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The cold click of four blasters reached Crosshair’s ears as his former squad scrambled into defensive positions at his approach. Even the little girl had a weapon trained on him.
Off to a great start.
With a sigh, he removed his helmet and let it fall to the ground, kicking it away before doing the same with his rifle, his blasters, his knife. He hadn’t been this close to them since . . .
He swallowed, some unnameable pain coiling in his gut. He held up his empty hands, trying to stop them from shaking; still they refused to lower their blasters. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for being wary, though it still stung.
“How — how’d you find us?” Wrecker asked, not-so-subtly moving himself in front of the kid. Crosshair opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself as a lump formed in his throat. Seeing them all again, this near . . .
Hunter seemed to notice Crosshair’s hesitation and softened almost imperceptibly. “Stand down, men,” Hunter said, taking a few steps toward his brother. “What is it, Crosshair?”
Leaning forward, Crosshair closed the distance between them, and as soon as Hunter’s musky scent reached his nostrils, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He wrapped his arms around him and sobbed into his hair. Hunter froze, startled, but only for a second before putting one hand around Crosshair’s shoulders and the other on the back of his head. Slowly, everyone lowered their weapons.
A few moments later, Omega joined the embrace; Wrecker soon followed, squeezing them all a bit too tight, then Tech after him, and finally Echo, and Crosshair relaxed into it, safe and warm surrounded by his brothers — and his sister. “They took her,” Crosshair puled against Hunter. “They took her from me. They killed her!”
“Who?” Hunter’s grip on Crosshair tightened. “Crosshair, who did they kill?”
Crosshair raised his head and caught Hunter’s eye. “Our pup.”
A fresh flood of tears obscured Hunter’s reaction, face turned from shock to sadness. “Come on,” Hunter said. “Let’s get inside.”
Crosshair hesitated at the bottom of the Marauder’s ramp. It had been so long, too long . . .
“Come on,” Hunter urged again, voice soft and warm; Crosshair wiped at his eyes then took his brother’s outstretched hand, allowing him to lead him into the ship.
A wave of emotion crashed over him as he entered that familiar space. Trembling, he ran his hand along every surface, noting what had changed and what had stayed the same, trying and failing to hide the wobble of his lower lip. He felt as if his torso had been replaced by a gaping hole, raw-edged, darker than night, and finally he collapsed into his old bunk with his head in his hands. Hunter sat down to his right, putting an arm around his shoulders, and on his left, Tech did the same.
“How about some hot chocolate?” Wrecker asked, and, not trusting himself to speak, Crosshair simply nodded. Wrecker went off to prepare the drinks, and Crosshair put his head back in his hands and gave way to another round of tears. He hadn’t let himself cry before now. He hadn’t let himself truly feel it before now. And now, in his old ship, surrounded by his old squad, it felt as if the grief would finally swallow him whole. He had lost so much. He had lost so much time.
He buried his face in Hunter’s shoulder and held him as if for dear life as he wept, another gaping hole in his heart tearing itself open at the familiar smells of armour polish, shampoo, sweat, and that rich earthiness that was uniquely Hunter. For months he had thought that he would never again get to feel Hunter’s touch like this, a warm hand on the back of his head, a hand on the small of his back. This small gesture was endlessly comforting, as was the way Tech had draped himself over Crosshair, head resting between his shoulder blades, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Echo and Omega sat on the floor by their feet, each with a hand on one of Crosshair’s knees. He could hardly bear it. He knew he didn’t deserve such gentleness.
Wrecker returned with six steaming mugs, and Crosshair sat up, wiping his eyes. He nodded his thanks as Wrecker handed him a drink, nearly bursting into tears once more at the realization that he had mixed it with a sliver of tang bark and a healthy scoop of mallow paste — just the way Crosshair liked it. He took a sip to hide the wobble in his lower lip, relaxing as soon as that familiar taste met his tongue. It reminded him of being a cadet, back on Kamino, joining his brothers’ cuddle pile in their communal nest to unwind after a long day of training. The warmth slid down his body as he swallowed, loosening something he hadn’t even known was tensed.
They all sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, and Crosshair was grateful for the delay. He knew that they would want him to tell them everything, but he feared he would start to weep again if he spoke up now. The hot chocolate gave him the opportunity to collect himself before any more information was demanded of him.
