#the fics where they save crosshair

[themistymountainscold]

anyone got any bad batch fix it recs? i'm desperate

[lazinesswrites]

I just. Would like you all to know that I’ve been drawing an actual literal map for one of the TBB fics I’m working on. Because directions were confusing me, and I needed the whole thing visualised to make the battle (however brief) that takes place here make sense to me. So. Enjoy? And good luck reading my handwriting in this light.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Can I request a Hunter x female Y/N comfort/whump paternal fic plz? <3

Btw I loved your Crosshair x Y/N fic <3

Knight in Rusty Armor

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After a bad run-in at a market, Hunter has to save you and Omega. You can't help but feel like a failure for not being able to protect Omega by yourself...

A/N- Thank you so much for requesting! I'm not completely confident in my ability to write Hunter, but I tried my best!! Hope this is what you had in mind, XoXo.

Word Count- 2,118

You could feel his gaze on you from a mile away. It seemed that no matter the circumstance, Hunter was there.

While you were grateful for him, always- you couldn't help but feel like he didn't trust you. Well, maybe trust wasn't the right word. Nevertheless, he had to accompany you and Omega for a trip to the market.

Everyone had been flying for days and needed a place to resupply. Stretch their legs. You offered to take Omega to shop for some new clothes. She had rips in her shirt- ones that were barely held together by your sewing. So it seemed natural that you would take her, being the only other female on the ship.

Even before landing, you brought up the idea of you and Omega going to Hunter. You wanted to spend some time with her alone. One might have even said mother and daughter bonding...

He turned you down immediately. Rightfully so, as it was a foreign place. But you still wanted to compromise.

That's where you were now, looking through bounds of outfits. Varied from dresses, pants, jackets, and finally shirts. Hunter kept his distance. He did understand that Omega needed some 'girl time' with you, as Tech called it. He also understood that you two were the most important people to him, and he wanted to protect you at all cost.

When you and Omega stepped into an actual establishment for children's clothes, Hunter stood outside the door. Close enough that he could hear Omega laughing.

She picked through a rack, showing you the shirts she thought looked silly. The two of you got a couple odd looks, but neither of you cared.

A particular neon-green tube top grabbed her attention. She picked it up and joked that she wanted it.

"Yeah, very stealthy Omega." You said, playfully.

She giggled and put the shirt back. The two of you proceeded to go to the cashier with the 3 other shirts you found. Ones that fit her and were darker tones.

You immediately noticed that the owner of the store had a sour look on his face. This resulted in you putting on an cheery attitude, being extra kind.

"Ten credits." The yellow man stated, ignoring your pleasantries.

"T-ten?" You sputtered out, shocked. The tags on the clothes clearly stated 'one credit each.'

"Three for the clothes, and seven for the ones you insulted. Now an additional two for arguing with me." Since when was asking a question arguing.

Omega looked up at you, wondering what you would do next. You didn't have Ten credits on you, though you knew Hunter would let you tap into his personal stash if you asked. In this matter however, three shirts were not worth ten credits.

"Sir, i'm sorry about the comments. But we meant no harm. I can give you three credits for the shirts, as they are priced. No more." You reasoned with the man, knowing how bad Omega needed new clothes.

"You are not leaving this store until I get fifteen credits from you." He grumbled and reached for his blaster.

"Excuse me?" You were taken aback. Who did he think he was? Your own blaster was already raised.

"We don't have fifteen credits, and will be leaving now." You said, dropping the clothes. You were frustrated that the day had turned bad.

"Then she can work them off." He shoved his blaster to Omegas temple. Omega had left her energy bow back at the ship, and her borrowed blaster was on the side of her leg.

"We really don't have time for this, sir." You said before effectively disarming him. Your own blaster shot right past his shoulder, missing on purpose. It distracted him long enough for you to knock his blaster out of his own hand. Omega reached down to grab it- both guns now pointing at him.

It was as simple as it seemed, the guy was inexperienced. What the two of you didn't anticipate was Hunters call.

After rushing outside, the building was surrounded by men that looked like the store owner. Yellow with three horns on their ugly face.

What you would find out later was that the store owner had a bad temper, and went ahead to call for back-up. He was determined to make you all pay. Insanely petty if you could say so yourself.

Nevertheless, firing commenced. Again, it was easy. Even though they had numbers, they didn't possess the same skill as the three of you. Maybe that's why you got cocky?

Maybe that's why you found yourself with a blaster pointed at the back of your neck. The store owner! How did you forget him, you and Omega had rushed out without a second thought.

"This time, disarming me won't be so easy." You felt his breath on your ear, disgusting.

