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captainrex89 · 2 months ago

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Oh Echo 💙

Repercussions Pt 2.5

Part (2.5) of Repercussions, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

This is how I'd intended Ch 2 to end, so here's a second mini chapter to properly get us into the next bit of fun 🥰

Warnings: Potential tw for abusive relationships; thirsty thoughts, body horror, infected wound, profanity, Doc-typical guilt

WC: 2,232

I hated this. My stomach churned as I stared at the scuffed door. I’d barely been able to catch more than the distant rumble of a voice, words too muffled to understand as the others tread lightly about the ship in preparation to leave. No one even tried to speak to me before the Marauder came to life, the soft hum of the repulsor lifts gathering power in those few seconds before we began to move carrying an almost mournful resignation.

I didn’t want to stay in the damned medbay like some child hiding from their parents. I didn’t want to feel responsible for the heaviness in the air, nor did I want to force myself to find the strength to face it, to face him when I was still struggling with my own emotions over what he’d said, over that devastating revelation and whatever fallout surely loomed in the future if ever I crossed paths with my old squad again.

Movements fueled with something too near to frustration, my hand darted to the panel, rapidly unlocking the door before I could let my thoughts catch up with my actions and find myself stuck once more. It opened without fanfare; the hall beyond it quiet in a way that left me straining to soften my footsteps if only to keep from breaking that silence absent a consent that simply didn’t exist.

I reached the doorway to the kitchenette and froze, body tensing before consciously noting the figure leaning against the counter within. He didn’t look at me, but I could see how his jaw ground, fingers tightening around the cup in his hand. I had to let out a carefully even breath before turning toward him, arms crossing my chest as I settled stiffly into the seat nearest the door.

“That was mean.” It was quiet, simple, and, because of that, nearly as cruel as his own words had been. His shoulders sank just enough for my heart to twist, noting the subtle way his brows pulled together above eyes glaring blindly at the barely steaming caf. Many would have argued; found some way to try to defend themselves or shift blame, but Crosshair said nothing, chest barely shifting around stiff breaths as he merely waited for some grand show of retribution.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen with Jester.” I continued, voice oddly calm, willing him to look at me, to remember that I’d never given him reason to expect against some outburst of rage or disdain; willing him to trust that I never would. “I… I wasn’t looking for… a… a booty call…” I tripped over my words slightly, still aghast that I needed to say them at all.

“I know.” He finally replied, jaw barely shifting around the hushed murmur. I said nothing for a moment before letting out a slow sigh.

“What you did… lashing out like that… It’s dangerous, Crosshair.” His head sank further against his chest, and I knew I didn’t need to say more; I didn’t need to remind him just how foolish we were being already, to voice what might happen if we were discovered. But there was more to it than that…

“And how you treated me…” I continued. His entire body curled in on itself slightly, as though bracing for a physical blow despite the careful softness of my voice. “I deserve better than that, Cross…” The grimace that touched those thin lips left no uncertainty toward just how deeply my words struck, and I wanted to feel guilty for that, but I couldn’t let that doubt, that want to yield, to pretend or forget what he’d done if only that we might move forward rob me of the respect I was owed and the safety it granted. So, I waited, allowing the weight of that silence to churn between us until something broke.

“… I’m sorry.” He finally murmured, and I had to catch my inner lip between my teeth to keep the air from fleeing me in a sharp sob, head dipping in a small nod.

“If there’s… if there’s something wrong… some reason you’re feeling insecure…” The image of Hunter in that test room, caramel skin gleaming with sweat flashed unbidden through my mind, and my stomach twisted with guilt even as my heart jumped with something far less innocent.

“I’m not insecure.” He snarled sharply, and I didn’t try to bite back the humorless scoff, eyes meeting his absent even the pretense of entertaining his denial. The way his expression pinched threatened to ruin me amidst a fresh rush of shame; the hint of crimson burning his neck… the way Hunter’s lips occasional pulled into a scowl just enough to reveal the tip of his canine when he fought.

“I have supplies to put away.”I loathed how quickly my gaze fell from his, how easily he surely believed it was from frustration toward his unwillingness to talk to me rather than a shame that left me staggering beneath a fear I had no hope of overcoming as I all but fled the tiny kitchen.

My hands were mere inches from the crate before I felt myself pause, brows pulling into a frown as I belated realized what was wrong. It was empty. The tubes of bacta and rolls of bandages were gone. Frown deepening, I stepped back, ducking down to check beneath the crash couch Jester had set the crate on, and then moving to look under the one beside it. Nothing.

I almost welcomed the distraction even as dread sank heavily through my gut. Movements rushed, I started toward the aft of the ship, clinging to the off chance that one of the others had stashed them in the storage room. But I knew that wasn’t right, else the crate itself would have been put away as well.

“Did you-?” I let the words die without bothering to finish the question as I paused before the kitchenette once more, and whatever frenzy of emotion Crosshair had been dealing with instantly vanished at the obvious concern in my voice, but I didn’t need to ask him. He knew not to meddle with my organization… they all did… Still, I continued down the hall if only to silence that nagging uncertainty.

The door squeaked slightly as it opened, but the figure inside didn’t move. His back was to me, head hanging between drawn shoulders as his hand clutched around the door of an open locker.

“Echo?” I called hesitantly. He breathing was too quick… too shallow; the almost ragged sound of it filling the tiny room, and that dread spiked at how they faltered… like he was trembling…

“Echo?” Crosshair’s footsteps approached quietly from behind as I called his name again, my body leaning as though I might be able to glimpse his face without treading any closer. He jerked up slightly, but not in response to me. It looked almost like his leg had nearly caved beneath him, and whatever hesitation had left me frozen in the doorway vanished.

“Echo!” I shouted, rushing forward. Only then did he finally seem to notice me, eyes wide as his head spun sharply around, but something about that movement was… wrong… unsteady. And the way he looked at me… caught… trapped… Maker, I’d never seen him so scared… but before I could offer even a whisper of reassurance, his head tilted back, eyes rolling. If I hadn’t already been racing forward, I would never have managed to catch him, but, as it was, I was just able to wrench him against him before he could truly fall.

Without my needing to say a word, Cross was instantly at my side, arms locking around his chest to help ease him to the floor.

“Echo! Hey-hey; come on, Echo. Look at me.” There was no differentiation between ordering and begging as my heart raced, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks, desperate for a reaction, some sign that he could hear me or feel me or…

“Fuck...” The curse escaped on a breathless gasp. His skin burned against mine, ice shooting through my chest as I saw just how pale he was, felt the clammy sweat that had long since soaked through his blacks.

“What the kriff is wrong with him?” Crosshair growled, his own anxiety ringing clear through that harsh rasp.

“Help me get this off of him.” I didn’t have an answer, but I spared no hesitation before wrenching at Echo’s armor. Tech had reassured me that his shoulder wound had healed… he’d checked it himself, but…

Crosshair showed no reservation in stripping the arc of the endless plates of dark duraplast. I barely noticed where they were thrown, attention locked on the shivering man before me as I felt his rabbiting pulse, biting back another curse as I struggled to merely count it.

The instant his chestplate was gone, I reached for the neckline of his blacks, not bothering to waste time trying to pull it off as I wrenched the fabric apart, the scream of tearing thread stark against what would have been an eerie quiet if not for the too familiar rush of blood through my ears. He should have shied from that sound… If he’d heard it, Echo would have hated that sudden shriek.

There was no carefully secured pad of gaze over the blaster wound. It didn’t need it. My fingers slipped methodically over the scar, but I felt no signs of infection; no heat or pocket of fluid… It was fine…

“What’s going on?” My attention snapped only briefly to find Hunter coming to a halt in the doorway, deep frown etched across worried eyes and taut lips, and I had little doubt that he’d surely heard me from across the ship.

“Get my scanner.” I ordered, unable to offer even a guess as I motioned sharply toward the medbay before turning back to Crosshair.

“The rest of his armor, all of it, get it off.” I was already moving to tug at his thigh plate as I spoke, grateful that neither of the brothers balked at either the harshness of my tone nor the obvious panic driving me. I’d barely shifted his cuisse before freezing, breath stilling at the choked whimper that caught in his throat.

“Echo?” I called once more, and I hated the disappointment that nearly overwhelmed me at the silence that followed.

“Carefully.” I didn’t need to say it. Crosshair’s expression was drawn into a mask of intense focus, every movement delicate and purposeful, and my heart ached at the fear he was so determined to hide.

I knew what had happened the instant we’d freed his legs of armor, the instant I’d torn through the thin fabric of his blacks to reveal ashen skin shot through with streaks of red. Snips of cloth and bandages were just visible beneath the ring of metal encircling the tip of his residual limb in what I knew to be some failed attempt to cushion flesh left raw from the pressure of his prosthetic.

A tiny grunt of disgust just slipped past Crosshair’s taut jaw, and I hoped the sympathetic look I sent him offered some reassurance that I wouldn’t hold it against him. It was bad. The scent wafting from the limb screamed of infection. It was thick and wrong, and I thought back to all the times he’d tried to approach me; the morning before we reached Alderaan, that moment when everything had crashed down around me after stabilizing Crosshair and Hunter in the wake of escaping that deathtrap of a Separatist base… I thought of how obsessed he’d been with trying to finish his new legs over the past few weeks… I should have understood… should have caught it sooner…

“Here.” I looked back to see Hunter holding the scanner, his attention tuned to his prone brother, and my heart sank anew as how readily he’d surely try to carry this blame when he understood… He couldn’t smell it… After how I’d treated his broken nose, he was still days from getting his sense of smell back…

My hand shook slightly as I accepted the small device, straining to force aside all thought of blame and regret that I might recede back into logic and knowledge and that simple understanding of what needed to be done.

“Pressure sores.” I stated as though giving passdown. “We need to get him to the medbay and get his prosthetics off so I can see how bad it is, but he’s already septic.” There was a moment, just a tiny, fleeting moment, where he almost looked like he didn’t believe me; like the very thought of something so mundane and avoidable couldn’t be anything other than a cruel joke, but the flash of betrayal that followed offered none of that denial, and I found myself shifting pointedly between then, hard gaze demanding his attention.

“Not now.” I whispered it, but he understood. He understood how deeply I felt that same betrayal; how I wanted to scream beneath it and the flurry of guilt and anger and confusion it carried. He hadn’t come to any of us… hadn’t trusted us to help him… But if I let myself fall too deeply into that sorrow, I feared I’d never find my way free, and there wasn’t time for that… There would never be time for that…

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captainrex89 · 2 months ago

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So they are on the mend physically….mentally is a work in progress!

Repercussions Pt 2

Part (2) of Repercussions, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

@altered-delta - I almost talked myself out of sharing this early, but you talked me into it 😆

Warnings: Uh... so, things got a bit out of hand. Emotionally. Crosshair's a bit of an insecure dick. Reference to Codywan. Canon-typical violence. Mild lewd language. Profanity. Regret. Mic drop dread.

WC: 1,351 (just a mini one tonight!)

Mando’a Translation Shabuir – jerk, deadbeat

“I still can’t tell if they know and we’re just pretending, or if they really think we haven’t figured it out!” I was shocked at how easy it was to laugh with him, the feeling of that carefree mirth a near stranger as we made our way across the hanger, box of supplies balanced thoughtlessly over his shoulder to free his other hand for exuberant gestures.

“I thought jedi weren’t supposed to…” It was almost a whisper, but I couldn’t quite control myself enough to keep the words from carrying.

“Oh, they’re not.” Jester confirmed, eyes wide above lips fighting a knowing smile, “But it’s not like any of us are stupid enough to say something.”

“But Commanders are always close with their Generals. How can you be sure…?” I pressed, thinking of General Plo and the 104th, but he’d always felt more akin to a father than anything so… intimate.

“Walked in on them.” He stated, words clipped as he stifled what could only be described as a giggle. “Said they were sparing, but… most folks keep their clothes on for that.” I had far less success in my own efforts to silence my glee, hand clasped vainly over my mouth, and I found myself profoundly grateful for the wide berth most soldiers granted the Marauder as we neared the ramp. “Apparently, there’s a pool on when they finally come clean. Some of the guys even go out of their way to make sure they have plenty of time to... spar.”

Hearing that, how obvious and unapologetic they were… It granted a relief I hadn’t expected… something just shy of permission, and it freed me of a weight that I hadn’t even realized I’d been suffocating beneath.

“Speaking of sparing,” he started just as we entered the cabin, attention never wavering from me even as he leaned down to set the crate atop a nearby crash couch. I turned toward him just in time to see a lithe figure stalk forward from the far corner of the room. I could only guess toward what Jester reacted to; a sound, the tiny gasp that caught on my lips, the reflection in my eyes. Either way, it wasn’t enough. He’d just managed to pivot, arms tensing before Crosshair was on him, hand locking around his wrist so quickly, I barely had time to register what was happening before he’d spun Jester around and had him pinned against the hard wall.

“Crosshair!” I yelled as the smaller man let out a choked grunt of pain.

“This isn’t your ship.” There was a frightening chill in those nearly hissed words as they dripped from between ground teeth.

“Ah! Alright-alright!” Jester shouted, body writhing in search for some relief as the enraged sniper jerked his arm just enough to send a fresh jolt of hurt through his shoulder.

“Crosshair, let him go!” I demanded, rushing toward them, hands reaching forward as though I had any hope of pulling them apart. He turned those piercing eyes toward me, and I felt my breath catch at the rage in them in those few seconds before he finally let go.

Jester twisted around with a scowl, but made no move to fight back, one hand grabbing his strained shoulder while the other rose in show of submission that shocked me.

“I’m not… – kriff – I’m not looking to cause trouble.” He huffed, scowling as he rolled the stiff joint.

“Then I suggest you leave.” Crosshair took a single, threatening step forward as he said it, voice low, almost daring the man to test him.

“Crosshair!” I shouted again, horrified not only by the way he was acting, but because of what might be implied from why he was doing it.

“I’m going; I’m going.” Jester said quickly, a barely suppressed flash of annoyance in his eyes as he took a purposeful step back before glancing toward me.

“Sorry… didn’t realize you already have a sparring partner.” My heart dropped; a chill seeping through my chest as I looked at him in horror, frozen, but he merely let out a quiet, self-deprecation chuckle before stepping away, head shaking with a small, resigned sigh.

“What the kriff were you thinking?!” I snapped on a hushed whisper, turning to the towering sniper in a frenzy of fear and anger, but he met my wrath with an unflinching scowl of his own.

“What were you thinking, bringing him on our ship?!” He spat back in a low growl.

“He was carrying the supplies! I wasn’t going to give him a damn tour!”

“It wasn’t the ship he wanted a tour of.” My jaw locked shut, face burning as my heart pounded against my chest.

“I didn’t realize that until…” I stammered, suddenly finding myself on the backfoot.

“Until what? He nearly had his tongue halfway down your throat?” He snarled.

“Oh, for Force’s sake, Crosshair!” I had to turn away from him, nearly pacing as adrenaline and anger and a guilt I had no reason to feel left me shaking, arms locking around my chest. “I get that you have history with regs, but kriff you for thinking I’d do something like that!”

“Not like you don’t have your own history with regs, too.” I couldn’t help but falter beneath a flare of confusion at that, brows drawn together as I looked back at him.

“Nothing happened between Wolffe and me.” I said, that confusion dropping my voice into a hesitant whisper, but the sudden understanding that flashed through those amber eyes, the darkness coiling in its wake left me frozen.

“Ah, that’s why he requested the transfer.” He nearly hissed. “His shabuir of a sergeant wanted you, but you wanted the damn commander.” I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Every ounce of that rage and terror was just… gone.

“Wolffe… Wolffe requested my transfer?” I had to force the words out, voice barely catching on a fleeting gasp. I didn’t notice the tension steal through him; that sudden realization that he’d gone too far. The floor seemed to vanish beneath me, lilting sideways as though the flagship’s gravity failed. I didn’t ask how he knew. I didn’t need to. Tech had surely hacked into the original transfer document well before I’d even set foot on Kamino that first day I’d joined them. He’d known this whole time. They’d all known… Echo had known… back when I voiced my suspicions that Rex sent me to their squad specifically for him… He’d known I was wrong, but he hadn’t corrected me…

Crosshair said nothing as my mind ground to a halt. I don’t think I would have heard him even if he had spoken, but some part of me saw the way the muscles atop his jaw locked into a grinding ball, how his hands clenched into tight fists, torso nearly rocking beneath too-quick breaths as he watched me with a growing dread. Still, he didn’t let himself break that deafening silence even after I finally managed to move, strides unsteady as my legs trembled for those first few steps until I managed to hide away in the room that suddenly felt far more akin to a cell than a medbay.

Wolffe had ordered my transfer. He’d sent me away. Without any hint toward why, he’d banished me absent warning or apology or blame. And Sinker… did he know? Did Boost?

I don’t think I was crying. I felt too numb to, though some fleeting thought told me I should cry. That I should scream. That I should hail my old Commander that very moment and demand the truth. But I didn’t. My eyes traveled almost clumsily over the already prepped cabinets, searching for something to do; some chore that might distract me if only that I might stop standing in the middle of the room as seconds ticked mercilessly by.

I thought of the supplies I’d originally left for laying forgotten in the cabin, but I couldn’t bring myself to retrieve them; couldn’t risk letting the others see me like this; could risk letting myself see them. They’d known… all this time, they’d known.

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captainrex89 · 2 months ago

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Glad all the boys are on the mend!

Reprocussions

Part (1) of the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Did the first series of cuts to my taglist - you don't reblog or comment, I don't tag - that's how Tumblr works, my dearies.

Warnings: Emotions. That's a warning in itself. Dread, arguing, guilt, regret, feeling overwhelmed. Also a touch of profanity. Also racism style prejudice. Oh, and some Hunter thirst.

WC: 3,874

Mando’a translation

ori’buyce, kih’kovid – all helmet, no head: someone with and overdeveloped sense of authority

Kamino was, at its core, a failed science experiment; what few inhabitants still clinging to life above tumultuous, unforgiving waves doing so purely from a futile denial of the impending ruination already evident in the violence of the oceans that overtook nearly the entirety of the planet’s stormy surface eons prior. That destruction was predestined; a simple consequence of climate, but what befell those inhabitants in the centuries that followed could be blamed on no one but themselves; driven to the edge of extinction not from natural catastrophe but from some ill-conceived need to eliminate traits arbitrarily deemed undesirable, altering the very code of their existence first through selective breeding, and then through artificial splicing until natural reproduction was not only deemed obsolete in their strive toward perfection, but became biologically impossible.

Perfection is the great myth of social naivety, offering aspirations veiled beneath the façade of a motivation that, in truth, results only in the inevitable collapse of will as goals prove eternally beyond reach. This toxic mentality, however, persists far longer than the spark of brilliance crushed beneath its unreachable expectations, but that illusion of perfection is infectious, destined to poison any subjected to its ideals not only with feelings of crippling inadequacy but also in granting false justification for prejudice against those labeled lesser through simple consequence of genetic expression.

I hated how that mentality had seeped into not only so many of the clones they’d created, but into myself as well, tainted by those beliefs not through direct correlation, but from a nearly equally unjust bias toward the clones themselves. Had I never met Hunter and his brothers, I’m not sure I would ever have truly noticed, but, after living with them and witnessing firsthand the cruelty their squad was subjected to because of it, each reg I saw instantly filled me with a distrust that brought with it a bang of guilt. It wasn’t every reg. I knew that. But it was enough to leave me torn between that guilt and the nagging reminder of just how damaging granting them the benefit of the doubt could be.

It was because of that bias that I refused to leave the medbay of the Vigilance for even a moment; not while Hunter was still bedbound and Crosshair needed to make frequent visits to continue monitoring the progress of his eyes. Admittedly, the term ‘bedbound’ was rather fiercely contested… particularly by Hunter, himself.

“No! You’re on med-leave for at least another week!” I was shouting again. “I don’t care if those orders came from the damn Grand Chancellor, himself!” I’d been doing that a lot lately, whether in response to Hunter’s increasingly frustrated demands to be released or toward the ship’s staff insisting that I let them relieve me for a while. “It’s barely been four kriffing days since you were in hemorrhagic cardiac arrest!” It wasn’t healthy. “You’ve barely even started physical therapy!” I knew it wasn’t healthy.

“Because you won’t let me out of this kriffing bed!” He snarled back.

“Two weeks is the minimum recovery time for an injury like-”

“For a nat-born! Not a clone!” He interrupted. I still couldn’t look at him without seeing how pale his skin had been when I’d found him.

“You died!” The emptiness in those captivating eyes. “I barely managed to bring you back! Any other medic would have given up long before I did!” The terror I felt any time he was out of my sight, that fear that I might miss something critical; I knew it wasn't healthy… but I couldn’t risk seeing him like that again…

“Then get your head out of your shebs before we get do get stuck with some ‘other medic’!” He snapped, and my entire body froze with a sudden chill, muscles locked as the air stilled in my lungs. “You give them reason to think you can’t be objective with us, then there won’t be a damn thing I can say to keep some ori’buyce, kih’kovid from pulling you.” It wasn’t a threat. Despite how his voice dropped into that frightful growl, I knew it wasn’t a threat. He was begging me.