Maybe it was just the nostalgia of the sweet treat, but Crosshair thought he could feel everyone mellowing out, creating a cosy atmosphere on the ship. He picked the tang bark from his mug and licked the liquid from it, rolling it around in his mouth, letting the spicy flavour coat his tongue. That action also helped to soothe some of his overshot nerves, and with a slow sigh he rested his head on Hunter’s shoulder once more.
“Are you feeling a little better now?” Hunter asked.
“A little,”
“Enough to tell us what happened and how you got here?”
Crosshair sighed, finishing off his hot chocolate and rolling the mug around in his hands as he bit his lip. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time.”
It had been a few weeks since Crosshair had watched his brothers flee Kamino without him, and the ache in his mating gland still hadn’t faded. He pressed on it like a bruise, tracing the overlapping teeth marks with the pad of his finger. He knew each bite by feel, could point to where each of them had bitten him with his eyes closed.
He could remember with perfect clarity the day that they had decided to mark each other. They were shinies, riding the high of completing their first successful mission together, and Wrecker had suggested it as they flew back home on the Marauder. They hardly had to discuss it before a consensus was reached — there was no question about it. They would do it as soon as they got back to their barracks on Kamino.
They were all so antsy, so eager to get their mouths on each other’s mating glands at long last, they didn’t even shower, didn’t even bother to fully remove their armour before going for it. Hunter had gone first, biting Tech, then Wrecker, then Crosshair; then Tech went next, going down the line starting with Hunter; Wrecker followed, and finally it was Crosshair’s turn. None of them ever regretted the decision, and they were more than happy to take Echo’s marks as well once he joined the squad.
Crosshair thought the marks meant something. They were all mates. And they left him behind.
He pressed down so hard that the pain made him cry out, then he relented, wiping his sweaty palms on his blacks. He knew he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t wallow in the betrayal, he shouldn’t provoke himself, he shouldn’t try to make it worse. And yet he couldn’t help it, not when his mating gland throbbed in protest every waking moment he was separated from his brothers, not when the heat suppressants the Empire gave him made him feel so empty.
He wasn’t sure that was the only issue, though . . .
Fully dressing himself, he pulled aside one of the tiny medical assistant droids, admonishing it for crying out in surprise when he grabbed it. “If I ask you to run some tests on me off the record, can you do it?”
“I am equipped with the capability to perform various kinds of — ”
“Great. I want a pregnancy test.”
The droid blinked, silent for a beat. “But CT-9904, you are on heat suppressants. The likelihood of a pregnancy occurring while such drugs are in your system is — ”
“Test me anyway,” Crosshair crossed his arms. If he was pregnant, he would have conceived before the war ended. Before he went on suppressants. The drugs didn’t matter.
“Very well. I can return here with the proper materials in just a few minutes.”
“Hurry. And don’t say anything about this to anyone.”
The droid left, and Crosshair paced the empty room nervously, taking out a toothpick to chew on while he waited. Finally it returned, pushing a cart of medical equipment before it, and took a sample of Crosshair’s blood before putting it in some analyzing device. A few minutes later, the results came back —
Positive.
It was positive. Crosshair . . .
Crosshair was pregnant.
He swallowed. “Test me again.”
“Why?”
“I want to make sure.”
“Kaminoan medical equipment is state of the art and rarely — ”
“Just do it, droid!”
The second test also came back positive.
He put a hand to his belly with a small gasp, swallowing down the urge to cry. He was pregnant. He was pregnant with one of his brothers’ pups and he was all alone here. They had left him here! And he had —
“CT-9904, are you feeling all right?”
He growled, “I’m fine.”
The droid continued, unfazed. “I do not think that I have encountered a pregnant clone before. Nala Se will want to know of this,”
“No!” Crosshair snarled. “You tell no one.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t,” Crosshair clutched his stomach with one hand and subtly reached for his blaster with the other. “I’m not sure they would like it.”
“Then I should really tell — ”
Pew. He shot the droid, then shot it again for good measure, then put it and all the medical equipment in a bag, brought it outside, and threw it into the ocean. He then slumped to the ground, not caring about the rain pelting his body, and put his head in his hands. He felt sick. To carry a part of his old squad with him even after they abandoned him for an outlaw’s life . . .
They were a family, and they chose wrong, chose that girl over him. And now he faced motherhood without them.