"Put the blaster down. Now." Hunter commanded. If you had your thoughts straight, it would have been really sexy.

"I don't think I will. I want 100 credits. For my time, and having to deal with these ratchet things you call humans!" The man insulted.

You smirked, "Not a wise decision." You remarked. Now it was personal- Hunter did not take insults to his girls lightly.

"Yeah, and what do you know? You're the one with a blaster poi-" He was interrupted by Hunter shooting him. Hunter wasn't as forgiving as you. The man fell, you didn't even look to see if he was alive.

With a puff Hunter started, "Let's get back."

"Are you okay!" Omega jumped to your side, calling your name.

Her voice sent a pang down from your spine to your stomach. She shouldn't be worried about you... She should feel safe and protected. All she saw was you getting risky and dumb. Now she thought she had to worry about you... You felt shame rush to your cheeks in a pink hue.

This Hunter took notice of, he was confused. There was nothing to be embarrassed about? At least he didn't think so.

The walk back to the ship was mostly silent, except for Hunter confirming we would try another market soon.

You kept your head up, now being over-cautious, hand hovering your blaster. That was until Hunter took your hand in his. He smiled at you. He could feel the tension off your body. He'd ask about it the second you got some alone time.

You looked at him and swallowed. You only felt more guilt. How was he so collected but ready to engage in combat at any moment. All of it just made you more insecure, what did you bring to the table?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Omega, pulling on Hunters free hand.

"Hunter! Can I pleeeeease get some!" She gestured to a bag of sweets for sale. A mix of fruity candy, lolli-pops, and chewing gum.

"I don't know Omega." He started, but after seeing her face fall he followed it with- "Okay, but you'll have to share it with Wrecker."

She jumped up, hugging onto his arm. "Thank you! You're the best dad ever!" She giddily said, snatching the credit he held out for her.

His face brightened up, it was his turn to wear a light pink hue. Omega didn't even seem to realize what she said, but you gripped Hunters hand tighter.

"Dad... I like it." You leaned onto him, resting a head on his shoulder. Your arm now fully wrapped around his.

"She probably didn't even mean to say it..." He doubted, not wanting to think anything that wasn't mutual.

"Don't sell yourself short, Hunter." You said, not looking up at him, but rubbing your cheek on the material of his shirt.

Omega bopped back over and the three of you headed back to the ship.

Sleep escaped you, tossing and turning. The thoughts of the market kept you awake. This was not normal. You had all been in crappy situations like that one, why did it affect you so much?

Having Hunter save you wasn't something you resented, it was quite attractive. Just this instance. You had been so careless... You could have put an end to it all, but forgot to immobilize the main threat. You huffed and puffed, trying to get out your frustrations.

You were so lost in thought, that when Hunter placed a concerned hand on your shoulder- you jumped. He pulled away instantly, thinking he might have hurt you in some way.

"W-what?" You asked, squinting up at him. It seemed that no one else was awake, Hunter being the only one on watch.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, sweets?" He asked, hearing his nickname for you was enough to calm you down. At least, enough to get up and settle in one of the cock-pit seats.

You took a deep breath and sat up. He steadied you, an arm wrapping under your armpit to hold you.

"Just can't sleep." He knew there was more to the story. That was a big part about why you loved him. He was more than attentive, and the most selfless lover you could ask for.

"Come sit with me." He suggested, pulling you up with him as he stood to his feet.

He still had a hand rested on the small of your back as he led the two of you to the cockpit,

"So, what happened at the market?" You looked down, shame flooded out of you. Seemingly for no reason. You opted to sit down before answering.

"I let Omega down... There's nothing else to it. It was obvious." You almost felt angry that he didn't see the situation as you did.

His face scrunched up, eyes burning at you. He blinked several times before replying- "What are you talking about?"

With a groan you spoke again, "I can't even protect her from an angry, stupid, vender! You had to save us!" Your voice cracked at the end.

"I thought you didn't mind wh-" You cut him off

"I don't, I just-" You grumbled, frustrated that you couldn't find the right words.

"It's okay, you didn't let anyone down. Everyone is safe, it was just a small mishap." He reasoned, hating that you felt anything less than perfect. If only you saw yourself as he saw you.

You took a quick breath, "One day it won't be a 'small mishap' and something might happen to Omega. I was careless! Now she knows I can't protect her. I'm supposed to be the person she can run to... She must be so disappointed."

You let your head fall into your hands. You rested there for a moment, that was until Hunter made his way in front of you. He gently grasped your hands in his.

He lifted one of your hands to rest on his cheek- the tattooed one. You moved your thumb across the black lines.