My teeth ground together, nostrils flared with barely controlled, shallow breaths. I said nothing as I turned and left. No words would come to me, nor did I have any confidence in my ability to force them past taut lips even if they did. I told myself it was rage that left my ears ringing, that sent a nauseating tingle dancing beneath my skin and prickling my fingertips, but I knew it was nothing so kind as that, nor so simple.

I thought of that night hidden away with Tech in the cockpit, how he’d teased me for admitting that I had nothing beyond him and his brothers; what that would leave me with if I was ripped away from them. Sick… Maker, I was going to be sick…

Clones did heal faster than nat-borns… but something about forcing them back into a war zone after so little time to recover… It wasn't fair… In so many aspects of life, clones were treated and viewed as lesser; granted fewer rights, spared little consideration for basic needs or comforts, awarded no thought toward self-autonomy… Forcing myself to adhere to those unjust standards ground against the very core of my being… but Hunter was right… If I pushed too far, if I was called out and removed, they'd be subjected to those same rules with far less compassion.

Despite the size of the Star Destroyer, it seemed impossible to find a breath of solitude, constantly dodging patrols or maintenance crew or janitorial workers; so, I walked. I’d barely glanced at the mission brief before lashing out, balking at the departure date looming in a mere three days, but it seemed a shockingly straightforward reconnaissance objective: confirm the presence of a droid factory that had supposedly just begun construction, and, if the reports were correct, plant enough explosives to level it before the thing could become a threat. Simple…

It wasn’t hunger that drew me toward the mess hall. I knew they’d be there, most of them, at least, and, though I wasn’t ready to actually speak with them, emotions still too raw to even feign some appearance of calm, I needed to see them. Tech’s arm no longer needed the support and protection of the sling, a fact he took advantage of before I’d properly cleared him, and he’d assured me that he’d tended both Echo’s shoulder and Wrecker’s knee while my attention was focused on Hunter and Crosshair, a kindness that only deepened my own growing sense of inadequacy even as I’d forced myself to offer my gratitude.

In the sea of nearly identical faces, my men screamed their defiance both through stature and in the striking contrast of their darkened armor amidst the white and gold of the 212th. It was because of that contrast that I was surprised to note an additional figure beside them; beside Wrecker. He dwarfed the man, an illusion that was only further accentuate by Crosshair and Tech's towering frames seated just across from them. Still, I found myself tensing, shoulders drawing back as my teeth ground, lips just hinting at a scowl, but I froze before taking that first step toward them. Smiling… Wrecker was smiling.

While I couldn't see their expressions from where I stood, Crosshair had his chin nestled atop his palm, elbow lazily hiked up on the table, an air of impatience screaming from how his head hung down toward a shoulder, more resigned than annoyed, and Tech appeared to actually be just as engaged with the reg as Wrecker. That guilt returned in force. They were talking; laughing… and I’d been so ready to assume the worst…

I studied them for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the gleeful face of the reg as I absently noted the faint scar bisecting one of his eyebrows. This wasn’t me… This neurotic mess, jumping to respond with violence before even granting a chance to speak… That man was no different than the troopers Emmy gave her life trying to help… His broad grin only twisted that bitter taste of shame and regret deeper into my chest, tightening some unseeable noose. It felt like something was about to snap, muscles locked so taut they threatened to shake.

Air fleeing me in a sharp huff, I turned on my heel and all but fled, boots clicking loudly against the harsh metal below in rushed strides just shy of running. Cody once warned me of how traumatic events could alter the dynamic of a group. I wondered, suddenly, why he knew that. It felt odd to think that the Kaminoans might have chosen to include such concepts in whatever glimpses of psychology they might have included in their training programs, but his words had held none of the hesitation of one speaking only through thin fragments of forced studies, the details of which had long since been forgotten. I wouldn’t doubt that his General was surely well versed in such things, but the Commander’s words held a weight far greater than what might be found through secondhand allusion. Had he seen the consequences of some similar horror? Watched the fallout helpless to stop it? What would he say to this? How might he judge the depth of my connection – my dependency – to these men? How quickly might he replace me?

I knew Hunter was right. There was a balance between what care I was allowed to give and the merciless demands of the GAR, and if I faltered too far in either direction, I’d lose them…

Hunter’s eyes snapped up as I reentered the room, body tensing where he stood just a few careful steps from his bed, and I watched that initial panic of being caught flare into a defensive glare, but I didn’t allow myself to sink back into what fears had fueled my earlier outbursts rebuking his every attempt to push himself; I didn’t allow myself the freedom of even acknowledging that fear, that whisper of doubt that I was still missing something; I couldn’t.

“I’m ordering a stress test.” I stated before he could bark out whatever argument clearly churned behind taut lips. Instantly, that tension fled him, powerful shoulders sinking beneath a hesitation that only further emphasized how apparently unreasonable he’d believed me to be, and I had to let my gaze fall to the now empty bed beside him to keep that realization from breaking me.

“If the scars hold and you don’t start bleeding out again, I’ll clear you for duty.” I didn’t look at him as I said it, and the silence that followed was anything but kind. I had to keep myself from fidgeting, jaw ground.

“… Doc…” The quiet sympathy in his voice only pulled me nearer to the edge of breaking. Wrenching a quick, deep breath into my lungs, I snatched my datapad and rapidly typed in the order before I could talk myself out of it.

“You deserve better than this…” I barely whispered it, rage and despair twisting through the words. He called my name, and my throat seized against the ball of tears straining to escape.

“I'll get you some clothes.” I said stiffly and, before he could respond, before he could further justify the cruel reasoning behind his rushed return to the battlefield or offer some softly murmured reassurance that I couldn't risk letting myself believe, I turned away, steps once again tapping loudly on the hard floors. Three days… we had only three days before being forced to fight again... It was wrong…

I’d brought him a comfortable shirt along with his shorts for the stress test. He elected not to wear it. Whether that choice stemmed from a hope to flaunt how quickly his wounds were healing or something far less innocent, I wouldn't let myself think too deeply on it - straining to keep my gaze on the datapad in my hand instead than the wealth of power illustrated by his every stride.

Hunter’s hair was tied up in a messy bun rather than loosely held back by that faded bandana, revealing elegant lines of muscle sweeping from his thick neck down to broad shoulders honed to frightful perfection from years of ruthless fighting, from racing across battlefields with heavy weaponry held at the ready, from driving fist and blade alike through enemies made of flesh and metal and every combination in between. He’d gained nearly ten kilograms in the time I’d been with them, and that boon had only added to the lethal effigy of raw power before me; added to the very real danger he represented. That power scared me, once… but that was a long time ago.

“Pain level? Say anything less than three and I’ll throw a damn weight vest on you.” I threatened, speaking as though I wasn’t fighting to keep my gaze from following every drop of sweat as they slid down the valleys carved between abs accentuated by dark, coarse hair that narrowed in such a cruel invitation between the V is his hips before vanishing beneath the waistline of his shorts.

“Three.” I could hear his smirk, jaw tensing against the way my lips threatened to pull into a grin of my own even as I pointedly rolled my eyes at him.

“Any difficulty breathing? Stiffness or pressure or-”

“Pretty sure one of those fancy scanners would have started yelling at me if my lung was collapsing again.” He drawled, turning toward me with a knowing look. He’d been running for nearly an hour, and the man was barely winded… Still, I couldn’t silence that fear… that certainty that there was something…

“Alright…” I finally murmured, hand reluctantly reaching out to flutter over the controls. His attention didn’t waver as he gradually slowed to a stop, chest swelling with barely quickened breaths. There was a sense of defeat sown deeply through that single word that forbade me from meeting his eyes for a long moment, studying the readout of his vitals one last time before making myself look at him. “If anything feels off – if the pain gets worse or you feel short of breath, I swear to the Force, Hunter, you need to tell me.” It was supposed to be an order, but the desperation drowning me left it anything but, and the softness in the way he sighed my name robbed me of even a sliver of denial that he hadn’t noticed as he slowly crossed the room.

“I will.” He could have mocked me; could have dismissed my fears with overly confident boasts and promises, but he didn’t, and that granted a far greater comfort that he could possibly know… Still…

“I don’t like this…” I barely whispered it, finally letting the weight of that terrible dread tug at the corners of my lips, shoulders sinking with a helplessness neither of us had any hope of fixing.

“I know.” He murmured. For just a moment, his shoulder tensed, arm just beginning to move before he forced it still, and I mourned the loss of that touch he hadn't allowed himself to give, the warmth of his hand stolen from me for fear of wandering eyes and over-eager rumors.

My gaze fell, lingering for just a moment on that hand, on the ridges of veins and spiderwebs of scars, on the memory of the dizzying contrast between the roughness of calluses stretching across palm and fingertips alike, and how gentle I knew his touch to be.

“Someone stays with you.” That, at least, carried some hint of authority as I drew a shaky breath before looking back up at him. “I don't care what happens, someone stays with you at all times.” The patches of bare skin where the electrodes had gone refused to let me forget how still he’d been between those horrid moments when his body had seized beneath the flood of electricity meant to restart his heart. The bruising had already begun fading from his chest, but I’d never be able to forget how stark the outline of my palms had looked, how dark the mottled purples and red were in those hours after bringing him back…

He let out a quiet huff at my order, head tilting down slightly to better hold my gaze.

“Yes, ma’am.” My lips pursed slightly at that teasing lilt, and I had to fight back the threat of heat spreading up my neck at the low rumble of his voice.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally turned away from him, attention falling back to my datapad to clear him before I could find some excuse not to.

“And you’re wearing a chest brace.” I added, cheeks burning at the quiet chuckle it drew from him.

“Alright.” He hummed through that little smirk that sent my heart racing, brow hitching slightly. “Anything else?” My jaw jut forward against the smile toying with the edge of my own lips.

“Give me a sec, and I’ll think of something.” I shot back, arms crossing my chest with a heatless glare, but he only responded with another soft laugh.

The following day passed in a blur; endless paperwork to finish, a shocking amount of supplies to restock, as well as overseeing what precious few hours of physical therapy I could force each of them through before we were scheduled to leave. Nearly each of them, at least. Wrecker's knee had some lingering stiffness, but that faded with minor warmups. Tech's arm was still notably weak, but he assured me he'd already tested for nerve damage, and I had no reason to doubt him, resigned to merely monitor it over the coming weeks. Crosshair had spent much of the time aboard the massive flagship in their gun range, and he had no qualms with proving just how thoroughly his eyes had healed. But Echo… Echo had vanished under the guise of “requisitioning" materials to finish building his new legs, an occasional message our only reassurance that he was still onboard.

I shouldn't have been surprised to note the missing supplies during my final check of the Marauder's medbay, but the little pang of disappointment was there regardless. The night cycle had nearly begun, and the thought of sinking in-between warm sheets and warmer arms taunted me as I reluctantly noted the missing bacta and bandages, and started wearily back to the hanger's storage room, empty box cocked against my hip.

Night had little meaning in space. It was a label meant only to grant some illusion of familiarity; a place-keeper for the sake of simplicity despite the fact that “night" had a thousand different meanings on a thousand different planets. What days or weeks spent in the in-between of hyperspace were usually used to gradually adjust perception to match the cycle of one’s destination.

The Vigilance, however, had no destination. If she neared a planet, it was for the sake of a brutal onslaught void of any consideration toward night and day. Men died in the darkness just as easily as in the light. So the Vigilance rotated between an imagined night and day solely because such a thing was expected, but, in truth, it made no difference beyond a simple shift change to those sentenced to remain in that liminal existence. Solders still marched through halls on patrol amidst maintenance crews and cleaner bots and all manner of workers striving to keep the vessel ready to fight at a moment's notice, and they spared me little consideration as I wove between them, just another cog churning within the Republic’s war.

“It was a trick question.” My attention snapped up, surprised to find a clone standing a few meters away just within the door of the supply room, a tentative smile on his youthful face. I nearly glanced behind me, but there was no mistaking who he was speaking to.

“I… didn’t ask a question.” I replied hesitantly, mind struggling to make sense of the odd interaction as I studied the man before me. His left brow was split from some barely visible scar, and his nose was ever so slightly askew, but his eyes were free of that haunted distance that had become far too common among the more war-hardened soldiers.

“Droid poppers.” He said as though that might explain everything. A moment later, I finally realized that it did, eyes widening, and his lips pulled into a broad grin, shoulders shaking with the faintest hint of laughter. My mouth opened, but I was too surprised to fathom a response.

“Jester.” He offered stealing a few slow steps closer., and I couldn’t quite hide the wince, but he only laughed harder.

“Feel like I might owe you an apology for that.” I offered with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Well, I did have a couple more… exciting names I would have preferred, but…” he shrugged, “I kind of earned it.” The ease of his aloofness was a stark balm to the heaviness of the past several days, and I readily welcomed that lightness with a smile of my own.

“I don’t think that was a trick question.” I belatedly retorted, instantly earning an animated eyeroll.

“But it was definitely meant to make me look like a damn fool.” I couldn’t help but snicker, nose scrunching with a knowing smirk.

“Just be glad I sent you to Wrecker instead of Tech.” He let out a heavy huff at my response.

“Tech was there.” He stated flatly, and I let out an unapologetic snort. “I think he’s going to try to make my entire batch repeat basic chemistry…”

“But now you know how to make an incendiary grenade from spare parts.” I teased. His shoulders dropped, brows furrowing above a fond glare.

“Yeah. Several ways, in fact.” He drawled, earning another bout of laughter from me.

“He’s… really nice.” Jester’s voice fell into a near whispered, expression softening with a touch of remorse.

“Yeah,” I murmured quietly, “He really is… They all are.” I added, but the skeptical look he shot me drew a knowing chuckle even as I tried to suppress it. “They are.” I pressed. “Just… need to earn it, first.” His gaze fell at that, jaw shifting stiffly as that remorse grew.

“I tried to apologize… He wouldn’t even let me finish.”

“Words… don’t really matter much to him.” I explained gently. “You reached out… And since Crosshair was there and you don’t have any black eyes, I’m assuming you did it respectfully.” He let out a quiet huff.

“Thanks.” He whispered after a brief moment of silence. I didn’t have to wait long before he continued. “I needed some sense knocked into me… would have preferred you do it in a less embarrassing way, but…” His eyes rose back to meet mine. “Thanks.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it.” I replied, words quiet before drawing a deep breath and glancing back at the still empty crate. “You got out of it last time, but, since you’re here, how about you help me pack for our next mission?” That beaming smile instantly returned to his lips as he eagerly started toward me.

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captainrex89 · 3 months ago

Text

I love the vulnerability displayed in this chapter!

Fool's Errand Pt 14

Part (14) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

For those who didn't read that Bane fic, I've been feral about FINISHING THIS DAMN ARC. So, apologies: I owe loads to responses, and I'm so, sooo grateful for everyone's kind comments! But it's done!! Finally! Now, I get to catch up on some fics I'm super excited to finally read, and will actually take some time to say hi to everyone 😅

Warnings: Reference to mortal danger, more brotherly teasing, angst, horrors of war, ableism toward a child, sexism if yuh squint, reference to medical procedures

WC: 9,027 (...oops)

Mandoa Translation: osik buurenaar - shit storm

I’d yet to meet the Alpha-class clones, but tales of their ferocity and intellect were legendary, as was their brute strength. I wondered if they stood taller than other clones, if a divide lay between them and their brothers because of differences neither could control. How would they measure against the unique men of this squad? Would they find themselves celebrating each other for what power stemmed from those differences? Or would that divide become even more pronounced amidst “defects” and “abnormalities”?

When I thought of the Alpha-class, I couldn’t help but picture some slight variance of Wrecker. Maybe they wouldn’t share that innate warmth and joy so pronounced in his mismatched eyes, but I couldn’t picture them without that stature so many immediately feared, without the shocking mass of muscle that gave his every movement a sense of command that was so readily abandoned beneath the ease with which he smiled and laughed.

Even if they shared some facet of his physique, there was a gentleness about the lounging man sprawled out atop his bed that I couldn't imagine mirrored in anyone else.

I looked at his hands, at the thick calluses and scars earned from a lifetime of danger and pain, and yet, when he touched me… I thought of those days when Tech writhed at the mercy of that wretched withdrawal, how tentative Wrecker's movements had been as he dragged his thumbs so carefully down my palm as though I might break at the slightest misstep. I thought of how small my hands looked beside his; how small I looked beside him, and I marveled anew at that gentleness. He could be a monster. He could use his strength and size to bully other's and instill fear. But, instead, he lowered his voice in the presence of a frightened child. He laughed when his brothers needed a moment of levity, and he touched me with only the softest of caresses. No. I couldn't imagine the alphas as sharing that gentleness. Even if there were some similarities in the breadth of their shoulders, there was a strength to Wrecker that few understood, and even fewer had the means of sharing in.

Bickering gradually shifted to boasting as Wrecker recanted the destruction wrought upon the Separatist transfer station after I'd had to leave, again surprising me with the revelation that nearly half of the hanger caved in from what I only then realized were strategic placements of bombs to target load bearing struts. That's why we’d been able to escape the planet with relative ease.

“You used over a dozen explosives to bring down half of a hanger.” Crosshair sneered. “I took out their secondary power transformer with one shot.” I rolled my eyes, my own attention tuned to the inflamed limb beneath my hands, watching for tension or flinching as I slid my palm firmly along tendon and muscle to gradually draw away the swelling.

“Hey, your target was meant to be a target! They were countin’ on it getting’ blown!” Wrecker argued proudly, but the way Crosshair's body suddenly tensed left us both hesitating.

“Clearly.” Silence followed the hushed growl, taunting what flicker of reprieve that moment of brotherly teasing had briefly allowed. Wrecker's expression twisted with every ounce of guilt and regret I could feel churning in my own gut, the slight misstep treading just close enough to remind all of us of the very horror I’d hoped we might help Crosshair forget, even if only for those precious few minutes.

Without warning, I stood, snatched the pillow from Tech's bed, and chucked it at the broody sniper, instantly earning something torn between a gasp and a shout as he shot up, clawing at the thin cushion, lips wrenched into a seething snarl. Wrecker was stunned for just a handful of seconds before letting out a barked laugh.

“Every single one of you only barely walked away from this Force-forsaken mission, but you did walk away.” My voice went quiet; firm. “Your eyes… Wrecker’s knee… Tech’s arm…” I didn’t mention Hunter… There was still too much anxiety surrounding his injuries… And I knew I didn’t need to speak his name for both of the men around me to wilt beneath the fear of how close we’d all come to losing him. Not even Echo managed to escape unscathed.

“Even by our standards, this mission was an osik buurenaar from the start, but I'm going to make damn sure you all heal up just fine.” Wrecker let out a quiet, humorless huff of agreement, gaze falling to absently watch the leisurely movements of my hands working over the swollen tissue surrounding his knee once more.

The rage faded almost reluctantly from Crosshair's face, pillow still held before him though now free of the way his fingers once dug into the miniscule padding.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He muttered after a moment, and I glanced toward the suddenly resigned man with a flare of confusion, a quiet, “what?” escaping before I’d registered what he’d said.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He repeated, more clearly emphasizing the flow of each syllable. “If you’re going to go around playing combat medic, at least get the damn swear words right.”

“Play?” I nearly snarled. Whatever taste of fire the word was meant to have, however, vanished beneath the laughter I couldn't quite silence, but Crosshair responded only by shoving Tech's pillow atop his own and making a show of lying back down.

“Ah, we used to say it the same way.” Wrecker dismissed with a lazy brush of his hand. “Prob’ly still would if Echo hadn't gone off on the lot of us anytime we said somethin’ wrong.” He added with a roll of his eyes, but there was such an obvious affection in the subtle upturn of his lips, it proved infectious, and I quickly found myself smiling softly as well.

“I suppose if I heard someone say ‘kraff' instead of ‘kriff', I wouldn't be able to take them seriously, either…” I muttered with a small huff.

There was still a heaviness weighing down the air in the bunk room, but it wasn't quite so tainted with that almost frenzied panic, and I vaguely realized that Crosshair wasn't shaking anymore, at least not enough for the metal frame of his cot to betray. His shoulders were still set beneath a lingering dread that sent a deep ache twisting through my chest, but his breathing was far more even.

I caught Wrecker's gaze returning to the raised bed endlessly, his own worry painting a subtle crease between his brows that lingered until his own breathing finally began to slow, body gradually sinking deeper into the thin mattress beneath him as the careful dance of my hands drew the tension from first his injured leg, and then the other purely for the glee of what pleasure that touch brought him.

“Started taking bets on him passing out like that.” Cross said dryly as Wrecker's snores echoed quietly around us.

“What? On if he falls asleep during a massage?” I tried to keep my relief secret at the simple evenness of his voice.

“Not ‘if'. We bet on how long he lasts.” I let out a small snort before reaching across the massive clone to slip his blanket over him.

“Most of you guys fall asleep at some point during them.” I retorted as I slowly pushed myself to my feet, arms raising to stretch over my head with a small grunt, and I relished the little rush of affection at his muttered growl of objection.