Faced motherhood without them as an Imperial agent.
He didn’t know what to do. He was angry, angry at his brothers for betraying him, but not angry enough to feel anything but love for his unborn pup. He had certainly had his fair share of fantasies about settling down with the squad after the war, of little bare feet pitter-pattering over hardwood floors, of laughter ringing through a cosy little house — a home for the five of them. He and Tech had wondered between them how many pregnancies each would be willing to endure before they had had enough: Tech was as frightened of the process as he was fascinated by it, spending late nights scouring the holonet for any and all information on the topic that he could gather, while Crosshair liked the idea of it — the intimacy of building a living being within one’s own body, made up of parts of oneself and one’s love. Maybe they were both drawn to the topic because they were clones — they had no mother; no pregnancy was involved in their creation. It seemed an almost more miraculous way to come into the galaxy than being made in a lab.
He had always figured that he would have more time to figure out exactly how he felt about it before he actually had to face pregnancy, but now — he may never get another chance to carry a pup from one of his brothers. He would make the most of it.
And when he began to show and would no longer be able to hide his condition? Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He couldn’t be more than a few weeks into it; he had time to figure out a course of action.
In the meantime, he would simply feel. He sat in the rain, completely unmoving, waves and waves of emotion crashing over him, anger and hurt and sadness and fear and confusion and excitement and things he had no name for but which threatened to tear him apart from the inside out, churning violently in his gut. He wished Hunter was here. For the umpteenth time since their paths diverged, Crosshair wished he had Hunter by his side, wished he could nuzzle against him, play with his hair, just feel the warm, reassuring presence of alpha. His alpha. Or if not Hunter, he would take the weight of Echo’s body on top of his, or one of Wrecker’s backbreaking hugs — any of his alphas would do. He just needed someone to comfort him, to celebrate with him, to assure him that they would get their happily ever after. But he was all alone here where nothing was certain. Fuck, he missed his brothers. His mates.
CT-9904, report to the medbay immediately.
Crosshair deflated at the PA system’s summons, reluctantly setting aside his lunch. Vice Admiral Rampart and Nala Se were waiting for him; no surprise there. More of those tests and experiments they so loved doing on him, he supposed. “Ah, good,” Rampart nodded to Crosshair and gestured to Nala Se, who turned to grab some medical equipment. “Have a seat. Mistress Se is going to take a blood sample. Nothing to worry about.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Crosshair raised an eyebrow but obeyed, holding his arm out for the blood draw. Rampart’s eyes scanned him up and down, and, keeping his face as neutral as he could, he sucked his stomach in, hoping that the action combined with his posture would be enough to hide the baby bump that had just started to be noticeable. Nala Se took the blood sample and went somewhere else to run whatever diagnostics she usually did; Rampart told Crosshair that he was free to go, but not an hour later, he was called into the vice admiral’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Rampart tossed a datapad across his desk for Crosshair to see. It was his lab results, including . . .
A positive pregnancy test.
Crosshair’s mouth went dry. When he looked back up at Rampart, the man had a sad smile on his face.
“Naughty boy. You shouldn’t have hidden that from me,” Rampart shook his head and tutted. “We found the droid you shot, by the way. Given the timing of the droid’s disappearance, you must be into your second trimester by now. Did you really think that you could keep a pregnancy secret from us? And what were you planning on doing with the pup?”
“I . . . ” Crosshair could hardly speak.
“It’s no matter. It will be dealt with,” Rampart said, pressing a button on his desk. On cue, a door opened, giving way to a medical assistant droid holding a syringe full of some clear liquid. Instinctively, Crosshair backed up.
“What is that? What are you going to do?”
“I am going to get you an abortion.”
Crosshair whimpered despite himself, looking around desperately for another out. “But I don’t want an abortion.”
Rampart shook his head. “The Empire cannot have pregnant soldiers, CT-9904. That’s a liability.”
“Please!” He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose all he had left of his brothers.
“I assume your former squad leader is the father — CT-9901, was it? My friend, your continued attachment to those traitors has made you a liability. Do you expect me to do nothing about that?”
“You can’t do this to me!” He grabbed the droid and threw it at Rampart, making a mad dash for the door. Troopers met him, and before he could react, four stun blasts hit him simultaneously. “No . . . ” He swayed, struggling to keep his eyes open. “No. Please,”
“Bad choice,” Rampart said from behind him. “You’ll pay for that.”
