if there were rules or taboos to this ghost job.
Part of his learning would be to explore the island and find a suitable place to reside. He already knew he no longer needed to sleep or eat. Bodily functions were no longer an issue. Though he depended on his armor during wartime, he did wonder if he could shed it and perhaps be more comfortable. Again, he sighed. Comfort was no longer something to achieve. He was now as he died. Unless he learned something that change his theory on the subject, he reasoned he would remain in his armor.
* * * *
“Hunter, can you bend this wood, you think?” A clone that Tech didn’t recognize spoke to Hunter about a carpentry job they were working on. Despite the fact all clones began as copies of one man, each developed his individual personality as he matured. That led to changes in hair, tattoos, all sorts of markers that soon made that man an individual and not a copy. Most clones found names for themselves. But in this particular case, Tech had never met this clone.
He left his oldest brother and work mate to seek others in his family. Moving was different now that no one could see him. If he were not observant then someone might walk right through him! That was a most disconcerting experience.
* * * *
Wrecker sat at the edge of a short, weathered dock, talking to a little. In Kaminoan terms, the child would soon be old enough to be a cadet. However, at the moment, the child appeared to be in some distress. Wrecker sat with the little boy tucked against his side, his right ear close enough to hear whatever the child was saying.
Tech moved up next to the pair. Knowing himself to be invisible—an irksome condition—he used it shamelessly to listen in at times. Wrecker might be the biggest clone Tech had ever seen but his brother had the biggest, most compassionate heart as well, something the Kaminoans certainly didn’t nurture.
“They bully me, Mr. wrecker,” the little said, his face filled more with sadness than fear. “They want to copy my numbers homework.”
“Cause they don’t know how to do numbers or cause they’re lazy?” Wrecker asked, his face always turned to the child. Perhaps that was because his left eye was gone as well as the hearing on that side. Tech shook his head, knowing why his brother sat like that. He cared.
“I think…” the child began.
Sitting next to the little boy, Tech observed the faraway expression that settled over the small face. The head turned to one side as if the child were listening?
“Perhaps the leader does not know how to do the numbers as well as you. Might you help him? Be a tutor? Win his trust first,” Tech said, whispering, not sure if the child could possibly hear anything he said.
Just then the boy returned to the day, the dock, and the man sitting next to him. The flesh and blood man, not the one that wished he was as real.
“Mr. Wrecker, I think Johan might need some help with his numbers. We’re just learning how to put them together to make bigger numbers. Maybe he hasn’t figured out how to do that yet.”
“Ya gotta stand up for yourself though, little guy. Yeah.” Wrecker rubbed the back of his head. “Ya might get poked in the nose, but NO is a powerful word especially when ya offer help. But ya have a good idea. Ya gotta make that other kid think it’s his idea though…ya helping him. Like punishing ya, making ya help him.”
“That’s a great idea! And I think I know just how to do it.” The little boy wiggled with excitement. Jumping up, he threw his short arms around Wrecker’s neck and squeezed in gratitude. “Thanks, Mr. Wrecker. See ya later!” And off the little went, his legs pumping, his face aglow with purpose.
Wrecker remained seated. He clasped his hands in front of him and cast a wistful gaze out over the tranquil bay. “Did I do good, Tech?”
Not far away, Tech’s ghostly form jumped. His heart pounded furiously for an instant, thinking—hoping—his brother might actually see him. But his hope faded immediately.
“I miss ya. Yeah, I didn’t always listen, but ya always had an answer for every problem. I tried to think like you just now. I wanted to help the kid like you might have.” Wrecker sighed as if he might have failed.
“Oh, Wrecker. You far surpass me in matters of empathy and the heart. Don’t be like me. You are perfect as you are.”
Tech stood and dared—did he dare touch his brother? What might happen? He’d never tried that before, but this big man needed to know he’d passed on something invaluable to the child. Daring much, hoping for much, Tech did as Hunter always did. He let his gloved hand rest on Wrecker’s shoulder.