"Omega thinks the world of you... nothing will change that. Who knows what would have happened if I wasn't there. If I hadn't called you out, you would have been able to think on what to do with the owner, right?" He explained, trying to shift some of the blame to himself.

You nodded at his words. At this he brings his free hand to rest on your cheek, matching yours on his. His words made you feel some relief, but you couldn't deny how you still felt guilty. Guilty that Omega may have thought differently now.

"Thank you..." You sniffled out, his words making your eyes water.

You leaned in for a kiss, only to be interrupted by a rustling.

Omega. Her light voice called your name, just before jumping onto you and Hunter. He held her steady as she fell into your arms.

"Today was so fun... I'm not disappointed!" You gasped slightly at her words, "You heard all that?" You had a worried look on your face.

"You guys are my family. I'll always feel protected with you." She leans into your arms, head resting just under your shoulder.

"I don't care about the mean guy, I had the best day ever... Can we visit the next market we find as well?" She said, excited, looking up into your eyes.

How could you say no to her sweet face?

"I think Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Echo should come too. Maybe they will have as much fun as we did shopping!" You and Hunter both laughed at this.

"i'm not so sure shopping is Tech's thing." Hunter joked.

You laughed again, wiping off the last tear on your face. Your anxieties had finally died down.

Hours later, Hunter would find you both asleep in the pilots chair- Omega rested snugged in your arms. That is, with evidence of the last candy all over Omega.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I didn't have a strong vision for this one, but I told myself I had to finish it before starting another. I also went off of some Star Wars article saying that 1 Credit is equal to 5 USD. Sorry if I got that wrong! As always, I am open to constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Congrats on your following!! You more than deserve the attention for the skill and care you put into your writing. It’s always lovely to read and see where things go— on that note—

I would like to request “The Angst TM“ or “Hurt/Comfort”

( Crosshair x Medic!reader )

30—"Someone get the medic. Get the medic!"

48 —"You're the stars to my galaxy, without you there is no light."

—🦊

Hello my lovely @kavecika

I hope things are going well for you. You're always in my thoughts, even if I don't have time to reach out. I went with the Angst, so I hope you love it, and thank you for the congratulations, that means a lot.

Love oo,

The Only Reason

Warning: medical procedure, angst, hurt, tears, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Italics - flashback

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Smoke surrounded you as you did your best to tie off a wound, it was never easy working the front lines, not during the GAR and especially not now as an Imperial medic. You didn’t even know if what you were doing was right, not the medical part, but staying with the Empire. 

Really the only reason you stayed was because of Crosshair, you couldn’t leave him. You’d never leave him. Not when his chip activated, not when he made the decision to abandon his brothers, not even when he became a killing machine for the Empire. He wasn’t the Crosshair you knew and loved, but you still couldn’t leave him. 

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic!”

Another shout for help, another injured soldier that you would have to do your best to take care of; force how you missed Crosshair. How you missed how he would hold you so tight, afraid that you would slip through his grasp, almost as though you would disappear if he didn’t hold you. 

You missed how his lips traced your jaw, memorizing your shape, your every outline in the comfort of your quarters. 

But it all changed, all because of that stupid chip, that stupid old prune who somehow felt he was entitled to become an Emperor. If you only had a chance to deal with him hand-to-hand, then there would be no Empire, no chip, no soldiers still dying. Dying from something as ridiculous as a war that was supposed to be over. You remember because there was a parade and a declaration saying the war was over, so … then why were you here trying to save another young man from dying. 

You fought back the tears, fought back the anger, the hatred, you just wanted to be home. To be in Crosshair’s arms again, to hear him call you his baar’ur’ika, his little medic. You wanted to be lying beside him as he chewed his toothpick, something he stopped doing when he joined the Imperial ranks. 

Somehow through the smoke, through the tears, you finished your duty, and saved one more life. The fighting seemed to have finished at least for now. You trudged your way slowly towards the med tent, you needed to wash your hands and look after the patients you sent earlier. 

You were almost there when you saw Crosshair standing there, his armour looked pristine, the black shining even in the moonlight. He stared at you, and you just stared right back at him. You wanted to run into his arms, you wanted to hold him, bury your face in the crook of his neck. God, how you wanted to feel his fingers in your hair. To feel his breath on your neck, but there was no reaction from him. 

Nothing. 

There was nothing but him just standing guard. 

“Something you need, medic?”

The way he spat out the word medic, the way he just stared, it was all too much. Tears welled up in your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat back. He wasn’t your Crosshair, regardless of the fact you stayed for him, you followed him wherever he went, he wasn’t yours anymore. 

You simply shook your head, and walked into the tent. 