“What are my chances of convincing you to eat something?” I asked after a moment of silence. No… not quiet silence. The air cyclers hummed softly beneath the distant thrum of the engine in a gentle song that so easily faded into the background, but there was a comfort in it, in the promise it represented as we fled through the dim of hyperspace.

“Low.” He grumbled almost petulantly, drawing a snort from me.

“Too bad.” There was a subtle threat in the gentleness of my reply despite the warmth woven through the words, and something between a growl and a groan voiced his obvious disdain. I'd only barely begun to move when his hand suddenly whispered over my shoulder, freezing me in place. He remained pointedly turned away from me, and my heart broke upon noting the faint tremor still seizing through those nimble fingers. It was subtle but undeniably there.

I instantly reached up to cradle his hand between mine, touch delicate even as I shifted to press my lips firmly to his knuckles.

“Do you want me to stay?” I barely breathed the words against that callused skin, against the scars from too many injuries to remember as my thumbs trailed the ridges of tendons stretching toward his wrist. He hesitated, and I could see how tightly his jaw ground shut, but then he gave a tiny nod. I needed no further encouragement, hold tightening briefly before releasing him to climb the narrow ladder, movements careful as I crawled into the too small bed beside him.

He didn't fight the way I settled against him, arms looping around his head to let my fingers trail through messy, silver curls long since left in perfect disarray from too many hours trapped in bed. He merely let me hold him for a long moment, body stiff, but then he shifted into me, face hiding against my chest as his arm slipped around my back, clawing at the skin-tight fabric of my undershirt, and I knew this was something we’d never speak of later, that his pride would never have let him cling to me like this absent a need too great for words to ever begin to portray.

“After the war ends, I'm going to buy us a real bed.” There was a new kind of quite softening hushed promises whispered through the curls twirling between my fingers. “Something big… maybe a round one.” He said nothing; made no show of tilting his head in an eye roll I couldn't see nor scoffed with some mocking dismissal, but I knew he was listening. “Put it right in the middle of a room with lots of windows - keep you from sleeping in until noon.” That, at least, earned a small groan that left me chuckling softly against him.

“Maybe I’ll sneak out before you wake up,” I continued, lips just brushing against him, “surprise you with a cup of caf.” His hand slowly crept up my spine, head shifting ever so slightly toward me, and I was all too eager to answer in kind, heart leaping at the taste of him as though I hadn’t kissed him a hundred times before, as though I didn’t know every divot of his body as intimately as I knew my own. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I lost myself in him. It didn’t matter how chaste the caress of his lips was; how gently they pressed against mine with words he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud, still, it left me breathless as he quietly pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him before that accursed apology faded, chest swelling with a carefully slowed, deep breath.

“I know.” I whispered back, cheek shifting delicately against him. “I know.”

I hadn’t meant to stay with him. I’d meant only to grant him a moment of reprieve from the terrors he wouldn’t be free of until those bandages finally came off, but the way he held me, the hesitation in how slowly that tension finally began to ease from his lithe form, the rare display of unconditional trust revealed only as consequence of forced vulnerability… how could I walk away from that?

Only after my arm had long since lost all feeling and the Marauder’s light faded with the automated façade of a night cycle did I began easing myself free of him. He barely shifted, the gentle ebb and flow of sleep still mediating unrushed breath as I slipped down onto the empty frame of Hunter’s bed.

No one had passed through the bunkroom in those few, precious hours I shamelessly squandered toying with silver curls and tracing senseless shapes atop now laxed muscles. I wasn’t surprised that Tech was surely still nestled in the worn pilot’s chair, but Echo’s absence left me growing even more anxious.

Footsteps carefully softened, I started silently toward the aft of the ship, but the rear cargo room was empty, and only Hunter lay within the medbay. I nearly walked away, intent on scouring the entirety of the damn ship to find the impossibly illusive arc trooper but found myself pausing at the offensive disarray of the room before me. Empty wrappers circled the misaligned cots like spent confetti, and the empty saline bag still hung over the mattress Crosshair had fled, crumpled blankets a testimony to his frenzied movements.

A few minutes… I could spare a few minutes to reclaim some semblance of order from the horrid chaos still so evident in abandoned vials of spent medication and crudely discarded syringes, and if I stole a couple seconds in between to merely watch the steady dance of that tiny line across the screen of the cardiac monitor, to slip my fingers against bronze skin and simply feel the heat of him, to count the lazy beat of his pulse and study the way his chest rose and fell with breath that I could still taste on my lips as I’d forced air into his lungs; if those brief, stolen moments saw me holding my own breath lest it tremble as I fought back regrets and what-if’s and if-only’s, then that was a delay easily dismissed beneath the weight of a relief I’d never grow weary of cherishing.

How many times had I done this? Lost hours in the meditation of cleaning and organizing and recording an inventory destined to prove inaccurate as supplies mysteriously vanished in the days to come? My bed now lay atop its frame once more. The trash was gone and the floors scrubbed clean of stains. I heard the clatter of my datapad hitting the counter before understanding why my grip had suddenly failed me, eyes wide even as I found myself frozen, some haunting doubt yet forbidding me from turning around, from glimpsing the source of that tiny sound. It was barely more than a huff, breath hitching in the echo of a pain transcending the residuals of sleep. But it was there.

Only when that faltered gasp just hinted at a groan did I finally turn to face him. Tension coiled through his jaw, brows twitching absent the strength to truly furrow above weakly pinched eyes, strained inhales bucking as broken ribs rebelled from the abuse, and, in an instant, I was at his side, knees aching from how harshly I dropped to the ground beside his cot, hands hovering uselessly above him as years of medical training abandoned me.

“Hunter?” His name left in a barely audible gasp, but it was enough. His lashes fluttered, some fleeting sound just catching in his throat. “Hunter! Hey-hey-hey, easy; you’re alright.” I don’t know what comfort he could find in the rapidly whispered words as I fought against a rushed flurry of too many emotions to begin to quell, but his head shifted toward me nonetheless, and when his eyes opened, when I saw the subtle hints of green woven through umber and gold, when I knew, free of that crippling uncertainty, that he saw me… that he knew me, I couldn’t help but sob, hands sliding so carefully about his cheeks as I leaned down to just touch my forehead to his.

“H… Hu-… d-dammit…” I couldn’t force my voice steady enough even to breathe his name, entire body suddenly trembling with the apex of a fear I’d barely allowed myself to acknowledge until faced with the blessed proof that it was baseless. He made no attempt to push me away, eyes open just enough to meet mine as I trembled against him, and when his hand managed to slide about my elbow, grip weak but undeniably there, I found myself sobbing even harder, shoulders bunching about my chest in some futile attempt to regain a control that was too eager to cave just as I so nearly managed to force myself to calm.

“Y… you can’t d-do that to me again.” I ordered, shameless of how hopelessly my voice broke, thumbs sweeping across still bruised skin with a tenderness that should have brought a flush to my cheeks. I wanted to ask what litany of thoughts danced behind those eyes; wanted to hear him recant the impossible breadth of incalculable possibilities he seemed to consider even now before allowing himself to respond, but something about the softness of his expression as I pulled away to better see him, the gentleness of his gaze as his head shifted in a tiny nod left me staggering far too much to even remember how to speak. Only when another too-deep inhale left him flinching in pain, did I finally remember myself.

“Don’t… don’t try to move, yet.” I ordered, chest bucking with a quiet sniffle as I turned sharply away from him, hands reluctantly abandoning his warmth to snatch at nearly supplies. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, but this will kick in quickly.” He watched idly as I flooded his IV with pain meds.

“M… ch… ch’st…” I grimaced at the barely audible attempt at speech.

“Broken ribs.” I explained. I wasn’t surprised at how quickly his confusion shifted to something quiet, haunted, and I knew I didn’t have to explain further.

“We’re about a day out from the Vigilance.” I murmured. “Everyone’s on board – they even got the Senator out.” His eyes still held a darkness I knew only time might ease, but he gave another nod in response, this one quick; distracted.

When I found myself reaching for his hand, I couldn’t say if it was for my own comfort or for his, but neither could I deny the thrill in feeling how readily his fingers slipped between mine. It took only a moment longer for that clarity to fade, taking with it the tension and pain coiling through still exhausted muscles.

There were still too many uncertainties surrounding his condition to truly relax… I could still only guess towards how long he’d been down before I found him… how long he’d been dead. Five minutes… that all it took for a normal human to suffer brain damage. Hunter wasn't a normal human… but it felt like so much longer than five minutes had passed between the moment his comms went silent and when his heart finally began to beat again…

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling his knuckles up to brush lightly to my lips. “Maker, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” I didn’t think he was still awake, but his hand shifted to slip softly against my cheek, eyes glancing only briefly toward me before falling shut once more. “D’dn’t… do an… ‘nythin’ wr’ng…” He mumbled, lips barely shifting around words that sounded almost more akin to a soft growl than true speech as drugs and exhaustion left his already smoky voice an even deeper rumble.

“You were only there because of me…” I wasn’t sobbing anymore, but there was no hiding the depth of sorrow threatening to bring a fresh wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you’d… I… I thought I lost you…” I barely breathed that devastating truth, fingers sliding delicately up his arm as though there was still some danger of him slipping away from something so simple as a rough touch. His thumb trailed along the ridge of my cheek, the movement faltering, stuttering, as though he kept forgetting he was doing it, but it was all the softer for it.

“M… ‘m here…” He murmured, face so perfectly laxed that it seemed only seconds before sleep might reclaim him, and there was something frightfully beautiful about that; that foreign calm softening his features; how young he looked absent the constant furrow between his brows from the crippling weight of leading his brothers through dangers far greater than any should be forced to suffer through. Like this, that faded tattoo looked almost comical against a youth that was so easily overlooked beneath the veneer of war-hardened soldier, and I couldn’t ignore how my heart jumped at the sight even as his touch finally stilled.

It was selfish… stupid… but I didn’t want him to sleep yet… I wanted to hear him whisper to me in that sleep-draggled voice; I wanted him to promise me that he’d be okay – that we’d be okay…

“… Hunter?” His name slipped from my lips before logic could force it back, and I found myself holding my breath as I awaited some response. My chest bucked with a jilted exhale when none came, jaw tensing against an entirely different taste of regret even as I strained to grasp the relief of being spared whatever senseless thoughts had led me to call out to him with that almost shy whisper.

Heart still racing, I carefully set his arm down before thoughtlessly reaching across him to resettle the blanket over his still bare chest as though it might ease the image of what dark bruises marred bronze skin from a memory too eager to forget those wounds in favor of gentler times; when he lay atop my bed for reasons veiled in therapeutic touch, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing our every interaction beneath a shame and guilt that had nothing to do with my profession.

I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to rest. Not when he slept so peacefully barely a meter away; not when Crosshair lay curled atop his own bed in the neighboring room suffering beneath injuries threatening his very identity. I needed to calm down; to breathe; to quiet those raging emotions lit anew beneath the terror of losing him and the blistering relief following in the wake of seeing his chest rise, of hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing it would never be enough.

We didn’t have sonics on Agamar. There was no reason for them. Water was plentiful and clean, and there was no substitute for the numbing pleasure of feeling it wash the tension and dirt and anxiety away. Only luxury vessels could afford to waste the extra weight and space needed for such extravagances, however, and the pulsing pressure callously beating the grime from my skin offered none of the gentle clarity I’d hoped for upon hiding myself away in the utilitarian fresher. At least I was clean…

The Senator had nestled himself among a handful of spare blankets with Areeya in the cabin, and neither stirred as I made my way toward the narrow ladder dropping down into the cockpit. Tech wasn’t studying his datapad, nor was he tinkering with some half-built weapon or tool or “upgrade” to the Marauder. He was merely watching the infinite trails of stars shooting past us at speeds I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I didn’t sit down in the empty co-pilot chair, instead granting whatever unspoken excuse or forgiveness or feigned ignorance I needed to lower myself to the ground beside him, back pressing against the uncomfortable ridge of dented durasteel framing his seat as my head tilted just enough to rest against the side of his thigh. From the corner of my vision, I saw how quickly his attention shifted, wide eyes studying me with a confusion I should have felt guilty for causing.

“Are you… alright?” He asked hesitantly, hands torn between releasing their hold on the controls and grasping them even tighter.

“Hunter woke up.” It wasn’t an answer, but those few words held far more value and interest than any false platitudes I might offer, and Tech instantly responded with a flurry of relief and hope and then dread as that silence lingered. “I think he’s okay.” I added far too belatedly, earning a sharp breath from the brilliant pilot. “It was just for a minute… Painkillers knocked him back out pretty fast.”

“But he seemed… coherent?” Tech pressed, hesitant to allow himself to cede the fears lingering in the unknowns.

“There wasn’t time to really assess him, but… he was aware.” I explained, knowing such a meager reassurance would offer just as meager a balm to the what-if’s still hovering over us.

“I think Echo’s avoiding me again.” I continued with a heavy sigh.

“I do not believe so.” He responded after a brief pause. “We were just discussing the redesign of his upgraded prosthetics. He’s been working on them in the gunner’s nest during flights.” Surprise and understanding rushed through me, gaze turning back toward the ladder as though there were some chance I could see him from here.

“Huh… that’s… that’s good.” I murmured, and I couldn't say with any certainty if the relief in my voice outweighed the disappointment. Logically, I knew there was likely little I could honestly contribute in light of the incredible breadth of knowledge shared between Tech and Echo, but a part of me had hoped he might still find a reason to seek me out, if only for some fabricated uncertainty regarding nervous system integration or proper fitting of the socket, or just to share in the progress they'd made… but there was still too great of a divide between us… too much confusion toward where we stood with each other… too many blameless apologies neither would accept. And the non-stop sprint from one mission to the next offered little chance of privacy in which we might talk it through…

“When is this going to end…” I think I hated myself for letting those words escape, for letting him hear the weight in them, the threat of a hopelessness we couldn't afford to feel lest it rob us of the will to keep fighting.

“I presume you're not referring to our rendezvous with General Kenobi's flagship.” It wasn't a question, and I didn't need to voice the answer screaming in the pregnant silence that followed as eyes barely open beneath the remorse and weariness that had forced me to purge that wretched plea from myself to begin with rose just enough to see a heartbreaking glimmer of concern staring down at me through topaz lens.

“Traditionally, enlisted servicemembers are deployed for no more than one point five cycles between mandatory leaves… Medical emergencies aside, you haven't taken-"

“Don't.” I interrupted quietly, begging him to rid even his thoughts of what he was implying. “You… your brothers… This is it, for me.” I let my head shake almost lazily against his leg, dismissing the very notion of changing that. “I don't have anything else… I don't want anything else.”

“I'm… not sure that level of dependency would be considered healthy.” My face instantly pinched in offense before noting the teasing glint just toying with the edges of his lips enough to draw faint creases along the corners of his eyes.

“I know your sleep schedule, Tech… You really don't want to talk to me about unhealthy dependencies.” I shot back, challenge clear even through the grin lighting my words, but his smirk only grew.

“Clones were designed to have far superior tolerance to both physical and mental deficiencies.” He didn't brag with that haughty lilt intent on belittling others, nor was it quite accurate to call it pride as he recanted that sales pitch I so loathed every time I heard it in the almost musical cadence of the Kaminoans, but there was an air of confidence driving his boast that was so hard to argue with… still…

“Don't give me that ‘superior genetics' osik! Tolerance doesn't make you immune to going days on end without sleep.” I retorted with a scowl ruined by the smile I couldn't fight from my lips. “Especially now with your arm practically hanging off…” His lips bunched, gaze dropping to the thick bandages about his still immobilized arm with an impatient exhale that sent a sharp flare of guilt through my chest.

Head pressing just a touch harder against him, I raised my hand to lightly brush against his elbow, the touch aimless beyond the compelling urge to offer some reassurance amidst a silent apology.

“The war…” he didn't look at me as he spoke, the elegance of his voice lowering into something just shy of a whisper, “An ending of some manner is inevitable, of course… and though it is impossible to say with total certainty, statistically speaking, the Republic appears to have a far greater likelihood of victory.” There was something teeming beneath words not necessarily meant to offer comfort so much as to state simple fact, something dark and forbidden but too dreadful to ignore. “Unlike the Republic, the Separatists forces are dependent on very few, individual leaders, namely General Grievous and Count Dooku, both of whom often participate directly in armed combat despite the obvious shortcomings of such a strategy given how vital their lives are to the war effort.” I could hear him tapping softly against his other thigh, alternating between his ring and middle fingers with an almost frenzied pace.

“Tech?” I barely breathed his name, a gentle, worried question sown into my voice that quickly drew his eyes back to mine for just a moment before returning pointedly toward the viewport. He wasn't tapping anymore; the muscles atop his jaw bound tight as he thought over what he might say next.

“You speak of the war ending as though it will solve more problems than it will create… but for us… for clones… We have no place in this galaxy beyond the battlefield.” I couldn't breathe as he finally purged that horrid truth, watching aghast as his lips drew into a thin line even as they shifted for a moment longer in silence before continuing. “There are more than twenty million clones currently serving in the Grand Army, in addition to those still in training on Kamino.” He spoke slower, now, allowing the brief moments of quiet to scream everything he wasn't supposed to say, everything he wasn't supposed to think.

“I fear it would be naïve to assume a government reluctant to provide adequate funds for even basic supplies during active war to willingly support the clones once that war is won.” There. There was the heart of that darkness. It wasn't rare to hear him speak with disinterest or even disdain toward matters he believed to be obvious or simply irrelevant, but this went far beyond that. Poison seethed beneath a flurry of repressed emotions: rage, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, fear… He was suffocating beneath it, body nearly vibrating despite the icy calm in eyes still studying the star trails gleaming through the duraglass.

“Hey.” The gentle murmur left on a slow breath. My arm draped tentatively over his lap, knees curling beneath me as I turned to face him, to reach for him with an almost desperate need to offer some glimmer of comfort or, if none could be found, to join him in that darkness if only so he wouldn't be alone in it. “I don't know what's going to happen,” I answered, voice only just loud enough to twirl through the air between us before fading absent the faintest echo to prove they’d ever existed as my fingers trailed softly up his cheeks, “and I wouldn't know where to begin with fixing any of that… but I meant what I said.” The depth of the promise burning through my words finally managed to draw his gaze back to me, and I held him even more gently for it. “This is it for me… whatever happens… I'm with you.” He was silent for a moment longer, but I watched as that fury slowly quieted, and I didn't know if I wanted to sob or scream or rage at its loss.

“There is high probability that peace may see us all homeless.” What sharpness that warning was meant to have dulled beneath the tentative hope that only grew as I offered him a weary smile.

“I've been homeless since Wolffe blew up my ship.” I answered with a shrug, and my heart leapt at the tiny huff of laughter it drew from him.

“Manual labor is also a possibility.” He pressed, almost teasing me.

“Are you really going to question my brute strength again?” I shot back, unable to stifle my own laughter at the blush dancing up his neck that he couldn't hide regardless how quickly he turned back to the viewport.

“You’re a medic.” That flare of lightness faded, his voice going quiet once more. “You would have ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.” My touch shifted purposefully back down his jaw, willing his gaze to return to me.

“And you're a genius.” I replied, a tenderness to my voice that I could only hope might reach him. “In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” He stared at me in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No.” My smile only grew, aimlessly tracing the lower ridge of his goggles with my thumb as though there was some hope of sweeping away the line I knew they'd leave in his softly tanned skin.

“I said I was staying until you told me to leave… might put up a fight even if you tried.” I added, nose scrunching beneath a coy sneer. His lips started to pull into a grin but paused, stifled by a sadness I wasn’t expecting and didn't know how to begin to address.

“Hunter and I already planned it out, you know.” I whispered it, as though revealing some secret conspiracy, head tilting to rest against his thigh once more as I looked up at him. “We’re going to become explorers. All six of us.” The skeptical frown that overtook his slender face was a far more welcomed sight than that sadness was, and I didn't hesitate in sharing the joy it brought me, my own lips stretching wide as I beamed at him.

“We’ll settle foreign worlds… discover knew lifeforms… establish relations with never-before-seen sentients… again.” Despite himself, that little smirk again played with lips bunching in a vain attempt to hide the subtle interplay of pride and excitement at the memory of being the first to manage communication with those nearly subterranean, insect-like inhabitants that had so nearly killed me with their poison arrows, the wealth of discoveries he got to make and record and share with the galaxy because he was able to learn their language in a matter of hours, and I couldn't help but echo that excitement.

“As alluring as that plan might sound, being “explorers" is unlikely to provide the credits needed for such a lifestyle.” He reminded unapologetically, a very real concern that I was perfectly happy to ignore.

“So, I'll freelance here and there.” I replied lightly before adding, “‘Ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.’ Right?” He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't need to. We both knew it was an impossible dream… but that's what dreams are for: granting a glimpse of better times and better places absent the limitations of a reality far too unforgiving of factors beyond anyone’s control.

“It would be far more logical – and lucrative- for us to freelance.” I thought over his reply for a moment before shaking my head, expression falling.