A warm sensation grew where the two met.
“You offered that child hope, Wrecker. Hope for the future. Not fear. Something brighter than today. You could have done nothing more precious.”
Wrecker sighed, raised his head, and let his limited sight travel from one side of the bay to the other. It wasn’t that he’d felt Tech’s presence per se but more that his heart was lighter. He’d helped someone, and it hadn’t required his muscles. A sweet smile spread across his large scarred face. With a seemingly renewed view of the day, he stood, shook himself, and turned to go.
Tech had moved beyond his brother, already off the dock, but he turned when he heard Wrecker stop. Intrigued as to what the man might be doing, the ghostly Batcher gasped softly when Wrecker whispered, “Thanks, Tech.”
Tech remained still as a statue as his brother passed him and vanished among the others working nearby.
An invisible tear rolled down a pale cheek. Tech raised a hand and held one intact drop on the fingertip of his glove. He might be gone but Wrecker hadn’t forgotten him.
* * * *
Being invisible often became embarrassing when you wandered into places uninvited. Tech had no data pad to keep himself busy, so he often popped into workshops after hours, exploring what others were doing.
On more than one occasion he encountered trysts. Not illegal ones. Simply couples who delighted in being intimate in unusual places. Once it was the local cabinet maker and his wife—parents of three active children. After lights out, the couple adjourned to the business workshop at the back of their property for some high-powered sex. Tech naturally walked in right as they simultaneously reached their orgasms. If he had still lived, Tech assured his boggled mind that he would have promptly suffered a heart attack from embarrassment.
After that, he saved his visits to such places for well after midnight. Knowing several of his brothers and their inclinations to enjoy company for a healthy sexual workout, he wouldn’t have been surprised to walk in on Hunter or Crosshair. He reasoned that scenario was not one he wanted to ever witness, so he took care to wander judiciously.
* * * *
Hunter often worried Tech. The man carried burdens he shouldn’t, and that colored his existence in an unhealthy way. His older brother, head of the squad and family, carried a load of responsibility. A load that he could lay down now as the Batch were settled and Omega grew older in a safe place. The former sergeant was getting better about accepting responsibility for himself and not so much for other adults in his family.
Echo and Wrecker seemed to deal with life more openly than the youngest and oldest of his brothers. Tech had missed so much of their lives after his death.
Omega—well, she was in a class by herself as far as Tech was concerned. Years later when she flew for the Rebellion, he stayed by her side…just in case she needed a reminder of what to do in a tight situation. While he kept tabs on her, he worried about her far less than his brothers.
If Tech was honest—which he always was—he worried about Crosshair the most.
Crosshair carried guilt, wore it like he used to wear his blacks. Close and constant. He was always a dark character. His sniper training left him as a lone being. The Kaminoans tried to create a deadly killer, one who needed no one. And with Crosshair, their experiments succeeded more than they did with any of the other brothers.
Tech always suspected that Hunter’s senses and his own intelligence were present at conception. The long necks realized that they were different and turned them into science experiments. He also theorized that for whatever reason, Wrecker was a bigger than usual baby. The Kaminoans simply worked on what was already there. No training could improve on his, Hunter’s, or Wrecker’s natural born abilities. Experimentation may have promoted those talents, but the cost to the cadets they were and the soldiers they became was at too big a cost, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Crosshair, though, seemed to be a regular if lankier clone though his file did indicate his vision was perfect at birth. Even his looks were different so he fit into the Batch well. However, the long necks did surgery to enhance his vision. Surgeries until General Shaak Ti put a stop to their incessant drive to make his vision better. Tech was of the firm opinion that sooner or later, his silver-haired brother would have returned from surgery blinded then been decommissioned. Killed in other words. It didn’t take his batch long to realize that decommissioned meant a clone was defective to the point of uselessness. So that clone was killed, discarded as a failed experiment.
So, while each brother carried a weight about something on his heart, Crosshair didn’t see his redemption as being final. His brothers did. They knew he’d never turn from the right path ever again.