He collapsed.
Crosshair awoke in the medbay. He groaned, closing his eyes against the harsh lights, head throbbing. Four blasts . . . he would be feeling that for days.
Everything came back. He gasped, attempting to snap upright only to find himself secured to the bed by his wrists and ankles. He could feel a bandage around his shoulder and throat, and everything in his pelvic region felt raw and sore. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” He struggled uselessly against his bonds.
“Ah, CT-9904. You’re awake,” Rampart leaned over him with a smug smirk. “The abortion was successful. While you were out, I took the liberty of having them remove your mate marks, as well. Frankly, I should have done this ages ago. No more distractions . . . ” He traced a finger over Crosshair’s bandaged gland.
“Fuck you!” Crosshair spat, still tugging at his restraints. “Monster!”
“Call me a monster if you like,” Rampart sighed. “This is for your own good, clone.”
“You killed my pup! Murderer!”
“Sedate him,” Rampart ordered.
“No! You won’t get away with this! Let me go, you monster! Fuck y — ”
Sleep came once more.
It took Crosshair an infuriatingly long time to heal. Losing his pup and all four mate bonds in one fell swoop took its toll on him, as did all the stunning and sedation he had endured. They kept him in a cell for most of it — for his own good, as Rampart liked to say. Not that he was really well enough to make a run for it, anyway. The sudden loss of his bonds left his body in a state of confusion, plagued by random aches and pains, intense full-body spasms, and an ever-present feeling in his chest as if something was eating him from the inside out. It took at least six days for his symptoms to lessen to a point that made him able to function again, and much longer for them to fully disappear. He also had to deal with pain and bleeding out of his uterus which made certain bodily functions . . . difficult. He had never felt so poorly in his life.
Alone in a cell for weeks, Crosshair had plenty of time to think and to feel. First came the anger: oh, he was livid. To have this taken from him, so suddenly, with no regard for his feelings on the matter! As soon as he got out of here, he decided, he would kill Rampart for doing this to him. He fantasized about all the different ways he could go about it — a blaster shot to the head or heart would get the job done quickly, but where was the fun in that? Poisoning him would ensure that his death would be slow and painful, but it was too impersonal. No, he wanted it to be invasive, hands-on. If he stabbed him, now that would be a much more intimate death, much more satisfying. He could slit his throat, even. Something that would get him up close and personal.
Intermingled with his all-consuming rage came bouts of deep depression. He had lost everything — his squad, his status as their mate, his pup — and nothing seemed to matter anymore. The pain got so intense that it circled back around to numbness, and even once he physically felt better he had days where he just laid on his cot and stared at the wall, barely able to muster the energy — or the will — to stay awake. He slept a lot: it helped his body heal, and it beat the agony of consciousness.
Finally, he had recovered enough to mostly get himself around, and Rampart deemed him chastised enough to be given freedom to roam Kamino once more. He played his part when Rampart was watching, but on the side, he continued his work trying to locate his brothers, eventually able to trace them back to Ord Mantell. As soon as he knew where they were, he began devising an escape plan.
The first thing he did was pay a visit to the vice admiral. He followed him to his quarters, pushed his way in, and had a knife to his throat before he could even blink. Closing the door for privacy’s sake, he slit Rampart’s throat before the man had the chance to shout for help. “You shouldn’t have crossed me” was the only explanation he gave, pushing Rampart to the floor and stepping on his chest. Beneath his helmet, he smiled at the way Rampart choked and spluttered, gasping for air in vain. He watched the light leave his eyes, then he wiped the blood from his armour and ran to the hangar, heading for a ship.
“Hey!” Called a trooper. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Special mission,” Crosshair discreetly moved his hand closer to his blaster. “Came from up top. You won’t find it anywhere — it’s top secret.”
“I don’t know about that. Let me check.”
“No need. You can trust me.”
The trooper shook his head. “I’m still gonna have to — woah!” He dodged Crosshair’s stun blast, pressing a button that sent alarms wailing through the hangar. So much for that. He made a mad dash for it, shooting or pushing past several more troopers. One managed to shoot his blaster from his hand, and as he scrambled to retrieve it, he felt a hot, searing pain just below his ribs.