Why? Why did it have to be him? Why did you have to lose the one bright star in your life, that one shining, brilliant, spot in your miserable, dreary life? You gripped the field sink that had been set up and fought back the tears, fought back the misery. He was alive, regardless of everything else. He was here. He was alive, and maybe one day, somehow you’d be able to bring him back to you. 

Crosshair walked into the med tent and watched you, it’s all he could do. How could he possibly reach out to you? How could he do anything to comfort you? You were here because of him, when he tried his hardest to get you to leave you didn’t. So he did the next best thing, he distanced himself, he needed to save you even if that meant he had to break his promise to never leave you. His heart broke seeing you on the verge of breaking down, but if he intervened now, all the pain and hurt he caused you would’ve been for nothing. This was how he could save you, how he could keep you alive. 

He exited the tent, you none the wiser he’d even been there. 

You closed your eyes as a tear slid down your cheek, all you could think about was the last time you two were together, how he looked at you. How his fingers gently caressed the side of your face, the smile on his face as he declared his love to you, in the most perfect way possible.

“You’re the stars to my galaxy, without you there is no light” Crosshair smiled, “I mean it baar’ur’ika, you are my everything. If you’re not by my side, I wouldn’t even know what life is. I love you.”

Your trembling hand cupped his cheek as you smiled tears of joy, “I love you, my beautiful sniper.”

“I have a bad feeling about this next mission, just … just promise me, you’ll never stop loving me.” He pleaded as though his very life depended on your answer, he turned his head, kissing your palm, and holding it to his face.

“I promise. I’ll love you until I have no breath left in me. I may be the stars to your galaxy, but you’re the reason I even exist. Without you, I’d have no reason to live.”

“No you would, because you promised me all those months ago, you’d never stop living. So you’re not allowed to stop, even if I’m gone. I need you to keep going. For me.” He pressed another kiss to your palm, “Promise me?”

You simply nodded as you pulled him close, kissing his lips, “I promise. I promise to always love you and to never give up living.”

“I love you”

It was all that was said that night, as he held you so close. And now, he wouldn’t even dare to stand next to you, much less acknowledge your presence. You pulled yourself together, washed your face, and focused on the next soldier that needed you. 

As you moved to your next patient, you vowed you would find a way to bring Crosshair back to you. Someway or in some form, you’d find the Crosshair you knew and loved.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[starrylothcat]

Quiet Love

Crosshair x Gender Neutral!Reader One-Shot

Summary: Crosshair pops the question 💍

Warnings: None? Feelings, some angst, sappiness. Softy soft Crosshair. Some kissy. Reader not described. AU Crosshair is on Pabu and wants to marry you. He deserves it. In the context of my fic a cycle = a year. 1200 words

Author’s Note: Idk I just have Crosshair feels. Song inspo when I was writing this: Eric’s Song by Vienna Teng 🫶

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Also we need happier Crosshair gifs 😭😂

Strange how I fit into you // There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease // Strange how you fit into me // A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

The sun was sinking below the horizon, scattering magnificent hues of purples, pinks, and reds over the ocean. A slight breeze carried the smell of salty air and distant rain. Puffy thunderheads were forming high in the atmosphere, promising tropical showers.

You and Crosshair were sitting quietly, watching the sun disappear as stars blinked into existence above.

You were good at this, embracing stillness, savoring one another’s quiet presence.

After so long being at war, living in a Galaxy that was torn apart and was still being pieced back together, quiet is now calm.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

Four cycles have passed since you first saw Crosshair on the island.

Four cycles of being drawn to one another by an invisible force, filling the holes in your hearts that you never thought would close. Finding solace in one another’s company, finding forgiveness where you thought there was none.

He was afraid at first, when he realized his feelings for you. Frightened if he let you get close, his darkness and fears would spread like a disease and corrupt you. He was a broken man, his past still weighing heavy on his soul, even after the forgiveness of his family.

Slowly, the gracious and patient light that radiated from you burned through his shadows and he let you in. You both tread carefully at first, but as time went on, and more of his walls came down, the more he let himself fall for you.

Your love was a quiet one, but it was strong. It didn’t need to be loud.

Whether it was his hand on the small of your back when you were in public, or having a cup of caf ready for you in the morning exactly how you liked. How he’d worship your body behind closed doors, confessing his desires and need for you, quiet admissions from his heart, trusting you with his most vulnerable self.

Crosshair felt at his pocket as you sat, you not noticing as you watched the sunset. A ring was hidden in his pocket, something that he’s had for some time.

You held his heart and entire being in your hands. He knew you didn’t need a ring from him to realize his devotion to you. He didn’t either.

But you were willing to accept and help heal the heavy burden that was his heart and his love.

It was all he could do to let you know that you were his forever.

If you said yes.