The problem was, Crosshair didn’t know that. He saw each day as a struggle. A challenge. To be better than the man he was even before the Empire and most especially better than the man he became under the influence of the Empire. Knowing he was controlled by a chip made no difference to him. The man saw himself as strong, self-sufficient. Someone who should have known better and done better.
Tech and his brothers had seen very up close and personal how no one under the influence of the chip could control himself. Wrecker went to the dark side when his chip turned on. If not for a well-placed stun shot, he would have killed them all and walked away thinking he was a good soldier for obeying orders.
So, breaking free of the chip’s influence wasn’t something Cross could have done on his own. However, the effects did wear thin apparently, and traumatic developments helped free his brother. A seeming contradiction but one the family accepted.
That left Tech’s grumpy brother with guilt. He saw no hope for a better life without swimming in guilt every hour of every day. Tech knew that hope came in many forms. That action fueled such an emotion. And emotions were never Crosshair’s strong point.
Seeing Wrecker happier because of his attention, the pilot/engineer brother sought out Crosshair. Upon arriving on Pabu, knowing they were leaving the defunct GAR and the rising Empire behind, each man looked for a way to keep busy. More importantly not only busy and productive but each looked for that one thing that would make him happy.
Crosshair found a way to be useful that didn’t involve adults with their stupid questions and comments. As awkward as the sniper’s relationship with Omega had started, they were now as close—at times closer—than her and Hunter. In Tech’s mind that said a lot.
Each child should know how to swim, seeing as the residents lived on an island, and many made a decent living off the sea. But ofttimes, fathers were out fishing for a living, while mothers took care of homes and children. When the Batchers settled, Cross eventually saw a need he could fill. So, he became a swimming instructor. For children. He’d take a few of cadet age but only if they didn’t act like him.
Tech had chuckled when one youngster asked about lessons but gave Cross a hard time about what the lessons entailed. The youngest Batcher immediate informed the young man that he and the instructor were too much alike and would clash constantly. Neither would be happy nor accomplish the goal of learning to swim.
In his determination to keep children safe by teaching them how to swim, he also wanted each one to appreciate the beauty of water. That was something—fear—that Crosshair had overcome. Initially he saw a deep darkness in the water that pulled a person down, perhaps seeing a reflection of himself. Hunter taught him the beauty of water, its gentle glow. Hunter had taught them all to swim, but for Cross, it was life-changing experience.
If only Tech could help him see the beauty and easy glow of a mind clear of guilt and filled with personal hope.
* * * *
“Practice, Winnie. Over and over. Every day. Every chance,” Cross said as he took a knee beside the three-year-old. A larger than expected wave had bowled the young one over and left her running to Crosshair’s side for comfort.
“I hope another big wave don’t come,” she whimpered from the shelter of his arm. Her gaze swept the incoming ripples, perhaps searching for another wave that might knock her down hard enough that she swallowed salt water.
“I hope one comes along that you conquer,” said her instructor. When she shot him a raised eyebrow glance of fear, he explained. “How tall are you?”
Timidly, the child raised her hand and put it on the top of her head. “This tall.”
“And how big was that wave that knocked you over?”
“As tall as you,” she said emphatically, her head bobbing up and down, her hand trying to reach the top of Crosshair’s head.
“Would it have scared me?”
“No, sir!”
“Why not?” Cross asked as if he didn’t understand.
“Because you’re big.”
“What kind of wave would take me down, do you think?”
She had to think. “One a lot taller than you. Maybe like that sea surge Mama told me about. I was a baby, but Mama said everyone ran for high ground, including your family.”
“Yes, I would have run too if I’d been here. We have to grow into our waves, Winnie. If we are little, we—you—can handle small waves, but as you grow, you’ll move away from those small ones and seek out larger ones, hoping you can still be standing after it passes. We always hope for the best and practice that hope every day.”