“I don't want you to have to fight anymore…” I whispered, shifting slightly so the words were muffled against his leggings, “especially not in someone else’s war...”

He didn't respond, and when I finally looked back up at him, I understood why. The beauty beyond the viewport was forgotten, as was whatever embarrassment or doubt had pulled his gaze so pointedly away from me. He stared at me as though he'd just solved some great mystery, and the answer was something he wasn't prepared for, something he couldn't fix. He stared at me as though that knowledge would haunt him for eternity. There was a sadness to it, but it wasn't marred by regret. There was guilt, but there was also gratitude, and when his hand finally abandoned the controls, when he let himself reach for me, the backs of his fingers just brushing the hair from my eyes before sliding down to the curve of my jaw as though mapping the planes of my face by touch alone, I found myself consumed by the weight of that silence. I felt no need to break it, to offer either word or touch in return, but nor could I breathe beneath it, as though the slightest movement might scare him away.

He was the first to breach that quiet, but he did so gently, chest swelling with a slow breath, eyes closing for just a moment before again returning to the viewport, but he didn't pull away, hand instead shifting to softly cradle the side of my head, gloved fingers sliding carefully through locks of my hair, and, with a sigh full of my own relief and gratitude and exhaustion, I nestled more comfortably against him, legs stretching out across the cockpit floor as my cheek rested heavily atop his thigh, relishing in that moment of quiet with him for however long it might last.

“I carried your worthless shebs down the damn mountain. If you can’t even manage a ‘thank you,’ the least you could do is let me sleep.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that their first interaction after so nearly losing each other would be to fight, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from sinking beneath a low sigh.

“You shot me.” Crosshair snarled, and I had to keep from rolling my eyes as I began carefully unwrapping the bandages about his head, silently thrilling in the relief of hearing the clarity in Hunter’s voice.

“I stunned you.” Hunter retorted with nearly the same degree of annoyance. “You’d been screaming for half a klik – made sure every damn clanker in that forest knew exactly where we were.” I felt Cross stiffen, his thin lips pulling into a subtle frown as his hands tightened around the edge of my bed, and I had to bite back the cringe pulling at my own lips, the worry that maybe I should have allowed them some separation, at least until tempers weren’t already strained beneath injury and fear. He’d almost refused to enter the medbay despite his eagerness to be free of those dreaded bandages, relenting only after I threatened to drag him there by force.

Those threats haunted me in the moments that followed; in the hesitation jilting his every movement despite how vehemently he tried to hide it; how violently he refused to hold onto me for guidance even when he nearly tripped over Hunter’s mattress in search of my own, waking the Sargent with a start.

“I’ve carried each and every one of you,” I grumbled loudly, “You don’t see me moaning about not getting a damn ‘thank you’… and I told you to let me help – won’t be doing either of you any favors if you go falling over each other like that…” I added sternly to Crosshair, silencing them both.

We were mere moments from finally reaching the Vigilance, and I knew how much worse Crosshair’s anxiety was sure to get the instant he stepped foot off the Marauder without the use of his eyes. I’d initially intended to wait another day, but his scans were promising enough to relent if only to spare him that added dread.

“There’s still bacta on your eyes,” I warned, voice softening, body leaning forward just enough to subtly press my thigh against his knee in a silent offer of reassurance, “So don’t freak out when everything’s still blurry.” He answered only with a small grunt but didn’t pull away from my touch. I could see how closely Hunter was watching us, his own breath held despite the strain it surely placed on his ribs in those final moments before the wrappings fell away.

Crosshair didn’t move for a moment longer, eyes closed in a final display of that heartbreaking fear; clinging to that last moment of uncertainty for what glimpse of denial it granted before he’d have to face the reality of his injuries.

When he finally forced those sharp eyes to open, his entire body went taut.

“I know.” I murmured gently, hand whispering over his. “Blurry is okay. What we’re worried about is dark spots; gaps where you can’t see anything.” He tried not to show that growing panic, but his brows furrowed further together with each passing second, and I found my movements hurrying if only to keep him from falling too deeply into his own thoughts.

“I want you to keep your eyes on mine, Cross. Using your peripherals, let me know when you can’t see my finger.” I didn’t bother reminding him that everyone had a blind spot, that the small junction where the optic nerve connected to the retina robbed everyone of a sliver of sight so small as to be unnoticeable, aware of how familiar he was with not just the general anatomy of human eyes, but of every way in which his own eyes differed, how they were better. Still, his hand tightened even more around the lip of the bed when my finger wandered toward the edge of his vision.

“There.” It was only because of how intimately I knew him that I heard the hint of panic in that hushed word.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, cadence carefully even as I slowly moved my finger before him.

“No.” It wasn’t a whisper, but the relief was so consuming as to rob even the rasp from his voice, and I readily mimicked that relief with a gentle smile, thumb trailing softly along the edge of his hand, heart jumping when he released his grip on the mattress to tightly lock his fingers through mine.

As I repeated the test on his other side, I remembered trying to guide him through an exam to test the range of motion in his hands after a complication threatened the nerves stretching down his arm, the skepticism in his deadpan glare as he watched me model the movements. There were no reservations now; no doubt toward my motivation nor skill or devotion, and that only heightened both the stress in bearing the responsibility of their care as well as the joy of helping them through injury or illness or insecurity.

“Now the fun part…” My warning was lost beneath the mirth still lighting my voice, and he had to force himself to pay attention. “We still need to rinse that gel out.” Even that failed to sour his relief, and I found myself murmuring lest I breach that precious moment of calm. “We can do that in the fresher – let you clean up a bit easier after.” I offered, earning an almost dazed nod from him as I stepped back, hand tightening once more around his before sliding away. “Let me grab a few things, then I’ll be right behind you.” He hesitated only briefly, mind belatedly making sense of what I’d said before pushing himself to his feet.

He paused once more just before reaching the door, attention shifting down to where his brother still lay in a slight daze of his own, though one of medication more than euphoria.

“Thanks.” It was quiet, but no less earnest for it. Hunter held his gaze for a moment in silence before giving a small nod, a flare of something ancient and powerful and safe burning in his eyes. He’d nearly died – had died – saving his brother, and that look screamed just how willing he was to suffer that agony a thousand times over if it meant his family would be okay.

“He was awake,” I murmured, still watching the door long after it slid shut behind the lithe sniper, “when I was… when I was trying to bring you back.” I hesitated before looking toward him, an apology screaming through my eyes even as I continued speaking, my own worry about how that trauma might yet haunt Crosshair superseding the fear that I was revealing truths he might never have wanted revealed. “I’ve never seen him like that…” He didn’t respond for a moment, jaw tensing with a guilt that left my heart writhing in my chest.

“… how long was I…” He didn’t say it, narrowed eyes staring blindly through the far corner of the room.

“I don’t know.” I answer quietly. “A few minutes?” A silence stretched between us; a silence that wasn’t meant to be broken for want of guidance or reassurance.

“I’ll asked Wrecker to bring you your datapad.” I sighed, finally moving to gather my supplies. “And a shake.” I added more firmly, glancing back to catch his eye to clearly voice the unspoken threat. He answered only with a small smirk, and I didn't hide the weight that fell from my shoulders in that moment. He was okay. Crosshair was okay. Wrecker, Tech, and Echo were all healing. Maker, we'd made it…

“I’ll come back to check on you soon.” With that parting promise, I finally followed after his brother, arms locked around jugs of saline and large flush syringes.

“Good luck.” He called after me, and I made sure he could hear my scoffed laugh of a response.

If there was some great difference between the Vigilance and the Negotiator, my untrained eyes couldn't see it: same interplay of muted grays lining the hanger floors and walls; same curtains of blue light illustrating massive shields, same precise orchestra of soldiers marching in perfect synchrony across the gaping stretch of space between transports.

No… not the same… Surely the soldiers hidden beneath the ivory and gold armor of the 212th weren't the same as the ones I’d walked past so many months ago on the Negotiator. Those men were gone… How many? Why? Part of me wanted to blame the General, to shout at him purely to grant my rage and sorrow some outlet greater than merely allowing the anger to simmer in my chest. I wanted to accuse him of callously throwing away their lives, ask if he even knew the number of clones killed under his watch… but I knew that rage was born of a sorrow he felt just as keenly.

I’d only spent maybe an hour with the Jedi master; back when my own armor still gleamed white and I’d barely begun to develop some early taste of acceptance from the men who now held more of my heart than was right or proper or fair. Back then, I kept waiting for him to justify my prejudice, to shift blame and dismiss me with little more than rote reassurances and empty promises. Instead, I’d left that meeting with a sense of comfort, tentatively confident that he wasn’t there purely to placate me but to earnestly try to help. He cared. And I found myself mourning him just as strongly as those who’d fallen with his previous flagship, certain that he would never be free of the weight of loss growing ever heavier with each day the war continued.

General Kenobi was there when we landed, flanked by teams of medical staff with the Marshal Commander at his side. I saw them from only a fleeting glance, attention focused on addressing the pair of medics that had broken off from the main group to help transport Hunter. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo stood in formation behind the Senator. It was the first I’d seen of the arc in days, and there was a bittersweetness in that, in finally finding him only now when circumstance forbade me from speaking with him, not while Tech was providing as succinct of a debriefing as he was capable of and I was moments from taking my leave to oversee Hunter's care.

“I'm not sitting in that thing…” The words snarled from just within the Marauder where one of the Vigilance's men awaited with a hoverchair.

“The hell you aren't.” I snapped, shoulders pulling back as I turned an impatient glare toward the man leaning hazardously against the metal doorframe, jaw clicking shut around the curse burning atop my tongue to see him standing at all.

“It’s just outside the hanger. I'll walk.” He pressed with an impatience of his own.

“How about I neutralize those pain killers? See how eager you are to argue then.” His eyes narrowed with a slow, tense exhale just shy of a growl. “Chair or gurney.” I continued sternly. “Those are your choices. Or I can see if General Kenobi wants to do that force thing and magic you over there.” I added with a devious smirk. His lips drew up in a scowl just enough to flash a glimpse of clenched teeth, but, begrudgingly, he lowered himself into the hoverchair. The trooper behind him didn't linger, instantly moving forward before the unruly Sargent could voice further objection.

“Miss?” A voice called just before I started after them, and I turned to find the Senator approaching me, a confidence in his stride that was frightfully absent from eyes left almost timid from all he'd had to endure since his capture. He'd barely spoken to anyone beyond his daughter during the flight, movements almost neurotic beneath the desperate need to keep her close, to keep her safe, and none of us could truly begrudge him for that self-imposed isolation. Now, though, he’d ventured across the handle of meters separating us, for the first time since boarding the Marauder leaving the girl just beyond his reach.

“Senator.” I greeted with a small bow of my head.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.” There was still a slight tremor to his voice, and I wondered how he’d be able to return to politics after this, how he’d sleep knowing exactly what it meant to put himself and his family the spotlight like that.

“Just doing my job, sir.” I replied, though the automatic response wasn't without warmth. Still, he quickly shook his head.

“You took care of my girl… There's nothing in this galaxy that means more to me than her…” he pressed, and I had to bite back the flare of annoyance with a slow breath.

“I treated her injuries… but they were the ones who took care of her.” I said firmly, nodding to where Areeya was bouncing happily from Tech to Crosshair before, steps just a touch more hesitant, treading to Wrecker. The towering man instantly lowered himself onto a knee, and I cringed at how it surely strained the injured joint, but his scarred face was nothing but gentle as he smiled at the child. She tentatively reached for his hand. I couldn't hear what he said, but it left the girl giggling loudly, tiny fingers clutching onto him.

“He went back for her – hobbled through a burning ship with a dislocated knee because he was the only one who knew where she was.” I told him quietly as we watched the scene unfold. I vaguely noticed Tech's attention shift to watch the handful of troopers escorting Hunter to the medbay, and, with a final flurry of words, started toward us.

Areeya released Wrecker to free her hands for some frenzy of movements I was too far away to even try to interpret, and my heart jumped to see Wrecker respond in kind, movements hesitant and clumsy, but even from where I stood, I could see how the attempt left the girl bursting with glee, and without warning, she threw herself forward, arms straining to wrap around his broad chest.

“She’s… she’s signing.” The senator gasped.

“Yes…” Tech hummed thoughtfully. “We were curious as to why she was initially so opposed to that form of communication when she clearly has a fluent grasp on the language.” The father seemed to deflate around a heavy breath, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“She… overheard her mother… My wife means well, truly, but… she doesn’t have much patience for our daughter’s… unique preferences.” He explained tensely. “She worries that, by giving Areeya an alternative to speech, we’re enabling her mutism.” I tried to speak, but Tech quickly cut me off.

“On the contrary, limiting anyone, particularly a child, of some means of communication is more likely to further isolate them and harm both social and mental development.” There was an edge to his voice, and I wasn’t surprised to note the subtle line forming between narrowed brows. “Whether her mutism stems from a reluctance to speak or an inability, neither is grounds for depriving her of what means of self-expression she does prefer.” I half expected the senator to balk at his blunt words, tensing in preparation to get between them, but the man before us merely closed his eyes beneath a weariness that left my heart aching for him.

“I know.” He barely whispered, looking back toward his beaming child. “…I know…” With little more than a final, shaking breath, he started toward the girl once more, steps slow; heavy.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He didn't look at me as I whispered it, but I could see the stiffness in his shoulders as he watched the man approach Wrecker next.

“I'm eager to see the results of Hunter's scan.” It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. I let out a quiet sigh before nodding and, shoulder brushing lightly against his, turned to finally follow the path toward the medbay, allowing myself some solace in the safety of finding ourselves on one of the most prized ships of the GAR, in the knowledge that, here at least, I could finally see that my men received the care they needed, the care they deserved, even though I knew that this glimmer of respite was bought by blood and was doomed to be stolen from us far too soon.

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captainrex89 · 4 months ago

Text

Wrecker and Tech melt my heart ❤️ Poor Crosshair, he needs Doc cuddles lol

Fool's Errand Pt 13

Part (13) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

If I ever say there'll only be one more chapter in an arc... just... ignore that. Very similar to a wedding photographer saying "just one more picture." Lies. It's all lies.

Warnings: Reference to child being injured, standard guilt and regret, mild injury description and medical procedure, panic, profanity, mild brotherly teasing

WC: 4,461

“Any dizziness or problems with your vision?” The routine words left with little thought toward either the question itself or the dismissive answer given, and the man before me clearly resonated that disinterest, bright green eyes never turning from the girl tucked firmly into his side. I hadn’t seen their reunion, but the depth of their love for each other, the relief in finally finding themselves together once more lay plainly in how inseparable they’d been since he’d boarded, flanked by Wrecker and Echo, as Tech darted past to get the Marauder airborne before anyone had even begun reaching for the crash seats.

“Your… um, your man – the clone – the… with the glasses…” He muttered, hand motioning vaguely toward the cockpit, “he already asked me all this.” I had to steal a short breath to bite back the rush of annoyance at his generalized labels.

“I imagine he did.” I responded in a pointedly professional tone. “Tech is extremely capable in several fields, including medical, but you know how it is, Senator: we all have our own paperwork.” He let out an absent hum, hand coming back up to slide gently down his daughter’s hair.

“To the best of your knowledge, did you lose consciousness at any point?” I continued, but he didn’t turn back to me.

“Was she hurt?” The sudden quiet of his question caught me off guard, attention lifting to find him nearly curled around the dozing child. “Areeya… was she hurt?” He pressed, fighting back the tears clawing up his throat. I didn’t answer for a moment, unsure if he was the type to lash out and blame anyone but himself for what happened; stomach churning over the danger such a man might pose… but I remembered the Senator from Alderaan… how kind he’d been…

“Yes.” I whispered, gaze studying him carefully for some sign of warning, but he didn’t lash out; didn’t turn toward me with rage in those eyes he’d clearly passed on to her. “A ship she was on crashed… but she was lucky – my squad secured her well enough to prevent all but some minor injuries – small burns on her legs, a few bruises.” His eyes instantly travelled over the tiny form in search of any signs of such trauma. “I’ve already treated it – she probably won’t even scar.” He was still for a moment, and then a tremor stole through him. It was so slight, I nearly missed it, but then another seized his shoulders. And another.

I lingered for only a moment as he began to break. There were questions I still needed to ask, tests I was required to run… but not now. The man before me was a politician. He’d likely sent countless to their deaths from the comfort of some mansion absent a moment’s thought toward what widows they left behind. Maybe he’d been responsible for withholding resources desperately needed by the army. Maybe he’d spoken out against increasing provisions, or refused to entertain thought toward measures of caring for the soldiers once the war was over. Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the good ones – someone who recognized clones for the very real, very human people they were and acknowledged the horrors “leaders" like him subjected them to…

Regardless, in that moment, his career didn’t matter. He was a father. And he was mourning his failures in protecting the child who still sought nothing more than the safety of his embrace. And that was a moment not meant for the eyes of a stranger.

I gently rested my hand on his shoulder, fingers briefly tightening for what glimmer of comfort that silent gesture might offer before standing and treading toward the fore of the ship, footsteps echoing quietly about the otherwise empty cabin.

In the cockpit, Wrecker lounged across the pair of chairs behind the copilot’s seat, surprisingly soft snores just catching on slow, deep breaths, clearly having fallen asleep mid-conversation with his brother. Tech glanced only briefly toward me as I sat beside him before letting his gaze return to the datapad balanced on his thighs, jaw taut with annoyance from, I could only imagine, his inability to hold the device with the hand still strapped to his chest.

I watched the light trails of hyperspace gleaming against the soft yellow shielding eyes narrowed above a tense frown, and I didn’t need to look at the small screen to know what he was reading.

“Hunter…” He started, but, in a rare moment of hesitation, let the following words remain unspoken.

“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, legs pulling up to tuck against my chest as I watched him. He didn’t look at me, but his attention shifted away from the hastily written medical report I’d typed out while waiting for them to return, and I briefly wondered if he’d blame me for everything Echo had been so eager to dismiss. Part of me hoped he would, that someone else might justify the guilt still raging in my chest.

“There’s no record of brain damage from the most recent scan.” My arms tightened around my knees at the façade of hope forced into his words.

“Nothing serious, no.” I confirmed before continuing quietly, reluctantly, “Field scanners are pretty limited for fine detail, though.” He knew that, and I hated how effortlessly that simple fact robbed him of whatever denial he’d so briefly clung to. “I’ll know more after we rendezvous with the Vigilance. Unless he wakes up before then.” I added, and my teeth worried absently at my lip from the silence that followed.

“How’s your arm?” He didn’t respond for several seconds, his gaze finally shifting almost disdainfully toward the restrained limb.

“Unusable.” He replied with more than a touch of impatience before forcing out a small sigh and continuing, “but I believe your stitches are holding.” A tiny huff of laughter caught in my throat that made his lips bunch slightly.

“Mind if I take a look?” Some of that tension eased from his shoulders, attention shifting back to me as the screen to his datapad went dark.

“If you believe it would be beneficial.” He yielded, leaning back slightly against his seat.

“I believe the last thing we need right now is for one of you guys to get an infection.” I responded, pushing myself to my feet, and the look of offense that instantly pulled at his face drew a barely restrained chuckle from me.

“I would recognize the signs of infection long before it became dire.” I flashed him a smile at the chastising words, settling lightly onto my knees beside him.

“You focus on getting us back to the GAR.” I replied warmly. “I’ll make sure your arm doesn’t fall off.” He merely hummed dryly in response, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the stillness around us, by the violent juxta of that quiet against the chaos I’d found myself in the center of mere hours prior, and I savored it in the way I carefully freed him of the brace, movements just shy of reverent as I began stripping him of what armor he’d been able to slip on around the thick bandages.

“I didn’t think you’d still be able to rescue the Senator after we had to blow the walls early.” I murmured, words hushed.

“It… wasn’t easy.” He admitted, voice catching slightly at even the tiny strain of supporting the weight of his forearm, and I quickly guided him forward to rest the limb on his thigh. “Echo and I were forced to crash the speeder into his transport to prevent them from taking off.” I paused, taken aback by the lengths they’d had to go to.

“If you keep crashing things, the GAR’s not going to let you fly anymore.” I teased. His brow hitched as he glanced toward me from the corner of his eyes, but his expression softened slightly at the little smirk warming the mockery of accusation narrowing my gaze.

“I believe this maneuver would more appropriately be referred to as tactical misuse of an appropriated transport.” I didn’t try to hide the way my face contorted around a barely muffled laughter, and thrilled in the almost shy smile just managing to toy with his lips.

“Wouldn’t’a had to ‘tactically misuse’ anything if yuh’d just let me blow that last charge.” Wrecker mumbled, appearing to all the worlds as though he were still asleep save for his good eye peaking groggily at us.

“Had you detonated the final charge, there was a non-zero likelihood of the Senator being caught in the explosion.” Tech retorted, and it was clearly not the first time he’d had to voice that argument.

“Ahh, he’d’ve been fine.” Wreck dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand. “The clanker’s had ‘im way in the back. Maybe a couple ‘a bruises, but then we wouldn’t’ve had to run all the way up here!” I had to fight the wince at the thought of him running up the steep hill, knee only just beginning to heal.