Someone had thrown a knife at him. Just great. Pushing himself along as best he could, he finally made it to a ship and began the launch sequence as quickly as possible. As soon as he got the ship in the air, he began blasting, destroying all the fighters in the hangar that might have been sent after him.
With a little maneuvering and probably more speed than was good for this vessel, he at last managed to jump to hyperspace. He sat back with a sigh of relief, then rummaged around for a medkit to tend to his wounds. That over with, all he could do now was wait out the ride . . .
“And now here I am,” Crosshair sighed, slumping against Hunter.
“Oh, Crosshair,” Hunter sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”
“Too bad Rampart’s already dead, ’cause I would have loved to get my hands on him,” Wrecker punched his palm.
“I can’t believe he would do that to you!” Omega chimed in. “That’s awful.”
Tech simply hugged him tighter.
Crosshair whimpered, tears rising up once more. “I missed you.”
“We missed you, too, Crosshair. It’s good to have you back.”
“Alpha,”
“I’m here,” Hunter kissed Crosshair’s forehead. “You’re safe now.”
“Hmm . . . ” He sniffled. “Can we . . . make a nest?”
“Absolutely.”
The six of them sprang into action gathering up all the bedding on the ship. In the chaos, Echo put his hand on Crosshair’s arm with a sad smile. “I haven’t been in your exact situation, but I know what it’s like to have things done to you without your consent,” Echo waved his scomp arm with a dry chuckle. “If you ever need someone to talk to about what happened . . . I’m here for you, brother.”
Crosshair nodded with the tiniest smile of his own and stacked one more pillow in his arms before making his way back to where the rest of the materials were being dumped. They had soon covered a good portion of the floor with mattresses, pillows, and blankets, piling the leftovers into a border with a big mound at the head, and closed it in with blankets like a fort; Echo held the entrance open for everyone as they fit themselves inside.
“Here,” Omega smiled, holding out a familiar toy — Wrecker’s tooka doll. Crosshair softened and took it, then laid down with his back against Wrecker’s front; Hunter scooted himself in front-to-front with Crosshair, Lula crushed between them; Tech snuggled up behind Hunter; Echo snuggled up behind Tech; and Omega plopped herself on top of Crosshair, making him groan.
“Sorry.” She grimaced sheepishly.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re sitting right on my wound.”
“Sorry!”
“C’mere, kid,” Wrecker pulled her off, and she pressed her face into the space between Crosshair’s shoulder blades.
“Better?”
“Better.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled into Hunter’s scent gland, relaxing immediately at the contact. It had been far too long since he had felt this safe, this warm. This was how it was always meant to be . . .
Hunter ran his thumb across the bandage on Crosshair’s mating gland. “How much longer until this heals, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Crosshair sighed. “I hope it clears up quickly. I feel naked without your marks.”
“We’ll all mate you again as soon as you’re healed.”
“You had better,”
“Can’t wait,” Wrecker smooshed his face into the back of Crosshair’s neck.
“Me neither,” Crosshair fiddled with Lula’s ears, breathing deeply, letting his brothers’ scents intermingle in his nostrils. It was good to be home . . .
They all slept in the nest that night, and the next morning they had a nice, long discussion over breakfast that ended in the agreement that they would try for another pup — as soon as Crosshair felt ready. He still wanted time to heal and to mourn the pup he had lost.
After a day or two of crying and cuddling, things began to inch back toward normal between them. Crosshair wasn’t entirely certain how seamlessly he would be able to fit himself into this new post-war, plus-Omega dynamic, but everyone was determined to make it work, and they welcomed him back with open arms — a part of him was almost afraid that they wouldn’t, but they made forgiving him look so easy that he almost felt worse for it. He had betrayed them, abandoned them, he had killed and maimed. Did he really deserve such ready redemption?
He couldn’t keep his distance for long, though, not when they were there smiling at him, waiting for him, beckoning him closer. How could he resist reclaiming his place at their side?
They lounged around Cid’s enjoying some time off and some caf; Crosshair sat partially removed, nursing his drink as he watched everyone else interact, still not sure how to join in. He was good at watching — he was a sniper, after all. He watched Hunter and Tech leaned over Tech’s datapad discussing possible modifications to the Marauder; he watched Wrecker arrange spilled bits of Mantell mix into the shape of a smiley face; he watched Echo get up to stretch his legs only to have Omega follow him, flashing her best puppy dog eyes at him and silently reaching her arms up.