A dark part of him wondered if this was all a dream, too good to be true. How could someone want to be with him, after all that he’s done? He wasn’t the best with words, but he was trying. He hoped it was enough.

You felt Crosshair’s arm snake around your shoulder, pulling you closer into him. He usually saved acts of affection like this when you were truly alone, but the veranda you had found was tucked away. You wouldn’t be bothered any time soon.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your shoulders pressed together, the sun slowly fading in the distance. You looked at him, giving him a soft smile.

“It’s beautiful.” You uttered, bringing your hand over his that was draped over your shoulder.

“Hm.” Crosshair grunted in agreement, glancing down at you, the dimming sunlight casting a warm glow over your skin. You brushed your lips against his, content in this moment. Crosshair accepted your kiss, deepening it by leaning more toward you.

His hand that was free secretly slipped down to his side to his pocket. You didn’t notice what he was doing, too lost in his kiss. Crosshair pulled away from you, knowing it was now or never. His arm left your shoulder, leaning away from you slightly. That’s when you noticed he was holding something out to you in his hand.

You stared, taking a moment to realize what he was holding. It was small and shiny. You focused your eyes and realized it was a ring.

You gawked, trying to process what he was offering to you, and why.

The gears turned in your head, your mouth opening and closing, at a loss for words.

Was he…was this?

“C-Crosshair?” You whispered, your voice shaking, looking between him and the ring. “What…what is this?”

He didn’t say anything as you continued to gaze at the ring, not wanting to misinterpret the gesture.

“I’m not getting down on one knee if that’s what you’re expecting.” He grumbled, shifting in his seated position, waiting for your answer.

Tears filled the sides of your eyes, his words solidifying exactly what he was asking you.

And he was doing it in the most Crosshair way possible.

“Crosshair, are you asking me to marry you?” Your voice was hoarse, your heart pounding in your chest.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, yet his expression was soft.

“Yes, why else would I be giving this to you?”

He held the ring out further, gesturing for you to take it.

You gently took the ring from his hands, turning it in your fingers.

Embedded in the band was a jewel in your favorite color, catching the light of the setting sun.

“How long have you…?”

“Are you saying yes or not?”

You looked at him, seeing him intensely waiting, his eyes locked on yours. Was there a hint of nervousness deep in his eyes?

You gripped the ring in your hand, knowing your answer without a second thought. You slung your arms around his neck, pulling him into a flaming kiss.

“Yes! Crosshair, yes!” You gasped against his lips as his moved just as passionately against yours. You could swear you felt a weight lift off his shoulders, his body relaxing.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you kissed, his arms wrapping around you. Begrudgingly, you pulled away after what seemed like hours, realizing you were still grasping the ring in your hand.

“I love you.” You whispered as your lips left his. He squeezed you tighter. “I know.” You released him from your embrace, looking at the ring again in your hand, and looking back at him. You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face, though tears were still wetting your cheeks.

“Don’t get sappy on me.” He whispered, bringing a hand to wipe the tears from your face.

You huffed, grinning. “You’re calling me sappy?”

Crosshair chuckled, a rare small smile gracing his face, his sharp features softening momentarily.

“Well, are you going to put it on me properly?” You asked. Crosshair’s smile turned signature sly smirk as he took the ring from you.

With a gentleness only he could show you, Crosshair took your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

“Does anyone know?” You wondered, admiring how it looked, happiness flooding your entire being.

“Wrecker knows. Which means everyone does since he can’t keep a secret.”

You laughed as you leaned against him, both of you looking back at the sky, the sun now almost completely set. You placed your newly ringed hand on his thigh, his own hand covering yours.

You continued to sit silently, the last rays of light fading beyond the horizon. Nothing more needed to be said.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

@wanderer-six @pb-jellybeans

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Wash Away the Pain #2 - Hunter

Fleeing Kamino, Hunter knows they’ve made a mistake, but he isn’t sure how to fix it. Could they even fix it? Who knows. All he does know is that he’s way out of his depth.

Pairing: Hunter x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: whump, guilt, hurt and comfort, brief mention of order 66, hopeful ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series where each of our boys will get their sad/angsty shower time, but they can be read as standalone's.

Check out others in the series: Echo, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

ps; don't care what's canon or not, the Marauder has a fresher 😂

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

It’s late, but Hunter can’t sleep.

How did things go so sideways?

They never leave their own behind, and yet…

He sighs, head thunking back against the shower wall. There wasn’t much room in the small fresher on the Marauder, but it was the only space he could be alone with his thoughts. Guilt churns in his gut. What the hell had happened to his baby brother? Why had he fired at them?