“Your way likely would have resulted in our primary objective being injured or rendered unconscious, in which case we likely would have needed to carry him to the Marauder as that transport was a large enough target for even the B1’s to accurately hit.” I let out a small sigh as Wrecker drew a breath to respond, clearly more amused by the ease with which he could pester his brother than any desire to actually prove his point.

“Not if we blew them up, too!”

“The amount of explosives needed to terminate the entirety of the Separatist forces would most certainly have resulted in our own deaths, as well…”

It wasn’t a clean line. The metal that had torn into his arm was jagged and hot, and the scar would clearly proclaim just how frightful the wound had been. He didn’t look down as I checked the severity of the swelling, inspecting the countless stitches for signs of tearing, and I realized that Wrecker’s bickering was far more intentional than I’d initially assumed. He was offering a distraction. Even after all the time I’d spent with them, the effort I’d put into earning their trust and easing their fears, I knew what horrors haunted their youth, knew how ingrained their terror was of allowing anyone beyond their own brothers to care for them.

Maybe that knowledge should have hurt. Maybe I should have been insulted or annoyed, but I felt only gratitude. Despite that fear, Tech made no effort to pull away from my touch, and Wrecker’s laughter felt so effortless as he continued prodding his brother with senseless taunts and jests. I wondered if Tech knew, if he was intentionally allowing himself to be bated. Probably. The thought made me smile, though I knew there was a sorrow behind it I couldn’t quite hide.

“How’s the pain?” I asked softly as I finished securing a fresh bandage. His eyes flashed only briefly from me to the crisp linen before darting pointedly to the unlit screen of his datapad.

“Tolerable.” He answered, and I rolled my eyes with a short huff.

“Tech.” I pressed, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“In so long as I do not attempt to use it, the pain is nominal.” He reassured me, voice lowering into something near a whisper. I don’t think I’d ever heard him talk like that before. There was an unspoken apology and gratitude and warmth, and something about it sent a wave of static dancing through my chest. I hadn’t expected it, couldn’t recover in time to even grant myself a shred of denial that he didn’t notice, eyes catching his for just a moment before quickly looking away.

“If that changes,” I murmured as though there was no threat of heat creeping up my neck, “let me know.” Stealing a quick breath, I forced aside that lingering thrill and fell back into rote phrases and warnings. “It’s not just about pain management. That wound was severe. If there’s any sign of infection, we need to catch it early.” His hesitation had nothing to do with his injury, but he belatedly nodded in response.

“Speaking of pain management,” I continued, voice rising as I turned to look at Wrecker, and I tried not to calculate how much he’d been able to see around the broad backrest of the pilot’s chair, “how bad did that hike mess with your knee?” Something between a grin and a wince flashed across his scarred face.

“Already got one ‘a them ice packs on it.” He offered with a note of remorse, and I didn’t hide the way my brows rose in surprised approval. “It’s helpin’ some, but…” His cheeks warmed slightly, jaw shifting with an almost abashed nervousness, “it’s still pretty stiff… Think you’ll have time to…” His hand swept toward it with a shrug, and my expression warmed.

“I want to scan it again – make sure nothing got damaged, but, yeah, I think another massage is a great idea.” He instantly relaxed at the reassuring murmur. “Are you okay to wait a few minutes, though? I want to run back to check on Cross and Hunter first.”

“‘Course!” He replied without hesitation, and my heart ached for how quickly he answered, how ready he was to put his brothers before himself… but nearly an hour had passed since I’d left the medbay, since I’d watched that damn, wonderful line dance across the monitor. It didn’t matter that several alarms would blare through the entire ship should that change… I needed to see it, to feel it once more before that anxiety might ease.

The Senator had shifted just enough about the crash couch to cradle his daughter, Areeya, against his chest, and both appeared to be asleep. Echo wasn’t in the cabin with them, nor was he in the kitchenette or fresher. I’d just resolved to search for him after checking on the others when I finally reached the medbay.

“Dammit, Crosshair!” I nearly shouted, body already surging forward before the door finished opening. He’d forced his legs beneath him, body trembling as he leaned heavily against the wall. Blood slid toward his wrist where he’d ripped the IV from his arm, and his shoulders jerked with each harsh breath. “What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be-” My words fell short as I reached him, hand darting to his chest to steady him, but he jerked away with a violent scowl, and I couldn’t help but freeze.

“I’m fine!” He growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not staying in this kriffing medbay!” I was so taken aback by not only that venom I’d nearly forgotten the taste of, but also by the strange frenzy in his hoarse voice.

“You didn’t give a damn about that last night.” I retorted, and I could hear the confusion simmering beneath my annoyance, the insult gnawing through my chest that I had to fight to suppress in order to slip back into some semblance of gentleness in the face of his outburst. “Cross, it’s alright. Just talk to-”

“Talking isn’t going to give me my damn eyes back!” He snarled, teeth bared, and his head jerked to the side at the distant sound of the air cyclers kicking on. I barely noticed that quiet hum anymore, but he flinched as though someone was screaming mere inches from his ear.

“Crosshair, your eyes are healing. They aren’t-”

“Just shut up!” He roared, and I instantly fell silent, something cold and wrong coiling about my chest at the sound of fractured gasps catching between ground teeth, at the sight of his chest bucking with each panicked flinch as he fought to regain some sliver of control over his shaking legs, the limbs stealing tiny, rushed steps as he felt for the edge of Hunter’s cot. “…damn it…” He growled, but whatever remorse twisted through him quickly vanished beneath the safety of his rage as he cursed again. “Damn it!”

Without another word, he pushed himself harshly forward, hand stretched out to maintain some bit of contact against the wall as he all but darted for the door, and I didn’t have time to move before his shoulder rammed into me with enough force to knock me back several steps with a quiet “oof”. I heard the sudden intake of breath, the way his lips parted around what he’d never admit to being a sob as a desperate apology strained to leap from his tongue, but, in the same instant, he was moving again, head tucked toward his chest as he threw himself from the room.

“Cross!” I called, my own sob shamelessly ripping the air from my lungs. It hurt not to go after him, not to sprint through the hall and lock him in an embrace until he stopped shaking, but I knew that would only make it worse. Trapped. How could he not feel trapped when he could see nothing but darkness around him? As worried as I was, as desperately as I longed to help him, I knew that he’d find more comfort in a few minutes alone, in stealing himself away of his own strength and volition than in what honeyed words or gentle touches I might offer… A few minutes… then I’d grant myself some excuse to seek him out…

My eyes dropped to Hunter, to that blessed monitor that I knew was cursed to haunt my dreams for years to come as I studied the display. Steady. Strong. Stronger than I had any right to hope for, and I felt myself wilt beneath a shaking sigh at the color just beginning to return to what meager patches of skin were free of the deep purples and sickly yellows of bruises that were finally beginning to fade.

I tried not to rush, fingers reaching out to feel his pulse before turning my attention to the tube still piercing his side. It wasn’t dripping anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to remove it. Not yet. Another scan. A fresh IV bag. A stolen moment to rest my hand lightly atop his chest as I tried to ignore the palm-shaped outline over his sternum, an echo of that near-grief just threatening to overcome me before forcing myself to move; to clean up the liquid already beginning to soak into both cots from Crosshair’s crudely detached saline bag.

“Everything’s looking good.” I told him. It didn’t matter that he was unconscious. I wanted him to know. “You’re going to be in a world of pain when you wake up, but you’ll be okay.” Feeling those words on my tongue, hearing them and knowing there was no hint of deceit or deception amidst the syllables offered a far greater comfort than I’d expected, and I granted myself just a moment longer to grasp his hand tightly in mine, to savor the warmth of him before finally pushing myself to stand once more. “I’ll come back to check on you again soon – need to figure out a way to deal with that damn brother of yours, first…”

I didn’t have to look far. He didn’t like being down low. I didn’t know if it was an innate drive or something drilled into him through a lifetime of training, but he gravitated toward high places; trees, rocks, even something as simple as claiming the upper bunk.

“Cross?” I called gently as I entered the bunkroom. He didn’t move, body curled tightly atop his bed, that familiar, scratchy blanket wrapped awkwardly around him where the fabric had clearly folded but he’d been unable to straighten it. “You’re going to bleed all over your sheets… Can I at least put a bandaid on your arm?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper, words slowed, unrushed and void of the guilt churning through my stomach. Shouldn’t have left him… I should have made sure someone was with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone…

Several seconds passed in a tense silence, before, almost begrudgingly, he tried to offer me his arm, but that tangled fabric snagged around his wrist, instantly earning a strangled growl as he tried to wrench the limb free, and I could see how badly he was still shaking.

“Hold on – hold on. I’ve got it.” I murmured quickly, already hopping onto the now empty frame of Hunter’s bed to reach him, but he’d already managed to fling the coiled blanket away, and I had to bite back a sigh at the mess of crimson already smeared about the crook of his elbow. Balancing awkwardly atop the metal tubing underfoot, I gently slipped my fingers beneath his arm, pointedly ignoring the flinch he couldn’t quite fight back, and began dabbing at the stained skin.

“I know you probably want to be alone,” I started, voice hushed, lazy, as though I wasn’t pouring the entirety of my focus toward willing some measure of calm into him, as though I was somehow more concerned with the miniscule prick from the torn IV site than I was the crippling display of shear terror from the man I’d so readily found myself viewing as impervious to such things, invulnerable…

I’d seen the others break; seen Hunter ruined at the threat of losing one of us, Wrecker crushed beneath the fear of a child, Tech robbed of his brilliant mind and left floundering, and Echo… I remembered holding him through nightmares, remembered how readily he held me in turn, and I felt my heart stutter with a dread that only grew the longer he somehow managed to hide from me… but Crosshair…

I’d seen his rage. I’d felt the biting edge of his indifference. And I’d grown to love them with the same fervor that now filled me upon finding him watching me with far kinder emotions; amusement when my own stubbornness led to fights, grief when reality seemed bound to tear us apart, and something far sweeter when no one else was there to bear witness, when stolen moments allowed for a softness forbidden amidst the harshness of what stations happenstance had forced upon us. This, however… This was raw in a way I’d never wanted to see. This was cruel and wrong and wrought with a hopelessness no whispered reassurances could touch.

“But I still have some work to do with Wrecker’s knee, and I’d prefer to do that with him laying down.” I continued speaking with that same, unconcerned, almost mumbled cadence, casually securing a small bandage over the tiny hole before guiding his arm back over his chest, hand lingering for just a moment longer. “Is it okay if I bring him in here with you?” Again he paused, belatedly reaching out to wrench the blanket back over him. I knew that blanket had nothing to do with the cold, needing, instead, some cover to hide the way he trembled.

“… fine.” He muttered, mouth taut with a harsh frown.

“Okay.” I whispered, finally allowing a sliver of worry to just bleed through, and I stepped down before he had the chance to lash out at the sound of it, pointedly letting my footsteps tap loudly against the metal floors so he could hear me.

“Wreck.” I called upon returning to cockpit. The way his posture instantly changed, shoulders pulling back as he sat up straighter, attention quickly locking on me left me no uncertainty that he heard every ounce of unspoken pleas yet to leave my lips. “Mind if we do this in the bunkroom?” He was quiet for a moment. I tried to think of how to explain what I was really asking, how to warn him about the state Crosshair’s temporary blindness had rendered him into but he didn’t need me to voice it.

“Yeah.” He replied with that understanding and patience I’d forever love him for.

Tech shift just enough to meet my gaze, studying me for a moment before speaking.

“Crosshair…?” I offered a tense smile.

“He’s not handling it well.” I admitted, barely breathing the words. Tech’s eyes turned back to watch Wrecker carefully begin climbing up the ladder before returning to me, head bobbing in a small nod. Without another word, he turned back to the viewport, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the delay before actually taking in any of the data flashing across the control panel. Later, if he allowed, I resolved to bring Crosshair in here, to allow the brothers a moment of their own to recover from the maelstrom of emotions this cursed mission had brought.

“I said I was sorry!” Wrecker’s voice reverberated through the ship without even the faintest hint of that stillness he’d regarded me with barely a minute prior, and I quickly trailed after him, unsurprised to see the alarm in the Senator’s eyes as I passed through the cabin, reaching the bunkroom just in time to catch Crosshair’s seething retort.

“Sorry doesn’t get the kriffing dents out of my muzzle!”

“Well, we’ll jus’ get yuh another one at the Vigilance.” His response wavered between an apology and a dismissal.

“I don’t use regulation parts.” He scowled.

“I’m not letting a single one of you behind a gun again for at least a month, anyway.” I interrupted with an impatience of my own that carried the grief and guilt and regret we all suffered beneath in some way.

Wrecker lounged comfortably across his cot while Crosshair still lay curled tightly atop his, though he’d pushed himself up as though to glare at the man through the thick bandages about his eyes.

“Plenty ‘a time to get a replacement!” Wrecker beamed, and neither of us drew attention to the flash of gratitude I sent him. It felt like years had passed since that terrifying moment – since forcing myself back into the burning carcass of the wrecked transport to save Tech only to find Wrecker leaning hazardously on the Firepuncher with that tiny girl over his shoulder.

“I brought you in here to deal with that knee, not so you could start a fight.” The feigned reprimand only earned a knowing smile from the gentle man.

“Not my fault he’s so picky about that hunk of metal.”

“Hunk of-!"

“Enough.” My voice rose just enough to echo slightly, and I had to bite back a chuckle at Wrecker's little smirk as he began tugging at the waist of his blacks.

“If it makes you feel any better, him using your rifle like that was probably the only reason he was able to save Areeya.” I murmured up to the seething sniper.

“It doesn’t.” He responded curtly. I didn't try to silence that bout of laughter, and thrilled in the subtle way his shoulders relaxed at the sound.

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captainrex89 · 4 months ago

Text

Another good chapter!

Fool's Errand Pt 12

Part (12) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Eh. Decided to go ahead and break it up. Soooo there'll be one more chapter after this to finish this all up.

Warnings: Reference to medical procedures, panic, eye injuries, profanity, blood, mild violence, guilt

WC: 4,234

When wars first begin, there’s a sense of invincibility that drives society forward with resolute conviction. Tempers are freshly stoked, confidence is dangerously high, and the thought of defeat is rejected with little more than passing thoughts. That confidence lends to impulsive and hasty decisions beneath the false hope for a quick and definitive victory, and while that often sees those first few months filled with seemingly unending supplies and warriors and weapons, once that initial surge fades, so to do the funds that enabled it. But the soldiers remain.

Whether boasting the highest quality armor and munitions or left with mere scraps, those forced to fight have no choice but to find a way to make do all the same. Either they adapt or they lose. They die. But more than that, failure means the death of their brothers. It means letting the war drag on even longer, and I don’t doubt that that is a far more powerful motivator to the clones than any loyalty to a people who regard them as faceless machines or to some governing body who tallies their deaths as mere numbers.

Tech would balk at anyone referring to the Marauder as ‘scrap,’ but the simple fact remained that it was meant to be an attack shuttle. The elegant crests of its fins were designed for rapid, ruthless assaults more akin to guerilla warfare, not the grueling battles it’s been forced to endure, but that small vessel was all these men had. The interior was barely the size of a small apartment, and not only had the five of them figured out a way to make it a home, they’d made room for me as well, and, still, they prevailed through mission after mission, often crammed together for days of interspace travel without complaint. Well, without much complaint.

The room that had become their medbay was barely large enough for a couple of beds to lie toe-to-toe. This shuttle wasn’t originally intended to even have a medbay. Any wounded it carried were assumed to be on-board only long enough to reach a proper facility. Reality had proven far less ideal.

I could hear Crosshair’s broken, shuttering breaths hiss through clenched teeth from across the ship as I wrenched my mattress from the metal frame and shoved it into the corner. The drugs I’d given him offered some manner of relief, but whether that relief was in truly easing the pain or simply robbed his mind of the clarity to remember it, I couldn’t say, nor could I let the doubt and guilt of his suffering distract me.

Before the cot had even settled, I was tearing through the cabinets lining the far wall, shoving armfuls of bacta and gauze onto the counters before reaching back for saline bags and IV ports. This room wasn’t meant for multiple patients. This ship wasn’t meant for multiple patients, but I needed them both in here, needed to be able to watch their chests rise and fall lest the panic of not knowing keep me darting from room to room.

Fueled with that fear, I ripped Hunter’s cot from his bed and dragged it back with me, some unrelenting, subconscious thought screaming that he’d be uncomfortable in anyone else’s. It wouldn’t smell right to him; wouldn’t feel right. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t smell; that he wasn’t likely to even wake before we rendezvoused with a flag ship; that he’d never know. I knew he’d only be comfortable in his bed, so his was the mattress I pilfered from the bunkroom to set beside mine before finally letting myself race back to the main cabin.

That young girl followed me step by step, wide eyes studying my every movement, though she managed to never get in the way. Later, I’d wonder over the return of that innocent curiosity despite the nightmare she’d just witnessed, the nightmares she’d suffered firsthand. Later, I’d marvel at how readily she allowed that curiosity to drive her rather than remain cowering as far from the danger and noise and violence as she could get. Later, I’d hate myself for my failure to encourage that curiosity, for not offering some words of reassurance and praise, but my focus was already overwhelmed, veins thrumming with an anxiety that screamed at me to go faster, think harder, shouting that I’d miss something vital and it would be my men who’d pay the price.

Crosshair’s knees were curled listlessly to his chest, torso still rocking with unsteady, strangled gasps as one hand clutched the grate beneath him while the other remained flush against his face, palm pressed firmly to the bandaging over his eyes for what façade of relief that pressure might offer. Before I let myself run to him, my gaze dropped to the monitor beside Hunter, nearly holding my breath as I studied the rhythmic dance illustrating a heartbeat I still struggled to believe was real.

Hand trembling, I yielded beneath that terrified doubt for just a moment, movements shaky as I kneeled between them and reached once more for Hunter’s neck, cursing the way my fingers trembled too violently to feel anything for several seconds, but it was there: that steady thum… thum… thum. Finally, I felt myself inhale, and the euphoria of air filling my lungs lifted a haze I only had the clarity to even recognize once it was gone.

Reassured that Hunter was stable, I turned back to the still weakly writhing sniper, carefully reaching out to touch his shoulder, and my heart sank at how sharply he flinched from me.

“Easy, Cross; it’s me.” I murmured, hand slowly tracing the rigid tendons stretching up toward his neck. That tension didn’t leave him, but he no longer tried to find enough strength to pull away from me. “I’m going to help you to the medbay, okay? Then we’ll get something stronger in you to make the pain stop.” If he heard me, he offered no response, halting breaths still causing his entire body to shake. “Let’s get some of this armor off, first.”

Taut muscles and dazed thoughts left him far from helpful as I tried to gently wrestle him free of the heavy plastoid. His arms were easy enough to strip, but when I began lifting the cuirass free, he reacted violently, lashing out with whatever limb was nearest to me, deaf to my every reassuring murmur and softly spoken promise as whatever nightmares haunting the darkness around him left him panicking in a way my words simply couldn’t breech.

“Crosshair, I know you’re scared, but – ngh! – I… I need you to try to b-breathe.” I had to fight to keep the strain from my voice, but the sudden impact of his elbow to my hip nearly sent me flying, and, panting, I had to take a moment to collect myself. I knew how thoroughly the meds would rob him of a coherency already ruined by the feral panic of suffering beneath such crippling pain for so long, and I could only guess toward the terror of finding himself trapped in a darkness he couldn’t escape; how alone and exposed and defenseless he surely felt upon being so ruthlessly robbed of his sight, but I had to find some way to get through to him before he hurt himself… or me…

“Alright… Cross? Crosshair, it’s just me, baby. It’s -” Before my name could more than rest atop my tongue, he kicked out at me, his heel just catching my stomach with enough force to wrench the air from my lungs, body crashing back with a deafening crack as my head bounced off the hard floor. Some part of me registered a frightened gasp, and I hated the guilt that tiny sound filled me with. Should have been faster… Should have thought ahead and moved the girl somewhere safe, somewhere far away from what wretched truths normally lay hidden behind medbay doors and sterile sheets and promises that loved ones would be fine absent word of the agony they’d suffer first.

Jaw straining open in some futile effort to draw air into lungs burning with suffocation despite how uselessly my diaphragm sputtered beneath my every effort to breathe, I forced myself to move, limbs scrambling for enough purchase to jerk an elbow beneath me, gaze first flickering to the girl watching us with wide eyes, wincing at the way her body tucked into the corner between a crash couch and the far wall, before shifting back to Crosshair. She was safe… but, Maker, there was no hope of her coming out of this unscarred…

Once more… I’d try just once more to reach him before resorting to simply sedating him…

“Cross?” I cringed at the faint wheeze distorting my voice, but it was clear he hadn’t heard me anyway, not really. He sat rolled back on a hip, leg straining to push himself up amidst halfhearted attempts to get a foot beneath him, free hand now held out between us in a threatening fist while the other continued burring against his eyes, chest bucking with rapid, shallow gasps, and I wondered how much of this he’d even remember later.