“You’re getting too big for this,” Echo rolled his eyes, even as he relented and allowed her to climb on for a piggyback ride. “How do you keep getting heavier?”
“It’s probably all that Mantell mix,” Hunter looked up from his own conversation with a smile.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Wrecker brushed the pieces of his snack off of the table.
“Hey, muscles, who d’you think’s gonna clean that up? Me?” Cid narrowed her eyes.
“Sorry,” Wrecker got down on the ground to collect all the fallen treats and dispose of them. “Anyway, I don’t think she’s getting that much heavier.”
“Yeah, well, you’re you, Wrecker,” Echo laughed.
“You’re right,” Wrecker’s grin was Crosshair’s only warning. “I can even pick up Crosshair one-handed!”
He groaned, anger flaring in his chest, and Wrecker said, “Relax, I won’t drop you.” An unpleasant heat bloomed in Crosshair’s gut, accompanied by a wet feeling. Not good. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and elbowed Wrecker in the head. “Ow!” Wrecker groaned.
“You burst my fucking stitches, you brute! Put me down!”
He complied immediately, all seriousness now. “Sorry! Sorry!”
“For fuck’s sake,” Crosshair brushed himself off and glared at his brother. “Can’t you use that tiny little brain of yours for once in your small, idiotic life?”
“That was uncalled for,” Hunter admonished; Crosshair simply sneered and stormed out, wincing at the suddenness of his movements and how they tugged on his wound. He leaned against the outer wall with a sigh, taking out a toothpick which he promptly began attacking as if it had personally offended him.
Before he had the chance to fully gnaw the thing to pieces, Tech appeared. Without a word, Crosshair turned away, but Tech grabbed his hand. “Go away,” Crosshair grunted; Tech only tightened his grip, bringing himself around to face Crosshair.
“You know Wrecker didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hmm.” He refused to meet Tech’s gaze.
“We’re all happy to have you back, Crosshair, and you know how excitable Wrecker can be. Please, be patient. With us and with yourself.”
Crosshair sighed. “Everything hurts. I’m tired of being in pain.”
Tech smiled softly. “Come. I’ll patch you up.” He led him by the hand onto the ship, sat him down, removed his shirt, and got to work cleaning and re-bandaging the wound. “It should heal nicely.” He reassured him.
“Yeah, if Wrecker leaves me alone.”
He gave him an admonishing look as he snapped the medkit shut and set it aside. “He truly is sorry,” Tech put his arm around Crosshair.
Crosshair sighed and put his head on Tech’s shoulder. “I know.”
They sat like that for a minute or two, then Crosshair’s nose found Tech’s mating gland, pressing into it and breathing deeply of the man’s fresh, clean scent. It comforted him immediately, and he turned his body toward Tech’s, snaking his arms around his waist. He rubbed his entire face against him, humming happily at the feel of hands in his hair. Tech bared his throat to give Crosshair better access, shuddering as Crosshair ran his tongue along his mating gland, feeling the little indentations of four sets of teeth in the skin. He tugged at Tech’s clothes; together they relieved him of his upper garments and embraced, bare chest to bare chest, Crosshair still scenting Tech like his life depended on it. Tech’s hands ran up and down Crosshair’s back, warm and gentle, incredibly soothing.
Eventually he broke away, running a hand through his hair. Tech adjusted his goggles then brushed his fingers over Crosshair’s own mating gland. “May I see?”
Crosshair reached up and tore the bandage away, revealing the raw pink skin underneath; he had had his brothers’ mate marks for so long that seeing his throat bare felt so viscerally wrong it physically hurt. Eyes sad, Tech ran his fingertips over the empty spot, making Crosshair wince.
“My apologies. I did not think that it would still be so sensitive.”
“Needs more bacta, probably,” Crosshair sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and Tech reached for the medkit once more, producing a packet of the stuff. Crosshair bared his throat to allow Tech to apply the bacta to the half-healed skin and cover it all up with a fresh bandage, then he sighed. “We should probably head back.”
Tech nodded and stood, fully dressing himself once more; Crosshair followed suit. “Thanks,” Crosshair said after an awkward pause as they lingered at the foot of the ramp.
“Of course,” Tech said with a small smile, and they reentered Cid’s together.