Crosshair’s demeanour had changed ever since the order on Kaller. His brother would’ve never fired on a child in the past; he would’ve listened – albeit with a snarky comment – when told to stand down. It was as if Crosshair had been replaced by someone else.

But rather than getting to the bottom of it, they’d left him.

He’d left him.

So much for being a good leader. A good brother.

The quiet click of the fresher door doesn’t even register to Hunter as his thoughts spiral, clutching the bandana wrapped around his fist.

The touch of your hand on his tattooed cheek rips him from his thoughts, head tipping forward to look at you standing before him under the shower spray.

You’d heard Hunter get up and had heard him head to the fresher and turn on the shower. Tech, Wrecker, and Omega remain asleep. Echo is on watch as you travel through hyperspace. As the squads nat-born medic, called in because of the inability of your boys to get along with regs, it was your job to look after their wellbeing. And now it felt like Hunter needed some care.

“Hey, H.” You greet him softly once he looks at you. Living in such close quarters had desensitised you to nudity – you’d seen all the boys in varying states of undress over the years and had even ripped blacks from them when they’d been injured to give you more room to work.

Hunter doesn’t bless you with any words, just a tiny nod of his head in acknowledgement. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand what’s going on in his head.

“It’s not your fault.” You whisper, fingers smoothing down his face and neck, pushing back wet strands of dark hair plastered to his skin until your palm presses against his chest. 

Hunter’s gaze lingers on yours, searching for reassurance that you may hold the answers he desperately seeks. The steam from the shower swirls around both of you.

“I should’ve done something,” Hunter mutters, his voice a low rasp. The guilt in his eyes mirrors the storm within him. “I left him behind. Left my own brother.”

Your fingers smooth over his collarbone, a gesture of comfort. “You did what you had to do to protect the rest of us. Crosshair wasn’t himself. You couldn’t have predicted it.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens, and his gaze drops to the swirling water pooling at his feet. The Marauder’s constant hum provides a backdrop to the heavy silence between you.

“He’s my responsibility,” Hunter admits, a raw vulnerability in his voice. “I should’ve found a way to save him.”

Your fingers tilt his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze again. “Hunter, you’re only human. You can’t control the choices others make. All you can do is protect the ones who are still here.”

He closes his eyes briefly as if trying to shut out the haunting images that plague his mind.

“You’re not alone in this, H.” You assure him. “We’re a team, and we’ll figure this out together. Whatever happened to Crosshair, we’ll find a way to bring him back.”

Hunter’s shoulders relax, if only slightly, under the weight of your words. The subtle touch of your fingers against his chest feels like an anchor, grounding him in the present moment.

A mixture of gratitude and anguish plays across Hunter’s features. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, he steps forward, his wet skin meeting your soaked clothes as the shower’s spray cascades around you both.

Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. A hand cups the back of your head, the other around your waist, holding you close. The water from the shower mingles with the tears that escape his closed eyes. You hold him, offering solace in the only way you know how. Hunter’s breath steadies as he clings to the lifeline of human connection.

As the minutes pass, the weight on Hunter’s shoulders seems to ease. The guilt doesn’t vanish entirely, but it becomes a shared burden. You pull back slightly, holding him at arm’s length. Your eyes lock onto his. “We’ll find him, Hunter.” You affirm, your voice unwavering. “Whatever changed him, we’ll get to the bottom of it. And if there’s a way to bring him back, we’ll find that too.”

Hunter’s expression softens, a mixture of gratitude and determination replacing the turmoil. He nods a silent agreement that resonates through the small fresher. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, the steady hum of the Marauder and the pattering of the shower the only sounds in the room.

You reach for his hand, unfurling the bandana wrapped around it. Quietly, you wrap one end around your hand, too. “We’re with you, Hunter. No matter what.”

Hunter’s grip tightens on his end of the bandana, the physical connection serving as a tangible reminder of the support he has. “What do we do about the kid?” He asks softly, thrown so far out of his element.

You shrug, not having thought that far ahead. “We figure that out, too. You said it yourself: she’s one of us.”

“Never raised a kid before.” Hunter murmurs, brows drawing down into a frown. He could remember himself and his brothers at Omega’s age, but that was his only reference point.

A soft laugh leaves you, echoing in the fresher. “And you think I have?” You tease, delight flaring in your chest as Hunter’s lips pull up slightly into a smile. That was more like it.

Silence lingers between you both again, comfortable as always, but you watch as Hunter’s eyes glaze over a little. “He’ll think we abandoned him in favour of her.” He swallows, jaw clenching as the earlier guilt rears its head again.

“Perhaps, but we know that’s not the case.” You reassure him, hand shifting from his chest to smooth across his bicep, across the dark ink that shades it. “We were kitting up to go and find him, to break him out of wherever he’d been taken.”