“Shhh.” The gentle sound was barely audible over how quickly the air hissed between his teeth, lips bared in an enraged snarl that did little to hide the fear so clearly overwhelming him. “Shhh, I’m right here, Cross.” I whispered as my own breathing gradually began to slow. His shoulders tensed, but there was a flicker of hesitation that drew a small huff of relief from me. “I know, I know… but I’m going to help, okay?” The comforting murmur left on a carefully slowed sigh. The words didn’t matter. I just needed him to hear me – to hear the calm in my voice and let it grant him some sliver of reassurance.

“Shhh.” I breathed once more, fingers lightly slipping around his trembling fist, and he so nearly wrenched the limb back, muscles jerking in a violent flinch… but he paused just before actually breaking that contact, and I instantly rewarded him with a smile I could only hope he’d hear in the quiet praises and promises that continued falling softly from my lips.

“That’s it.” I breathed, touch shifting gently over scarred knuckles and taut tendons. “Just take a couple slow breaths with me… We’re gonna get you out of that armor and nestled up in my bed, okay?” My thumbs followed the stiff ridge along the base of his palm in a subtle invitation for him to open his hand. His grip tightened for just a moment, clinging to some fleeting rush of the illusion of safety granted by the rage fueling that lethal instinct to fight back, but then that tension began to fade. It was hesitant, fingers loosening in tentative increments, and locking again for several seconds before opening a bit more.

“Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?” I murmured fondly, thumbs dragging firmly over what I could of his exposed palm, and my heart jumped at the subtle way his shoulders began to droop. “Could have had you both snuggled up and resting in the damn medbay by now, but you just had to turn into a feral tooka on me.” A tiny, accidental giggle sounded from behind me, and I glanced back to shoot the girl a knowing look as she quickly clasped a hand over her lips. If Crosshair heard it, he was fading too quickly to react, exhaustion a merciless thing as the loss of terror-induced adrenaline left his head sinking toward his chest, torso curling forward as his entire body began to sway.

“Easy.” I murmured as he jerked upright slightly to catch himself. My hand slid up his arm before finally trying once more to pull at his cuirass. “Can you lift your arms for me?” He didn’t respond at first, breath hitching slightly as a weak tremor stole through him, but then he began to obey, movements almost begrudging beneath the clear effort it took. He swayed even more wildly after I’d managed to pull that heavy shell of armor away, and I had to lock an arm around his back to steady him.

Weak… Maker, he was so frightfully weak in that moment, and my heart ached for the disdain he’d surely feel for that weakness were his mind clear enough to recognize it.

“Just hold onto me for a minute, okay?” I whispered, already pulling him flush against me. He didn’t fight the way I guided his arm over my shoulders, legs staggering almost uselessly beneath him as I slowly hauled him upright. Now robbed of that veneer of wrath, he couldn’t mask the depth of a fear that haunted him as he tottered on the very fringes of consciousness, his lithe body draped almost limply over mine, muscles jerking in nervous flinches at even the familiar sounds of the Marauder’s base systems chiming around us, and I found myself desperately hoping he wouldn’t remember this; that he wouldn’t suffer beneath a shame he had no reason to feel for this moment of vulnerability and need as he clung to me during those few minutes it took to stagger to the back of the ship.

The instant I gave the slightest indication for him to lay down, he readily collapsed, body fell heavily against me. I barely managed to guide him into the cot without dropping him. He didn't waste even what minimal effort it would take to reposition himself before fading into whatever empty sleep could be found in the wake of the fresh surge of meds I quickly pressed into his neck.

Getting Hunter to the medbay was no less complicated. Between his preexisting injuries and the damage I’d inflicted in trying to restart his heart, I couldn’t risk carrying him. Much to the girl’s humor, I ended up carefully sliding a blanket beneath him to drag him through the ship. The effort, however, was well worth the relief gleaned from finally seeing them both resting safely atop thin cots, chests rising in tandem beneath the intoxicating cocktail of drugs and blood loss.

I could only guess toward how long it might take for them to wake. I'd allotted myself more time than was necessary to finish removing their armor, had quickly moved back through the ship to retrieve what bits lay scattered in the cabin to stack it neatly atop the counters, and neither man had yet begun to stir.

In truth, I felt no rush for Hunter to wake, though part of me wouldn’t be able to relax until those intense, calculating eyes opened once more. I didn’t care if he looked at me with anger or indifference or love, so long as he looked at me. And Crosshair… I’d need to replace the damn battery in my scanner from how frequently I was rechecking him; recording and comparing every step of progress in his healing for some indication of whether or not there’d be permanent damage, for some idea of how to answer the inevitable questions he was sure to have when he was alert enough to ask. It likely wouldn’t be long… maybe another hour? Maybe mere minutes… My heart twisted at the thought of trying to force him to leave the thick bandages around his eyes, to force him to continue suffering in that darkness…

I had yet to disconnect the monitor from Hunter, nor could I ignore how frequently my gaze returned to the small screen if only for some tangible proof that his heart was still beating. Both of his arms were attached to fresh IVs rich in medicines and vitamins that I could only hope would be enough to control the bleed still slowly trying to refill his chest cavity and draining from the small port in his side. He was stable… but that was such a delicate balance…

Half a klick… He’d carried Crosshair for nearly half a klick… Of course he’d begun bleeding out again… I’d told him how dangerous physical activity was… but… kriff, what other option had I left for him? He was the only one close enough to provide backup in time… if I’d stayed behind… if I hadn’t intervened… Crosshair wouldn’t have had to wait so long to have his eyes cared for… and Hunter wouldn’t have had to carry him… Maybe something would’ve happened in the field like I’d originally feared, but… even then, he wouldn’t have had to wait on the damn ramp of the Marauder for Force knows how long… He would have had his brothers right there to help him immediately…

My chest jerked with something between a sob and a gasp as the medbay door opened behind me, and I couldn’t bring myself to even try to fight back the depth of guilt and regret and grief upon turning to find Echo, stride freezing the instant he met my eyes. He waited only until my shoulders jerked with another jilted breath before throwing himself toward me, and I instantly reacted in kind, darting forward to bury myself in his embrace.

“It’s my fault!” I hadn’t meant for the words to come out. “I almost got them killed!” His arms locked so tightly around me, I almost couldn’t find air to give voice to the sudden outpour of emotion, and yet I found myself silently begging him to hold me tighter. “This is my fault!”

“No… mesh’la, that’s not true, and you know that.” He pressed in something torn between a gentle murmur and a reprimand, and I shivered slightly at the heat of his breath dancing through my hair.

“I don’t know a damn thing about strategy! And I forced Hunter’s hand, and he…” The words died in a hiccupped gasp, and I pressed myself hard against his chest, finding an odd comfort in the familiar ridges of metal lining his torso.

“Sushir, cyare – listen.” He carefully lowered himself onto a knee, something about the movement seemed odd, but the tenderness of his hand against my cheek pulled my attention back to the soft gold of his eyes. “If you’d stayed here, both you and Crosshair would have been killed.” I couldn’t help but hesitate at that, confusion pulling my brows together, forcing my still choppy breath to quiet that I might better hear him.

“This place was run by a type of strategy droid.” He explained in a mediated calm that quickly robbed me of my panic. “It knew a sniper took out the defenses of the black site. Bringing the senator here, letting us track them – that was all a trap because the karking droid wanted revenge.” It took a long moment for me to truly process his words, body going still as I looked at him with wide eyes. “There’s an entire platoon of dead droids out there from Hunter. If you’d tried to get to Cross on your own, you never would have made it.”

“Tech’s never going to let us forget this.” I don’t know where I managed to find enough humor for even that quick huff, but the quiet, relieved laughter that caught on Echo’s lips left my heart jumping so sharply amidst a pleasant burst of static that, if only for a moment, I was stunned, but, when a weak groan sounded behind me, all thought toward that feeling or the mission or even the rationale behind my guilt was forgotten, attention whipping around to see Crosshair’s leg shifting atop the mattress in a stiff, unsteady motion, fingers twitching against the thin sheet beneath him.

“Kriff – Cross! Okay – alright, I know, I know.” The rushed words left in something just shy of a whisper, fighting to hide the lingering stiffness from my voice as I darted to the narrow space between the cots, hand belatedly reaching up to brush away the tears still staining my cheeks. His lips twitched into a weak scowl, head shifting listlessly to the side before managing a more pointed jerk.

“No, no, no.” I quickly reached out to catch his hand in mine as he began reaching for the bandages, and I wanted to sob anew at the way his chest bucked, entire body going taut. “Listen to me, Crosshair; you need to let them heal first, okay?” His fingers gradually tightened around mine until the entire limb shook, and I found myself wondering if he even realized he was doing it as I waited for the coming questions that I still couldn’t answer; the plea for some reassurance that he’d be okay, but several seconds passed and he didn’t say anything.

“Cross?” I called softly, unsettled by the deep stillness of him, the painfully even cadence of too-deep breaths flowing stiffly through lips now ground into a tight frown.

“… you’ve been crying…” He barely whispered it, and I had to swallow back the threat of that overwhelming emotion all over again, drawing a quick, shaky inhale that did little to keep my voice from breaking.

“It was just… a lot.” I answered as calmly as I could even as I had to blink away the burn of fresh tears flooding my eyes. “But I’m alright.” I dragged my thumb lightly along the edge of his palm.

“The others…” I worried over the tension in his short words, already calculating how soon I could increase his pain meds.

“Echo’s,” I glanced over my shoulder only to find the doorway now empty, and I felt a twinge of guilt at how I’d left him. “He was just here – pretty sure he was checking up on you two.” He suddenly froze, air catching in his throat, and realization dawned on me.

“…he’s… Hunter’s…” He’d been so out of it that I wasn’t sure if my earlier reassurances had reached him, and the guilt that stormed me at letting him think for even a moment longer that his brother was dead threatened to cripple me.

“He’s fine! He’s-he’s right here.” I stammered, scrambling back enough to pull Hunter’s arm across the narrow distance. “Here – feel that?” Movements almost rushed, I pressed Cross’s fingers to his brother’s wrist, and I found myself holding my breath as he felt the steady rhythm of Hunter’s pulse. Neither of us spoke, neither moved; granting that almost desperate relief the moment of reverie and wonder and exhaustion innate in those first few seconds of freedom from a grief that neither of us would have ever recovered from.

It was a subtle thing; the way he let that tension slip away, head just tilting back into the pillow with a barely-there sigh, but he made no effort to pull his hand back, and I could still see the faintest tremble in those long fingers.

“How long until this comes off?” His voice fell back into that familiar grumble so effortlessly; as though the last few minutes had never happened, and I barely managed to stifle the laugh into a breathy chuckle.

“A few days.” I answered quietly. “Maybe sooner depending on how quickly they heal.” He thought over my words for a moment before finally voicing the question I’d been waiting for since first dragging him into the medbay.

“Am I blind?”

“No.” It left my lips before he’d even finished asking, and I waited only a moment before explaining. “I… I don’t know… how well it’ll heal.” I hated how obviously I found myself tripping over my words, and took another breath before trying again, grateful that he hadn’t let himself lash out at the less than satisfying answer. “Your last scan still showed damage to your corneas, but it was already an improvement from before I cleaned and treated them. So, it’s safe to assume they’ll continue to improve.” I could see his forearm tense, but his hand remained unmoving for several more seconds before finally releasing Hunter’s wrist and shifting to drape almost lazily over his stomach.

Moments of silence were no stranger between us. I’d grown to love them, to thrill in the gentle comfort of his presence, the freedom from some need to force unwanted conversation, but there was nothing gentle in that resigned stillness, and I hated how desperate I sounded in my attempt to offer some taste of empty hope.

“I’ll continue scanning you regularly to monitor their progress, and even if there is scarring, there are more steps we can take.” I waited in some vain sense of denial for a sign that he believed me, but, when he offered no reply, I reached for him once more, fingers twining through his absent any further attempts to hide the sense of dread.

“I’m here, Cross… No matter what, I’m right here.” Several seconds passed in that same silence, but then his hand pulsed. It lasted only a second, but it was there, and when I moved to lay beside him atop the too-narrow cot, he didn’t hesitate, arm readily shifting to let me curl into him, my head resting lightly atop his chest. There was no remedy for this; the consuming dread of wretched unknowns that only time might bring to light, but, as long as he let me, I could make sure he didn’t suffer in it alone, and if I found my own comfort in the powerful thrum of his heartbeat dancing beneath my cheek, that was a selfishness I’d forgive myself for later.

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captainrex89 · 4 months ago

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Fun to read knowing how things turn out for them!

Reassigned

Prompted by @clonexocweek's day one: First Meeting for the rather massive series of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

We'll return shortly to your irregularly scheduled programming after this short, angsty break!

Warnings: Not a ton of warning: some bullying, some angst; written via phone, so probably could have used some more editing

WC: 1,480

There was a way these things were done; an unspoken social contract dictating some illusion of pleasantries in spite of whatever prejudice or disdain seethed beneath the surface, but I'd been warned long before forcing myself down the nauseatingly pristine halls of Kamino: the squad I’d been reassigned to flaunted their independence in every way they could absent thought of maintaining even a glimmer of such abstract notions of decorum.

I wasn’t deterred by those warnings. The thought of clones not only celebrating what self-autonomy they could but boasting that sense of individuality with unapologetic acts of rebellion offered a comfort both in ridding me of my own nervousness for adhering to the strict code of conduct dictated by rank in those first introductions as well as in the simple relief that they were allotted some glimpse of such freedoms at all. The variation in how closely these soldiers followed that code was staggering, fluctuating not just from legion to legion, but even between squads in the same platoon. Seeing some of the more reserved groups left me with a sense of gratitude for the men I’d initially found myself working with. Wolffe presented himself as some uncompromising, heartless tyrant, but the reverie and warmth that I'd so come to love amidst him and his men was evidence of just how deeply he cared.

But Wolffe wasn’t here. He hadn't offered to escort me like Boost had, a gesture I’d forced myself to turn down lest my first impression with my new squad present me as the weak, needy civi they surely expected. Still… I couldn't deny the deep disappointment, the confusion in how… clean our farewell had been… I hadn't expected tears… not from him, though I’d shed more than my share since learning of my reassignment, but he'd been so indifferent… cold… and that wasn't something I was used to from him… not anymore…

I tried not to focus on the shock that had stolen through me as he’d offered his hand when I'd moved in for a hug, tried to dismiss the ease with which he offered some rote semblance of gratitude for the work I’d done and platitudes toward my continued service with the GAR. I couldn't let myself focus on it, on him. He wasn't my commander anymore. I was no longer the medic of the 104th… For some unknown reason, a captain of the 501st had requisitioned me for a different squad altogether. None of it made sense, but I was in no position to voice objection to those orders. So, I walked through those sterile halls alone, cursing the way my heart pounded harder with each step toward the single room they'd been allocated in the stead of a proper barracks.

I'd read their files; studied reports of their unique abilities in addition to character evaluations that, even from the hands of a Kaminoan were… colorful, and I didn't doubt that they’d been granted ample warning about me, as well. I hadn't decided yet if the incredible strengths they were preported to possess were reassuring or frightening, and tried not to let myself form any conclusions until after at least meeting them.

The door to their room opened without preamble or warning, the software controlling it apparently already recognizing me as a squad member with full access. I stared into the jumble of gear and cables and miscellaneous supplies strewn between beds and tables and couches that certainly weren't regulation for several seconds too long, frozen in both surprise and confusion long before finally realizing that, as cluttered as the room was, it lay utterly empty before me.

Frowning, I slipped my helmet back on, eyes flicking to the chrono. I wasn’t late, nor was I inappropriately early… Glancing once more around the room, I also noticed a striking lack of footlockers at the base of each bunk…

Frown growing even harsher, I stepped back and started quickly toward the hanger. There was a mission already assigned to us, but we weren't slated to depart for several hours… My jaw tensed at the obvious conclusion I tried not to let myself draw, strides just short of rushed. I’d been so focused on what first impression I’d wanted to present that it never dawned on me how readily they'd use the opportunity to fully illustrate their apparent disinterest. Part of me wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, to grant excuse for an unintentional mistake, but inventing such excuses would only lead to the creation of an endless cycle of similar events, and I had no intention of falling into that role, nor did I intend to make it easy for them to dismiss me so effortlessly, pace growing faster as I finally neared the hanger.

Their ship stood out among the far more popular LAATs, sharp fins boasting an elegance abandoned by the more utilitarian transports around it. I could just make out a pair of figures carrying crates up the ramp. The first quickly vanished within the cabin upon seeing me, but that quick glance was enough for me to note the shear mass of him, thick legs moving with surprising quiet as those final steps quickened to hide him from sight. The man behind him made no such effort to escape as I approached, dark helm tilting with an air of disdain I didn't need to see his eyes to feel.

“Think you've got the wrong ship.” His voice sounded almost hoarse, words drawn out with a slight drawl from lips clearly twisted into a scowl behind the cover of his bucket.

“Afraid not.” There was no apology in my retort, nor did I try to hide my own annoyance as I looked up at him. “I'm-"

“Don't care.” He interrupted, already turning back toward the cargo hold. “This isn't a cruise ship. Go play nurse somewhere else.” I felt the snarl pull at my face, shoulders pulling sharply back as I drew in a short breath to fuel my reply, but another man stepped out from the ship, strides deceptively laxed beneath a haughty stance, arms loose, torso leaned back just enough to give the impression that he was looking down on me despite his slightly shorter statute compared to the others, and I forced myself to release that breath in silence as I turned my attention to him.

“Thought we were supposed to meet at your barracks half an hour ago.” It wasn't a question.

“Must've missed that briefing.” My jaw clenched at the subtle, mocking lilt in his smoky voice.

“You certainly didn't miss the one about Scipio…” I muttered too quietly for the mic to pick up, but the barely perceptible tension that stole through him assured me he'd heard every word, proving the report of his enhanced hearing shockingly accurate. The home planet of the banking clan was, by all political standings, far removed from the war, thus any form of military presence could be grounds for far reaching repercussions. My knowing the location of their next mission was evidence enough of my place here, and he knew it.

I let that silence linger a moment, head tilting down just enough to indicate my impatience toward whatever hazing they’d planned, and to let him know that I knew he'd heard me.

“Seems like you intended on an early start. If your medbay is fully stocked, then I'm ready to go as soon as you are.” I let out a slow breath before I said it, tone reluctantly gentling into an unspoken olive branch I had to convince myself he deserved as I reached up to remove my helmet. He watched me for several seconds, and I loathed the way my skin crawled at that nauseating sensation of being studied, judged; of the unsettling certainty that I would never measure up to the impossible standards granted through a lifetime of training and meticulous genetic design, but I didn’t shy from the emotionless black crescent of his visor.

“It's stocked.” He finally replied, voice stiff, begrudgingly removing his helm as well. He looked so nearly identical to Wolffe and the others… but… not exactly. Beyond the startling half mask of faded ink, I could spot some differences. His nose was bigger, if only just, the already pronounced ridge even more prominent. The arch of his brows was softer, and his jaw slightly narrower. It was his eyes, however, that threatened to paralyze me.

I’d been to feral planets before; found myself the prey of frightfully dangerous beasts. Staring at him carried that same sense of dread, of danger. Here was a predator. He was stronger than me, faster than me, and I’d come to invade his home.

Without another word, he turned and tread back into the sanctum of his ship, and I knew it was the closest to a welcome I was going to get.

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captainrex89 · 6 months ago

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Ooof, poor Doc had her work cut out for her! Can’t wait for the next chapter.

Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep crackers spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Cross flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I finally managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” Knowing they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor, to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

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captainrex89 · 6 months ago

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I have a love/hate relationship with cliffhangers lol.

Fool's Errand Pt 10

Part (10) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Sorry! I know I owe responses to that fluffy little holiday thing, but I really wanted to get this out, too! (Also... big sorry... you'll see why)

Warnings: mild suspense, vague injury descriptions, decent bit of cursing, minor character death (very minor), (is there a warning for a kid wielding a gun?)

WC: 3,403

Droids don’t need the light. Not like we do. In the darkness, only the automated sound of whirring gears and clacking metal narrate movements governed by near perfect synchrony. The silence that surrounded those movements was deafening. It was easy to forget just how dangerous those machines truly were when watching the incredible ease with which the soldiers of the GAR could tear through them. But up close, when nothing lay between us but darkness and an armor that suddenly felt far too thin, the droids were monstrous; emotionless; streamlined and refined toward a single purpose: destruction.

I tried not to think about the simple fact that the same was often said of the entirety of the clone population; how readily society at large welcomed beliefs of unthinking, unfeeling suits of armor in the stead of the very real people that armor concealed. I tried not to think about how that mentality might linger and fester into resentment and fear once the end of the war offered some hope of integration, nor of the unending hardships that were inevitable with such naïve mentality. As I sat crouched in the nook of the freezing ventilation shaft, I tried not to think about anything at all save the near impossible task of silencing my own heavy breaths, attention trained on the endless rows of automatons marching barely a handful of feet away from me.