Winnie turned into Cross’s chest and slipped both arms around his neck. They stayed like that as Tech waded out and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Listen to yourself, Crosshair. Hope for the best each day. Leave your worst self behind, and each day will get better. But like swimming, you must practice that hope every day. Not reflect on the past what-ifs but the future what-ifs. You are strong, but you will become stronger by being a good example of hoping for the best. Actively working on being the best rather than grovel in what can’t be changed. And always remember that you are loved now as you were then.”
Cross sighed and set the little one gently from him. His expression confused his student though.
“Are you sad, Mr. Cross?”
Rather than lie like he might have once upon a time, he chuckled a tiny bit and gathered her hand, walking them both onto dry sand, Tech walking with them, next to the little girl. He was curious as to what his brother would say.
“I was thinking of my brother.”
“Which one? You have a lot,” the child said, holding up her chubby fingers as she named them. “There’s Mr. Hunter and Mr. Wrecker. And Mr. Echo comes home a lot.” She paused and propped her hands on her hips. “Which one?” she asked again.
“My brother Tech. He came to the island when you were a baby. But he was killed during the war.” Crosshair sighed again. He sank to the sand and sat cross-legged like he did for meditations. Patting a spot beside him, she sat, both silent. Tech took a knee next to his brother, wondering what Crosshair would say next.
“He talked all the time. He was really smart too. Made my head hurt sometimes.”
Winnie giggled and rubbed her head in sympathy.
Cross grinned softly at her and continued, “But he made sense when one of us needed to hear it. He didn’t talk about hope much, but he knew that once a person decided to do something that he had to practice.”
“Like we do during my swimming lesson.” Winnie held out both arms and pulled them back and forward as if she were in the water.
“Exactly. I could almost hear him say that we have to also practice being hopeful.”
Tech beamed, glad his words came through.
“Hopeful? What does that even mean?” Winnie asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.
Cross snorted a tiny smile. “You sound just like Omega when you ask that.” He raised his legs, crossed at the ankles, and clasped his hands over his knees. “I think it means to trust that what we want will happen. You want to best those waves.” He flicked a hand out toward the water. “You hope to be a better swimmer tomorrow than you are today, right?” Winnie nodded gravely. Cross continued, “I hope I’m a better person tomorrow than I am today.” He shrugged his shoulders, wondering why it was so much easier to say such things to a child than to his family.
“Winnie!”
The little girl shot a quick glance behind Crosshair’s back. “It’s Daddy.” She waved then jumped up. Before she even grabbed her towel, she gave Crosshair a fierce hug. “You’re the best, Mr. Cross, and you’ll be the bestest even more tomorrow.” With that dramatic statement, she dashed over the sand into her father’s arms.
“She’ll be back tomorrow, Crosshair. Thanks, and have a good evening.” The father carried his daughter off, leaving her instructor alone on the sand. Well, not entirely alone though Cross didn’t know that.
“You were so damn brilliant you made my teeth hurt. Ever wonder why I chewed up so many toothpicks. Kept me from saying rude things to you.” Crosshair chuckled, something he allowed himself to do only in private. “I never figured you using the H word—hope. What hope did we have during the war? We probably hoped the end would be a clean shot through the head or chest plate. Once upon a time, I hoped my family would take me back.” He leaned forward and rubbed his chin over his wrists. “I guess they did.” He said it like it was a surprise he’d just realized. “Guess I need to find something new to hope for.” He hung his head, resting his forehead on his wrists now. “Is it too much to hope that I’m a better man than the day before? That hope replaces this karkin’ guilt I’m carrying? Everyone’s forgiven me, even that damn Jedi kid I tried to kill. This feeling is like an anchor, dragging me down.”
“Cut the line, Crosshair. Sail into your future free and full of hope. You are a strong man. You can do this,” Tech whispered.
Crosshair shook himself as a shiver of unknown origin passed over him. “I’ll try,” he said as he stood, grabbed his own towel, and marched off the beach, his steps, his attitude a bit lighter.
Tech went from one knee to sitting cross-legged on the sand. He remained there a long time, a contented smile on his face.