Hunter knows you’re right, but pushing away his thoughts is hard. “Should’ve stunned him. Should’ve…”

“Hey. We’re not falling down that ash-rabbit hole, okay?” Your voice is more assertive this time, though still laced with care. “There’s a lot of ‘should’ve’ in life, but if that’s all we focus on, then we miss out on the here and now and forget to look to the future. What’s done is done, how we survive this…takeover…of the Empire, and how we get him back are all matters.” You insist, both hands rising to cup Hunter’s face to draw his focus to you.

It works. Hunter’s eyes find yours as he leans into the comfort you willingly give him. “Think we’ll survive?”

“I’ve spent three years with you. I’ve seen you guys pull off the impossible before.” You point out.

Hunter’s lips quirked into a half-smile, a glimmer of hope breaking through the clouds of doubt that had shrouded him. “Yeah, well, we have the best medic in the galaxy on our side.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood, but it does its job. “Flattery won’t get you out of the next round of physicals, Sergeant.”

He chuckles, the sound a welcome reprieve from the heavy atmosphere that had lingered moments before. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Let’s get some rest.” You suggest, the exhaustion evident in both of your eyes. “We’ll face whatever comes next with clear heads and a plan.”

With a nod, Hunter switches off the shower, and the two of you step out to towel off, changing into clean blacks stored in the only locker in the room. As you return to the racks, you glimpse Omega, still curled on her makeshift bed. She stirs slightly but settles quickly. Hunter places a hand on your shoulder, a silent expression of gratitude.

As you settle into your bunk, you glance at Hunter, resting in his bed across from you. His eyes meet yours, and an unspoken promise is made in that shared gaze. The journey may be arduous and treacherous, but together, as a family, you will face it all. The Marauder hurtles through the star-studded void, a small vessel carrying the hopes and dreams of those who refuse to be crushed by the weight of a galaxy in turmoil.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Caution to the Wind

Wrecker x Fem!Reader

Summary: For her birthday, Omega asks you and Wrecker to ride the roller coaster with her at the fair.

Pairing: Wrecker x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wrecker, Omega, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Tech

Tags & Warnings: modern!AU, family fluff, roller coaster, anxiety, fear of heights, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Two fics in one weekend 😱 I think I broke a record 😂 Even though it's shorter than most of my one-shots, rest assured, this idea was predetermined at the beginning and didn't come from my panic that I only have a week left to finish my bingo card 😅 I love the Bad Batch and their characters, but inspiration is a very fickle thing. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Wrecker

It's a beautiful summer day, and as you walk through the crowds of people your senses are filled with the smells of funnel cakes and fried oreos, and the sounds of kids screaming on the fast, colorful, rides at the midway. Today is Omega's birthday, and to celebrate she wanted to spend the day at the local fair with her brothers. Their girlfriends were also allowed to come, making for a fun family day for everyone. It's been forever since you've gone to a fair, so you're also excited.

Omega sits atop Hunter's shoulders and points out everything she wants to do, eat, and ride. Tech keeps a running list of what she says so they don't forget something, including the firework show at the end. Echo is in charge of the map to make sure they take the most efficient path. Crosshair isn't much of a fairgoer, but he would never pass up an opportunity to wipe the floor with the dads at the fair games and win Omega the biggest stuffed animal available.

Then there's you and Wrecker. He's just as excited as Omega to enjoy the fair, but what he's most excited about is the food. Fair food is the best. There's nothing quite like deep fried candy bars and cheap corndogs smothered in ketchup and mustard. You're not sure where he keeps packing it away, but you had to stop after the fried pickles and take a break. You sit down on a bench to rest for a minute, when Wrecker walks over carrying a massive red and blue slushy.

Your eyes widen. "Please tell me that's not for me."

Wrecker laughs. "It's for both of us."

"Oh, thank God," you breathe in relief. You rub your stomach when you feel it gurgle.

"Not feelin' well?" Wrecker asks as he sits down and rubs your back.

"Just ate too much," you answer. "I'll be fine in a bit."

"Guess I'll have to drink this myself then," Wrecker says.

"Knock yourself out," you chuckle.

You continue to relax on the bench under the shade of a tree while you wait for your stomach to settle. It's the middle of the day, and the sun is beating down hard and hot. Everyone is taking a break now around the same bench, making sure to hydrate so the fun can continue without issue. You also end up taking a few sips of that slushy. Omega becomes restless as she plucks pieces of grass impatiently while sitting on the ground waiting to have fun again.

"Can we go now?" Omega asks while tugging on Hunter's pant leg.