Wrecker had made it to the maintenance closet several meters ahead, but I’d still been fighting to force the adhesive of the deceptively small explosive to seal with the chilled metal of the duct, and what few seconds that cost me proved just enough to force me to hide as the echoing orchestra of marching droids approached us. We knew they were coming. Thanks to Echo, we knew exactly when to expect every routine patrol scheduled to monitor these halls, but the sheer frequency of their presence was staggering.

Neither of us moved for several seconds after the last droid finally vanished behind the rear door.

“You alright?” Even whispered, my body tensed slightly at the suddenness of Wrecker’s voice calling through the speaker of my helm, and I had to release a quick breath before responding.

“Yeah.” I murmured, glancing back at the detonator as I carefully began easing my way out of the small shaft. “Had trouble getting this one attached, but looks fine now.” A quiet grumble reverberated around me, and I could clearly imagine the troubled frown tugging at his lips.

My eyes flashed to the timer in the corner of my HUD steadily counting down to the moment Crosshair was supposed to take out the decoy power transformer. We still had several targets to rig if we wanted to level the station in time.

Wrecker led the way forward without another word, quick strides shockingly silent. It would never cease to amaze me how easily the man before me could dance between the kind, boisterous goofball and this: lethal, efficient; movements far too quiet for the terrifying mass of his powerful form. I’d worked with astounding soldiers before, but these men were different. Boost, Comet, and Warthog were frightfully capable, but Wrecker and his brothers…

His hand flashed out, pointing to the spot he wanted the next charge placed. He didn’t pause before moving on to set his own, leaving me to my job without so much as a backward glance. Even now, after so many months of working with them, it still felt odd to be trusted so explicitly, but there wasn’t time for even a moment of self-doubt as I quickly dropped to a knee to begin working. Despite the utter simplicity of these explosives, still, Wrecker could finish two in the time it took me to prime one, but he showed no hint of impatience; merely moved on to the next spot until the room was cleared.

We both paused upon turning to the door. It was quiet. It shouldn’t be. By now, we should have been able to make out the distant chorus of the next patrol.

“Status.” Wrecker called, voice just loud enough to be picked up by the mic. My shoulders ached from how taut the muscles were. He didn’t talk like that, governed by that stark militaristic sharpness… not unless something was wrong.

“In position.” Crosshair responded coolly.

“En route.” Tech answered next.

“Wrecker, update.” Hunter’s order came in far crisper than the others, the Marauder’s comms undistorted despite the metal walls of the facility.

“Clanker’s missed a patrol. Pretty sure they haven’t noticed us, though.” He replied curtly, head pivoting behind us before turning back to the forward door as though half-expecting a troop of droids to come rushing in at any second.

“Crosshair, any change?” The Sargeant called. I could hear the growing tension in his voice and knew he was standing tensely over the intercom, hands grinding into the metal corners.

“No, but this sector isn’t supposed to have another patrol for over four more minutes.” Cross reminded him, voice low.

“Keep an eye on your escape routes,” Hunter instructed, “and report any more abnormalities.”

A series of ‘roger’s answer him in quick succession before Wrecker continued forward, heavy blaster balanced against his shoulder. My pistols felt miniscule in comparison, but I still held them at ready as he cracked open the door. Beyond was a cavernous room dotted with Separatist transports. If things went south, Wrecker and I would blow a series of bombs starting with two at either end of the massive bay, granting us an exit route while several other explosions went off at pre-set intervals to mask our escape. If it came to that, however, there was little hope in retrieving that little girl’s father…

“… don’t like this…” Wrecker muttered after muting his com.

“How many more do we have?” I asked, treading closer to him so my whispered words would reach him.

“Ten. Twelve if we wanna hit the control tower, but…” He let the thought trail off as he peaked around the corner of the doorway to stare at the massive sheets of metal suspended overhead on thick tracks.

“So, we finish those ten and re-evaluate.” I offered quietly. He didn’t respond for a long moment, the fearsome visage of that feral skull still studying the distant bay walls.

“Yeah…” He mumbled absently, but a few more tense seconds passed before he drew a quick breath and moved through the door, strides measured and quick, stance low.

Our HUD timers had been perfectly synced. I’d known that there would be no delay between that small clock striking zero and the distant rumble of an explosion preceding at least a momentary flicker of the lights. Still, my body snapped taut as the world around us trembled, even if only for a moment. And then the darkness descended in earnest.

Our visors were designed for this: to grant us clear images even in the darkest nightmares of distant worlds. Regardless, I felt myself tense, adrenaline flooding my chest as I studied every shadow of the now monochrome display before me. Already, the Separatist forces were responding, dozens of squads activating and filing across the vast expanse of the hanger in precise, unhurried movements. Several took positions at entry points about the bay, though most marched out of sight, undoubtedly en route to the now destroyed power station.

“Yuh got some fun headin’ your way, Cross.” Wrecker warned, large hand reaching into his bag for another charge, attention trained once more on the command post.

“They won’t find anything.” He responded haughtily, words only just betraying a slight breathiness as he sprinted back across the rocky outcropping surrounding the north end of the hanger.

“Imma see how many a’ these I can stick before the others get here.” There was a subtle glee in his voice, thrilled at the promise of even that simple challenge.

“I’ll keep watch.” I drawled slightly, the eyeroll audible amidst my quiet chuckle. That tension was still there; creeping across my skin and keeping the muscles stretching up my spine taut, but this was their world – our world: impossible missions with unending dangers in which we still managed to find some taste of joy.

“…Kriff.” Every wisp of that joy instantly went cold.

“Cross?” Hunter called quickly, voice full of the same sharp concern that turned my blood to ice. Wrecker had just begun setting the fourth detonator and visibly froze, waiting anxiously for a response.

“…trap… -utoff from… -ing around…” His rushed reply broke between bursts of static.

“Dammit, they’re trying to block your comms! Where are you?!” Hunter shouted. The distorted reply was too muffled for me to make out, but the pained shout that followed was nauseatingly clear. “I can’t reach you with the Marauder. En route on foot.” His words left in a growl, voice now muffled with that telltale distortion as he abandoned the protection of the ship, the sound of the ramp lowering in the background just loud enough for the mic to pick up.

I didn’t need to see Wrecker’s face to know he was struck with the same dread as me, and, with a sharp nod of his domed helm, motioned toward the rear wall of the hanger. I was already running when the first explosion erupted through the air, but the sudden scream that tore through the speakers was all I could hear.

“Crosshair!” His name shouted from me in a burst of panic, but his desperate cry didn’t stop. The natural rasp of his voice broke in choked gasps between sounds of an agony that left my skin crawling. Blasterfire shrieked behind me in rapid flurries. I didn’t bother looking back, certain that Wrecker was eagerly providing a distraction to cover my retreat, but the droids weren’t fooled.

A curse caught on my lips as I dropped into a sharp slide, just managing to dart behind a supply crate as a troop of B1s trained their sites on me, and the volley of shots that seared the metal casing left my heart racing even faster. My arm was moving before conscious thought registered what I was doing, hand snatching at one of the few remaining charges. I didn’t know if this would work, fully aware that some explosives were perfectly stable until intentionally set off with a detonator. Regardless, I launched the small device toward them, HUD automatically following my gaze to lock onto it as I raised my own weapons, standing to face down the dozen droids targeting me.

The scent of burnt plastoid filled my senses before noting the faint line of red seared into my shoulder pauldron as I pulled the trigger.

Ringing. By now, I recognized the disorientated daze of shellshock and clung to the sense of annoyance rather than any fear or pain lingering beyond that confusion. Move. There wasn’t time for this… Before the thoughts even solidified in my mind, I could feel my body struggling back to my feet, balance wavering precariously for several seconds even as I staggered forward.

“…!” A voice rang loudly around me, but it took a moment of actual concentration to truly hear him. “-oc! Wha’ happened?!” Wrecker. He was shouting. I glanced over my shoulder to see him quickly backtracking toward me and gave my head a hard shake in some vain effort to clear the lingering fog.

“…m… I’m fine!” I called out, lips sluggish. “Used a charge to… clear the path.” He looked toward me only briefly before returning his attention to the encroaching units. Still, I could see the air of hesitation in his movements, the reluctance to risk creating any additional distance between us, so I took that decision away from him, jaw set as I forced myself through the still smoldering crater blown into the thick wall.

Crosshair was still screaming, growled cries catching on choppy breaths muffled behind ground teeth.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on him?” I shouted, sprinting toward the cover of trees surrounding the station as I silently cursed the steep incline leading toward the ship.

“Not yet, there’s… - dammit -... They sent a kriffing… platoon after him.” I could hear the strain pulling at his every word, and that dread returned en force, fear spiking at the thought of how easily he could find himself incapacitated as well just from exacerbating his preexisting injuries.

“Echo and I can provide backup.” Tech offered. Even his voice held that deep worry.

“No – continue with the mission. We’ll be halfway to the Marauder by the time you’d even reach us.” He ordered. “Doc-”

“I’m already en route,” I interrupted quickly, “just send me your location.” He didn’t respond for a long moment, and I had to fight to keep from shouting my impatience.

That earlier fear was gone. I barely bothered glancing between branches in search of enemy troops, the threat of what danger my brief isolation from the others might pose forgotten in the echo of Crosshair’s pain. My entire focus was on reaching them as quickly as I could, cursing every fallen log and sleek boulder that hindered my progress.

“I’ve got him.” He was panting, pain clear in the breathy words, and my heart twisted at the endless possible reasons for that pain. The keening gasps still sounding from Crosshair’s mic were the only thing silencing some sharp rebuke demanding he stop. There was no right answer here; no way forward without the risk of a sacrifice I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Might still be s… s’me droids… but think I got ‘m all.” His uncertainty was just as concerning as the slight slur dampening his smoky voice. That meant his focus was dwindling; that inhuman ability to feel the dance of electricity connecting the world around him was overcome by his own pain or exhaustion or something far worse.

“Dammit, Hunter! Just send me your location before you kriffing keel over!” I ordered harshly, no longer making an effort to mask that impatience.

“Tracker… tracker’s on… H… headed back.” Curses flowing unapologetically between ground teeth, I snatched the datapad from my waist, fingers stabbing at the screen far harsher than necessary as I locked in on his signal. The Marauder was just over a klick away, and Hunter’s signal was another half klick beyond that, speed frightfully slow as he made his way back.

“Talk to me, Hunter, or I’ll start using the karking pain scale questions.” I threatened, and was relieved to hear a huff of laughter. It was weak, but it was there.

“Damaged… damaged his helmet… Visor broke…” In an instant, that relief abandoned me. “Gave him… gave him what I had, but… it’s… it’s barely taking the e-edge off.” He panted.

“Burns?” I asked, straining to hide the depth of my fear at the very thought of what damage that might cause, but Hunter quickly dismissed that fear with something far worse.

“No… think it’s… There was a – a gas…” My stride nearly faltered. A gas… Chemical burns were far more difficult to treat…

“Listen to me: when you get him back to the ship, don’t try to rinse it out with water.” I instructed quickly.

“I kn- I know.” There was an unmistakable wheeze in the gasp robbing his retort of whatever annoyance he’d meant it to hold.

“What about you, Hunter? Were you exposed?” I made no effort to hide the harshness in my own voice, words quickly growing breathy as I sprinted from the base.

“N… no, my… my kit’s f-fine.” His response offered no taste of relief, the clear strain sown through each word quickly growing worse.

“Echo and I have secured a low-atmo speeder. We can reach you-”

“Ey, I think I see ‘im.” Wrecker interrupted.

“Ca- can you i-intercept?” Hunter’s vain attempt to maintain that indominable façade only further emphasized how just much he was clearly struggling.

“Uh… only if I start blowing stuff up early.” There was no glee in what should have been an overly eager plea, attention clearly torn between the task before him and worry for his brothers.

“Delay as – as long as you can.” Hunter ordered firmly. “Tech, Ech… Echo… con-continue a-approach.”

“Hunter, if you’re having trouble breathing again, you need to stop moving!” I ordered in a shout.

“Neg… neg’tive… Mar’der’s… in sight.” My lips curled into a snarl.

“I can’t carry you both, dammit!” There was a brief pause, and then,

“Roger.”

I was going to strangle him.

Sweat had long since soaked through my blacks. My muscles burned, blood like acid pounding through my veins, and I tried not to think about how loud my own breathing was, mic pointedly muted as I listened to quick bursts of communication bounce between the others illustrating the progress of a mission I struggled to find even a whisper of concern for. My own attention remained locked on the tracker beacon, noting how near to the ship Hunter and Crosshair finally were; how wretchedly slow their progress had become; how much distance yet lay between us as that accursed hill robbed my speed.

He didn’t check in when he finally stopped, their beacons stalling at the very foot of the ramp.

“Hunter, are you inside?” I asked. He didn’t respond. “Hunter, what’s your status?” I pressed, words growing harsher. Silence. “Hunter?! Cross, do either of you read me?!”

“The Marauder’s ramp appears to have lowered but hasn’t been closed since they arrived.” Tech’s voice was carefully even, but I could hear the faint rush of an anxiety that I had no doubt resonated between all of us.

“I’m almost there.” I assured them, and, mere seconds later, let out a sharp huff of relief upon finally seeing the very tip of the dorsal fin.

The first time I’d seen the complicated overlay of the HUD used by GAR equipment, it hadn’t been during my training to join the 104th. It was in the aftermath of a battle I’d only seen in the darkness of night, sneaking through ruined transports and far too much gore to ever be warranted under the guise of seeking peace. It was maybe the fourth such scene Emmy and I had visited. We didn’t even have a ship then; just us and a pair of overstuffed medbags with no thought toward secession or consequence or even what to do with those we tried to save.

We’d only found one soldier still clinging to life, and it had taken only moments to realize that nothing we did would save him from joining his brothers. He hadn’t blamed us. I think I wanted him to… but he merely got quiet when he understood… peaceful. He’d been a flirt, and I think we both fell in love with him a bit. He’d insisted we try his helmet on – had said something inappropriate about seeing his gear on a couple cute nurses. Neither of us corrected him, and I’d been shocked at the flurry of information that had bombarded me the instant it flickered to life before my eyes. He’d laughed. I’d never forget that laugh. It was free; weightless; haunting in a way that both crushed me and justified every risk we were taking in trying to offer what meager help we could. And then he'd died.

That nauseating hurricane of endless data and alerts was still just as overwhelming now as it was then, but I’d learned to filter it out, to prioritize only what was needed in that moment. When the sudden flash of a warning lit the screen, I didn’t hesitate; didn’t waste time for even a moment’s thought before my body dropped into a slide, just barely dodging the pair of blue bolts that screamed passed me as my hands instantly snatched the pistols from my hips, but then that wealth of data began to coalesce, and I quickly released my weapons, empty hands raising in surrender.

“Wait-wait-wait! It’s me!!” I shouted, wrenching the still flashing helm from my head, and my heart churned at the sight of the terrified girl cowering just inside the Marauder’s main cabin, at the horror and fear and overwhelming relief that left her near sobbing the instant recognition finally stole through her. Then I saw the two forms lying far too still at her feet. And that same terror ripped the air from my lungs in a sob of my own.

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captainrex89 · 6 months ago

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Awwwww, such a sweet little break for my favorite group ☺️

A Quiet Celebration

A sweet little holiday special for Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Might have been a little rushed, but it's just a happy little, not-quite-canon slice of an ideal life with Doc and the boys! (Hope this is worth that pic @nothin-toseehere!)

Warnings: Eh, it's the guys, soooo there's plenty of suggestive and near-steamy bits, but it's mostly just poly-batch (non clonsest) fluff

WC: 2,363

Mando'a Translation: Kair'ta - my desperate heart

Warm. Maker, it was so… perfectly warm. I knew it was meant to be snowing here, that, if I gathered the strength to push myself toward true consciousness and merely glance toward the window, I’d see thick puffs of a white so pure the shadows glowed with soft hues of blue, that the thick glass was surely coated in a heavy frost, but the cold was so easily forgotten as I laid tucked beneath a heavy blanket, lulled by the gentle ebb and flow of sleep-addled breaths around me.

Some whisper of reality reluctantly pulled me from that gentle near-sleep, drawing an almost petulant groan from me as my arms tightened thoughtlessly around the powerful shoulders I found myself still embracing, pulling an equally reluctant groan from the man nestled against my chest. The rhythmic snoring behind me, however, remained as steadfast as ever, drawing a quiet huff of laughter from me before I reached for some manner of speech.

“We should get up… The others’ll be here soon.” I mumbled. Echo only groaned more emphatically, body shifting even closer in silent denial, and I felt my face light with a fond grin, hands absently slipping up to whisper through short curls now thick enough to nearly fully obscure those metal nodules. Wrecker’s breathing hitched slightly, embrace tightening around my waste before nuzzling back down.

“The others can deal with waiting a few extra minutes.” The arc grumbled, eyes still pointedly closed.

“They went halfway across the planet to get those supplies.” I scolded lightly. “We’re not leaving them out in the cold just so we can have a late morning.”

“That’s exactly what Crosshair would do.” I nearly snorted at his sneered retort before collecting myself enough to manage something of a reprimand.

“I wouldn’t let him do that, either. And Hunter and Tech would already be up and getting things ready.” He only answered with a small grunt before finally letting out a sigh and rolling slightly away from me, though he didn’t move to leave the bed quite yet.

With a slow sigh of my own, I tried to free myself from the heavy arm locked around my hip, and found myself biting back a surge of giggles at how readily he tightened his embrace even more.

“Wreck.” I whispered gently, rolling back just enough to nudge him slightly, but he gave no sign of noticing. “Wreck.” I called again, louder, “come on, big guy; we need to get up.” Echo stifled a laughter of his own at the oblivious snore that answered me. I shifted with more emphasis, rocking us both just enough to pull a groggy hum from him. “Gotta let me go, love – I need to get up.” I repeated, voice rich with adoration and humor. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, contemplating my words before shaking his head, and I didn’t try to silence the squeal that escaped me as he turned over, hauling me with him to the other side of the bed.

“Still early.” He muttered, lips pressing into my hair so that his words sent gooseflesh across my scalp.

“It’s nearly noon!” Whatever feigned heat I wanted the retort to hold was lost in the giggles just toying with the edges of each word, and he merely hummed again in reply.

“Plenty ‘a time.” I could barely make out the deep rumble before he pulled me up closer to him, lips shamelessly seeking mine as his hands flared across my back with obvious intent. I so nearly managed to force some objection between us, to press the need to begin preparations for the others, but the way he moved against me, each gentle caress somehow impossibly tender while still driven with the full brunt of a power that left my toes curling and my heart jumping with want, the way that strength somehow left me feeling invincible beside him rather than fragile and weak… How could I resist letting myself savor that rush of heat and joy, if only for a moment…

“Hey, hey, hey – I’m still in here!” Echo shouted.

“Y’know where the door is.” Wrecker mumbled absently, but the distant sound of an engine ripped me back to the present with a gasp.

“Kriff! They’re already here!” Even as I said it, my body was moving, straining to push myself out from under him that I might have some hope of slipping into more festive clothes before the rest of their brothers entered the large cabin, and I had to pointedly ignore the whistle Wrecker shamelessly let out as I pulled myself free of my nightshirt, though the thud that followed as Echo’s hand bat against his shoulder in unspoken reprimand left my lips pulling back into that same, fond smile.

“Where… I’m certain I placed the muja fruits just here…” The confusion in Tech’s voice quickly turned to annoyance as he turned to find one of his brothers quickly ducking out of the too-small kitchen. “Wrecker! I did not purchase enough for taste-testing!” He growled, quickly darting after the large man. I merely chuckled as I continued tending my own task of keeping one of the more savory dishes from burning while Hunter prepped more tubers to add to it. Echo and Crosshair had vanished elsewhere into the cabin with their own projects while the rest of us attempted some manner of celebratory feist.

“Told him to get extra.” Hunter sighed. Something crashed in the neighboring room followed by an affronted shout from Echo. I couldn’t hear Tech’s retort over Wrecker’s boisterous laugh, and sent Hunter a toothy grin.

“I don’t think we’ll be wanting for choice if we have to cross muja dumplings off the menu.” I dismissed lightly. I didn’t notice him abandon the produce until his arms suddenly locked around my waist, a bark of laughter escaped me as he pulled me flush against him, torso curling intently around mine.

“I can always think of something else to replace it.” He murmured, voice a quiet, low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine as his warm breath fluttered over my ear.

“Hunter!” I tried to shout, but the cry broke in a gasp as his lips pressed against the tender skin at the crook of my jaw before dipping lower, mouth parting just enough to let his teeth drag against my neck. “H -Hunter!” I stammered breathlessly, food forgotten as my hand darted up to tangle in the thick curls so carefully contained by that crimson bandana.

“Ah. I see things are just as unproductive in here.” Tech sighed from the doorway, ripping another gasp from me, body trying to tear away from Hunter, but the unapologetic commando merely tightened his hold.

“Just enjoying my Life Day present a little early.” He hummed, and I could feel his devious smirk as he nuzzled against my neck once more, earning a huffed sigh from his brother.

“Hunter!” Whatever annoyance I’d been striving for was lost in the fit of laughter seizing through me as I finally managed to squirm away from him, and the pride beaming through his golden eyes sent a plume of heat through my chest.

“Just… watch the damn stew!” I ordered, cheeks aching from the effort of stifling the smile pulling at my lips. “I need to grab the… the platters from the Marauder.” His own smile grew at how my words faltered, legs nearly wavering beneath me as I tried to back away toward the door. I didn’t doubt that he could smell exactly what his affections had done to me, and I felt my cheeks burn at the knowing look he shot me just before I ducked out into the frigid evening air.

Thick puffs of white still danced lazily from the thin clouds overhead, traces of a gentle blue peaking through to illustrate the very beginnings of sunset. There was nothing descript about this place: no nearby military bases nor rare natural materials. The cabin had been abandoned for years. Tech didn’t explain why, and we knew better than to ask. It had taken a solid day for Wrecker, Echo and I to make it livable, at least enough for the short time we’d be using it, while the others went to a distant town for supplies.

They’d never celebrated Life Day, and, after everything that had happened, the chance to take some time to ourselves, to revel in the simple fact that we were still alive – still together and safe, if only for the moment… that was worth hiding away for a while.

The Marauder’s ramp was still lowered, and I didn’t hesitate before trotting into the dim cabin. The food was already stashed about the kitchen, but there were still a few crates of supplies about the old ship’s halls. I’d barely tread halfway to the hallway when another set of arms suddenly locked around me, wrenching a sharp gasp from me in the split second before I recognized the lithe form pressing against my back.

“Crosshair!” I shouted with some failed attempt at rage, but he offered no façade of chagrin as he nuzzled his face against my neck, cheek carelessly bumping my jaw to grant him more room.

“Didn’t check the corners.” He chided, too happy to ignore my futile attempt to push away from him, and I shuttered at the unspoken promise of how he might reprimand me for that oversight.

“S… You’re supposed to be – ah! – he-elping Echo.” I tried to snarl, but the words faltered at the deceptively gentle dance of his teeth nipping at my throat, movements far too casual as he followed the slope of muscle stretching to my shoulder with tiny bites and kisses that left the nerves frenzied with want.

“Don’t care much about decorating some kriffing hut.” He dismissed, arms tightening to drag my hips more forcefully again his. “This is much more fun.” I couldn’t silence the tiny moan that caught in my throat, mind lapsing into the temptation of just… melting into his touch, of closing the ramp and hiding in here with him until someone inevitably started pounding on the metal hull to drag us out…

I found myself automatically turning toward him, granting just a moment longer to savor the heat of his mouth trailing up my jaw before claiming those thin lips with my own, and my heart leapt at the smirk already blossoming there before, with a forced surge of strength, pushing sharply against his chest. I didn’t try to hide the pleased look from my face at the grunt that escaped him as his back slammed into the wall, as the way his head lowered, eyes dark with a hunger that sent bursts of static dancing beneath my skin.

“I do care about decorating that kriffing hut.” I retorted, earning a weak scowl from him. “Quit lurking about in here and go help, and maybe tonight I’ll give you something to be merry about.” That, at least, rekindled a trace of his grin despite the low sigh that left him in quiet growl, gaze following my every movement as I turned away from him to retrieve the crate I’d originally entered the Marauder for.

An almost pained groan toyed with my breath, the sound far too audible even amidst the loud crackling of the fire.

“I did suggest a single plate would be sufficient…” Tech noted, but even his voice was nearly slurring, head rolling against my thigh absent enough will to fully turn toward me.

“Then why’d you go back for seconds, too?” I shot back, not bothering to so much as open my eyes. He responded only with a low hum, head dropping back heavily with a deep sigh.

The meal had not gone smoothly. Half of the roasted vegetables had ended up plastered against a wall after Wrecker and Crosshair got too… animated in a disagreement, and I'm pretty sure the ceiling will never again be without some amount of mashed tubers… and the endless technical issues in the “kitchen" required almost constant tinkering from Echo and Tech that still resulted in some dishes burnt while others were a bit undercooked.

Regardless, my cheeks ached from constant laughter, and not one of us wanted to move beneath the strain of overfilled stomachs. Hunter had begrudgingly agreed to feed the fire while the rest of us dragged what cushions and blankets we could into the too-small stretch of empty floor in front of it.

Wrecker lay sprawled out behind me, as far from the fire as the naturally warm man could be while still relishing in this moment of closeness, his stomach acting as a softly dancing pillow beneath my head and shoulders. Hunter claimed my chest to lie against, eagerly melting beneath the caress of my fingers trailing through his hair, with Tech curled just below him. Echo rested shamelessly between my legs, prosthetics tossed almost carelessly to the side that he might savor the heat of the fire whilst still nestled amid the cushion of my thighs, and Crosshair had his back to the glowing embers with his cheek pressed comfortably to my stomach, eyes turned pointedly toward me.

I couldn't help but beam at the gentle smile playing with his lips, the endless hardships and near-losses that somehow brought us to this point lingering on the fringes of thoughts left blissfully hazed by the simple euphoria of finding myself so thoroughly surrounded by them.

“I love you.” I mouthed silently, one arm releasing Hunter’s head to reach down toward him. His smile stretched into an overly pleased smirk as he lazily shifted to take my hand in his, thumb sweeping tenderly over my wrist.

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me, Kair’ta.” He drawled, the teasing words softened by the overwhelming warmth in his voice. “I haven’t forgotten that promise you made back in the Marauder.” A short laugh escaped me in something far too akin to a snort before rolling my eyes at him, but that smirk only grew as his elegant fingers tightening gently around mine.

“Shut up, Crosshair.” Hunter mumbled groggily, and I didn’t try to stifle my quiet laughter.

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captainrex89 · 6 months ago

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I didn’t know I needed this….dying to read more!

People need to get back to doing fun fics again. Where are the body swap AUs

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captainrex89 · 7 months ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 9

Part (9) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Tension. Some big emotions. Mild cursing. Also some legit fluff

WC: 3,257

It’s easy to believe that children are resilient, that once physical wounds heal, we might pretend no further damage remains. The horrors they can adapt to, the things they can survive, it’s just as incredible as it is heartbreaking. But there’s a very big difference between surviving and thriving, and that youth that offers such ‘resilience,’ in truth, merely masks scars far deeper than we’d like to admit.

Sometimes those scars are loud; evident in bursts of rage far more violent than normal tantrums. Something they are quiet. Sometimes those scars hide until the child is grown; until they can’t be dismissed beneath the cover of youth despite never having learned how to cope with the terrors veiled in shadows only they can see, and if those around them plead ignorance to the cause of those terrors, they leave wounds that may never heal.

“Look at that! You must be a Jedi!” I exclaimed with wonder at the unblemished skin of legs once covered with tiny scrapes and burns. The girl shook her head so quickly that her hair, now hanging loose to her shoulders in puffy curls, bounced against cheeks bunched into a wide grin.

“Yup, she definitely has some kind of secret healing power.” Echo chimed, and she shook her head even more emphatically, shoulders shaking with nearly silent giggles.

Crosshair was out on patrol with Wrecker providing what cover he could from the ramp of the Marauder, his leg still preventing him from moving much. Tech still hadn’t stirred since his brief moment of near-lucidity, and Hunter snored softly from the co-pilot’s seat where, not five minutes prior, he’d denied the obvious exhaustion Echo and I had silently agreed against commenting on.

I’d spent another twenty minutes coating his battered form with bacta, fingers carefully guiding the blue gel across dark bruises and skin split beneath cruel strikes. It had felt… intimate… the way I kneeled between his legs to tend his wounds, dimmed lights soft enough to hide my blush from anyone but him as we both carefully avoided the other’s gaze, and I couldn’t help but remember the quiet moment just before coming out of hyperspace above that feral planet where I’d so nearly died to the locals' poisonous arrows. It felt like so long ago… but the way he’d held me, arm locking around my waist in a silent plea to stay as he'd laid nearly bare atop my bed, skin still glistening with oils and body blissfully limp in the aftermath of my touch… The memory of it still sent my heart racing.

He’d declined my offer to help him into a fresh set of blacks, and I tried not to argue as he bit back a wince from how the act of dragging the sleek fabric down his powerful form tortured already abused flesh, instead turning my attention absently toward Tech if only to grant myself a moment's reprieve from the heaviness lingering on air rife with shame and want and denial. There was no place for those feelings here. Not anymore.

“I bet she haS other hidden powers, too.” I continued, heart alight at the beaming smile on her innocent face.

“Yeah? Think she’s hiding a lightsaber somewhere?” Echo asked suspiciously, making the girl’s eyes dart to him with an excitement poorly veiled beneath mock nervousness.

“Only one way to find out.” I replied, bringing my hands up as of I were about to snatch her. A squeal burst from her lips as she leapt from the chair and took off down the small room, gangly limbs flailing with that precious, youthful clumsiness as she raced to climb the first few rungs of the ladder before I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against me with a victorious laugh. My entire body warmed at the look on Echo’s face as I turned back to him, giggling child locked to my chest. There was no trace of tension or dread or regret in eyes so often weighted beneath far too much guilt. Instead, his lips just hinted at a soft smile, stance loose where he’d lazily risen from his seat.

“Well?” he pressed, making a show of crossing his arms over his chest. I let my hands dance over ticklish skin under the guise of patting the girl down while carrying her.

“I'm afraid she's too clever for me.” I lamented. “Wherever she's stashed it, I fear we’ll never find it.” He let out a quiet chuckle as the girl paused her thrashing just long enough to stick her tongue out at him, his hands reaching up to fondly ruffle her hair.

“Alright, little jetii, let's get out of here before your giggles wake that guy up.” He nodded back toward Hunter, even breaths still enunciated with the faintest rumble. She nodded and readily leapt down from my arms before darting back to the ladder, not waiting for us to join her as she scrambled up the worn metal once more.

“You'd think she hadn’t just been held prisoner in a kriffing black site…” Echo murmured, that earlier warmth lost beneath a deep worry.

“It’s easier to pretend to be happy than it is to let yourself be scared.” I whispered back.

“Those feelings aren't going to just go away.” I looked back at him with a quiet understanding, wondering how desperately he’d tried to ignore his own fears, how violently they still haunted him.

“No,” I agreed softly, “they don't… but she'll have her entire life to deal with what happened. And, hopefully, she'll be surrounded with people who love her to help her through it.” He glanced toward me, eyes resting on mine for a long, silent moment before something clattered loudly overhead followed by a hissed curse.

“Crosshair's back.” I couldn't quite hide the humor in my voice as we both started toward sound.

“They've got the planet on lockdown.” Echo reported. “Which means the Senator is still here, but it also means it's going to be a lot harder for us to get out."

“It also means they'll have him hidden somewhere even more heavily guarded than the last place.” Came the grumbled reply.

Crosshair and Wrecker stood close to the arc as they spoke in hushed voices while the girl kneeled atop Hunter’s cot with Lula dancing between her small hands, some foreign tune humming softly through pursed lips.

I wanted to help. Maker, how I wanted to pluck the correct answer from the ether that we might hurry and focus on our own escape from this tortured world… but this: plotting and strategizing, accounting for all known factors and preparing for inevitable surprises… this was beyond me.

“I anticipate his position will be made known shortly.” Tech stated from behind me. My attention instantly snapped toward him.

“Tech! You shouldn't be up yet!” I scolded, already snatching my datapad with a mumbled, “The hell… None of my alerts went off…”

“I disabled them.” He answered nonchalantly, and offered no hint of chagrin at the glare I shot him. “I’d already reviewed my vitals. There were no signs of abnormalities, thus no reason to delay my return.”

“Tech…” I sighed, making no attempt to hide my frustration even as his brothers smirked at us.

“I am…” his voice quieted, and I couldn’t help but mirror that quiet as I looked at him, as I noted the odd stiffness in his jaw beneath eyes narrowed in an attempt to gather his thoughts, “impressed that you were able to repair the damage to my arm. I anticipated waking to find it gone… Thank you.” My own jaw tensed briefly at the knowledge of just how close he'd come to exactly that, and I gave a small nod.

“Then we would'a had to get you somethin’ like what Echo's got!” Wrecker chuckled as he said it, but his voice was still oddly subdued.

“While I admit to a certain degree of curiosity toward being able to connect directly to a network relay, I think I'd prefer to keep my natural appendages.” Tech replied dryly, but then he glanced toward Echo with a subtle, contrite frown.

“Yeah. Me too.” Echo grumbled, but offered his brother a small smirk before turning the conversation back toward the mission.

I let out a short breath before finally allowing myself to wander away from the conversation, attention turning back toward the girl, who's earlier glee had finally begun to dwindle. Lips draw into a gentle smile, I sat softly atop Hunter's bed with her.

“Not much fun all by yourself, huh?” I kept my voice quiet, and my heart broke at the way her lips bunched, jaw grinding as she let her hands drop heavily to the now wrinkled bedding. For just a moment, she released the toy, arms raising as her fingers began to move with some half-hearted intent before catching herself and going still once more, but that was enough. I recognized that halted gesture.

“You know,” I whispered, as though I was about to share a secret, “when things are really scary, and we have to be really quiet, we use our hands to talk to each other.” Her eyes flashed up to mine though she kept her head tucked to her chest, reserved interest poorly stifled beneath a dejected frown.

“Watch.” I murmured before turning back to the others. Cross met my eyes and paused at the beseeching expression on my face. I smiled gratefully as I waved a quick question.

Number of nearby hostile? His brows pulled together, confused, but he hesitated only a moment before replying.

All clear.

My attention darted back to the girl at the sound of her sharp gasp. With Lula tucked beneath her arm, she jumped from the bed and raced across the room to the others, and I couldn't help but chuckle at how quickly I'd been forgotten.

It was Tech she ran to, though her gaze kept darting between the others as well, and I cringed slightly as how forcefully she threw herself into his side. He froze mid-word, attention instantly dropping to the girl. She seemed to struggle with keeping herself pressed tightly against him while still freeing her hands enough to sign something, and he automatically lowered himself to a knee to better address her.

“Yes, I can understand you.” He said it so thoughtlessly, as though it were almost silly to assume otherwise, but the way that girl’s face lit up left me tightening my jaw to keep my breath steady. Her hands became a blur of movement, but he didn't hesitate in responding.

“Standard soldiers have a very limited and specialized set of signals for instances when verbal communication could prove dangerous, but I am quite well versed in the more standardized sign language you appear to be using.” He answered. I understood only a few snips of the flurry of signs that followed. Scared. Home. Dad. Help. Mean. Tech, however, nodded knowingly.

“I assure you, from what you've said, your father's kidnapping was in no way a consequence of your actions, and my squad and I will do whatever is needed to free him as well.” The motion for “punch" was unmistakable, and even Tech let out a small huff of laughter.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I do not believe it would be wise for you to accompany us… No, droids would be more likely to use you as a hostage than they would be to show you any leniency due to your being “small,” thus eliminating any strategic advantage having an additional person keeping watch might grant.” Crosshair rolled his eyes at Tech's reply, and I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

There was something wonderfully familiar about this; the hum of their voices weaving into a gentle chorus I’d heard a thousand times yet would never bore of. I don’t know when I shifted atop Hunter’s bed to let my back rest against the sidewall, when my head gradually fell toward my shoulder as the day’s exhaustion finally made itself known once more, but I didn’t doubt that it was their voices that lulled me into a gentle sleep.

“Hey… come on, mesh’la… need to wake up.”

A grumble caught in my throat, shoulders tensing against the ache of such an unforgiving position.

“Don’t yell at me – we all tried to convince you to lay down.” The air of annoyance twisting those words was ruined beneath the smile I could hear woven through that low rasp.

“…liar.” A quiet huff of laughter was his only retort before letting his hand whisper over my shin, fingers tightening for barely a breath before the touch was gone.

“Hunter’s waiting to go over the plan.” He continued. I begrudgingly forced my eyes open just in time to watch him take a small step back, arms already adorned in armor folding across his chest, fond smirk still playing with thin lips. “Not that it’s much of a ‘plan’.” He added with that familiar façade of disdain.

“That’s our specialty.” I replied, words taut as I curled my arms over my head, back arching in a vain attempt to stretch out the lingering stiffness before pushing myself toward the edge of the narrow cot. He merely hummed in response, the quiet sound infused with every ounce of resignation he felt toward that fact, and I let myself laugh softly at the small scowl it drew to his face.

Hunter's gaze flicked only briefly toward me as we arrived in the cabin. The ramp was still open, inviting the midnight air to bring a pleasant chill into the normally stuffy room. We were on the very outskirts of the forest, where the treeline ended so abruptly, the prairie that followed looked oddly intentional. Wisps of light occasionally danced between the distant strands of tall grass, tiny bursts of yellows and gold gleaming brilliantly for mere moments before fading back into a gentle darkness.

I wondered if Tech had already spoken on the seemingly magic chemical reaction granting the tiny insects that burst of luminescence. I wondered if he and Hunter had needed to corral the small girl to keep her from racing off to see them up close, and I wondered if Crosshair could still see smoke from the havoc wrought upon that wretched base, if the trees still smoldered and the air still burned with the scent of ozone from electrical fires. Probably not. By now, the site had likely already been cleared and returned to an unnatural illusion of feral wilderness, a realization that left my skin crawling with the knowledge of what nightmares that artificial wilderness had concealed.

“Echo and Tech were able to pinpoint the ship they evacuated the Senator on and traced it to a transfer station three klicks outside the city.” Hunter started, hip cocking as he glanced over the screen of his datapad.

“Given their obvious failure to conceal that fact, they’re clearly attempting to use the Senator to lure us in a trap.” Tech added.

“And we’re going to take advantage of that.” Hunter continued, and I had to pointedly keep myself from sighing at his haughty smirk. “Echo, Wrecker: you two are heading straight for the transport. Rig as much of their docks up with explosives as you can. Cross – I want you on the north end to start: take out the power transformer, then find a place to whole up near the Marauder. Provide cover fire where you can, but be ready to bring the Marauder in for a pickup as soon as the Senator is secured.” Tech’s fingers tapped impatiently at his thigh as Hunter spoke, and took the first opportunity he could to cut in.

“That transformer is only a decoy. The real one is hidden underground.” He explained quickly. “There’s likely to be a brief interruption of power intended solely to sell the deception before the real generator kicks back in.”

“That’ll give Tech and I an opportunity to grab one of their smaller ships as a distraction while they go on the defen-”

“Wait.” I said firmly, brows furrowing as I met Hunter’s confused gaze. He went perfectly still, clearly shocked to be interrupted. “You can’t go running around a Separatist base, right now, Hunter. It’s bad enough the others are going, but you’re barely standing.” He didn’t answer for a moment, as though expecting that heavy silence to be enough for me to back down, but my gaze didn’t falter.

“I’ll be fine, Doc. If everything goes according to plan, we should be in and out in-”

“No.” I said, voice granting no room for argument, and a flare of frustration darkened eyes still swollen with heavy bruising as he turned his full attention to me. “You want me to list off all the reasons you should still be in bed? The broken ribs, internal bleeding that’s only barely patched, probably a mild concussion at best; all of which could be exasperated with even light activity.”

“Your concerns are noted, but these are extenuating circumstances, and we don’t have the luxury of being overly cautious.” My own frustration turned nearly violent at his dismissive retort, shoulders drawing back as I glared up at him, pointedly ignoring the way Crosshair was fighting back a smirk.

“You can complain all you want about me being overly cautious from the damn cockpit of the Marauder.” I retorted, nearly snarling at him.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Doc. I’m not-”

“You’re right: this isn’t a discussion.” I interrupted sharply. “As squad medic, I have the final say on this. Not you.” Crosshair looped his arms over his chest, hip cocking slightly with an amusement he no longer tried to hide while the others stood frozen, stances rigid as they watched in tense silence as Hunter stared me down. I could see the enraged sense of betrayal stealing over him, heard it in the heaviness of his carefully controlled breaths, and I hated the guilt that coiled through my chest. But I didn’t back down. The risk was too great.

“I’m pulling rank, Hunter.” I stated, voice painfully even, the faintest hint of an apology quieting the almost whispered words. “I’ll go with Wrecker – I’ve picked up enough of his tips here and there to help set the charges, and Echo can help Tech nab a decoy ship.” That silence grew almost debilitating, and I felt the way my heart raced beneath the weight of this moment. Hunter’s reaction meant more than just this mission. If he refused, if he ignored my orders now… that would illustrate more than just a lack of respect for me as a medic. It would call into question my very place on this squad and my ability to be their medic…

Right hand curling into a tight fist, Hunter’s lips just hinted at a scowl before those infuriated eyes finally turned away from me, shoulders drawn taut as he stormed around us and vanished into the fore of the ship without a word. I didn’t watch him go, though his brothers showed no such restraint, staring in shock as their Sargeant disappeared down the stairs to the cockpit.

It was Echo that finally broke the silence.

“Wrecker, make sure Doc has what she needs to help you set the charges.” Wrecker’s attention shifted to the arc with a fresh note of surprise before coming back to himself.

“Yeah… right…” He muttered, hesitating for just a moment more before glancing toward me and then starting toward the supply room.

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