"Ten more minutes," Hunter says as he leans against the tree and looks down at Omega.

Omega flops onto her back and groans. "The fair will be closed in ten minutes."

"Actually, the fair will close in approximately eight hours," Tech adds.

 "See?" Echo says as he pats Omega's leg. "Plenty of time to enjoy the rest of the fair."

Omega sits up and rolls her eyes.

"So," you begin, while trying to change the subject, "what's next on the list?"

"Hmm," Omega thinks. "The rides! Definitely the rides."

"Are you sure you don't want to save those until it gets dark?" Echo asks. "The lights on the rides are pretty at night."

Omega pouts.

"Let the kid go on the rides," Crosshair argues. "We've got the wristbands, so we can always come back after it gets dark."

Omega's face lights up and she tugs harder on Hunter's pant leg. "Hunter, please? Can we go now? I want to go on the rides."

Hunter sighs.

"Aw, c'mon, Hunter," Wrecker says. "It's the kid's birthday."

Hunter glances at Echo and Echo shrugs. "Fine. Let's go."

"Yes!" Omega exclaims as she jumps up from the ground.

You smile at her excitement, and stretch your arms above your head as you get up from the bench. You definitely feel more rested, and your stomach has settled since you sat down and stopped eating food. You're not sure about going on any of the rides though. You love the fair as long as you stay on the ground. You mostly enjoy the little shops, stands, music, food, and the animals, but not the rides. They make your stomach queasy, but mostly, you're afraid of heights.

However, for Omega's birthday, you will play along for as much as you can, even if you stay behind to hold everyone's belongings while they go on the rides. Someone has to do it, so it might as well be you. The first ride Omega chooses is an easy one, the carousel. Now that's a ride you can handle, and everyone can still carry their belongings onto the ride. It's not too fast and not too high, just perfect for someone like you, and possibly the only ride you'll go on.

After the carousel, the group hops from one ride to the next. Your plan of staying back and holding everyone's belongings is working out very well, and so far, no one has questioned it. Wrecker knows your apprehension towards rides and fear of heights, so he doesn't have to ask. Even through his own fear of heights, he still goes on the rides with Omega and everyone else. You admire him for working through his fear, for his little sister's sake, and wish you could too.

After a couple more hours of rides, the sun starts sinking lower in the sky and the heat of the day passes, with a slight breeze blowing in from the east. You thought that Omega would be tired by now from all of the walking and rides, but no, she is still moving like she was this morning. You don't know where she gets all of the energy from, but you now understand why Hunter is so tired all of the time. Keeping up with that ball of energy must be exhausting for him.

Just as you think you'll be leaving the midway to get more snacks and drinks before the firework show, Omega pulls everyone to one last ride. The roller coaster. You look up at the colossal giant of twisting metal and lose your breath as a cart of screaming people flies by across from you. That's one big nope from you. You are happy to just stay on the ground and let everyone else fly down that hill to their deaths. You take a seat on the bench by the line and try to relax.

"C'mon," Omega says as she pulls on your hand. "We're going on the roller coaster!"

You instinctively shrink down further onto the bench. "Oh, no, Omega. I can't."

"Please?" she pleads. "I want us all to go."

"Really, I–"

"It's for the kids' birthday," Crosshair interrupts. "If I have to put up with it, so do you."

"I don't like roller coasters," you explain. "They're way too high and scary."

"The probability of getting hurt on a roller coaster is one in one hundred and seventy million," Tech adds. "You will be fine by my calculation."

Echo elbows Tech and gives him a look. "Really?"

Tech pushes his glasses up. "My calculations are never wrong."

"Guys, please," you say. "I'm really afraid of heights. I can't do it."

"Wrecker is afraid of heights," Hunter notes, "and he's gone on everything."

"Well, maybe my fear of heights and his fear of heights are different," you argue.

"Mesh'la," Wrecker says as he sits on the bench next to you. "If you sit next to me, you know I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"But–"

"Just this once," Wrecker insists. "For Omega."

You sigh and look into Wrecker's soulful eyes. "Promise nothing will happen?"

"Promise," Wrecker says with a comforting smile.

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "Okay, let's go before I change my mind."

"Yes!" Omega exclaims. "Roller coaster here we come!"

The wait in line for the roller coaster is rather short, so you don't get a lot of time to overthink your absolutely horrible decision. You're not sure how you let them talk you into it, but here you are, stepping into the car of a roller coaster and regretting every second of it. You chose a car in the middle of the roller coaster, because both being in the front or the back is terrifying, then Wrecker squeezes in after you. He pulls the safety bar down and drapes his arm over your shoulder.

"Wreck," you say with a shaky voice. "I don't think I can do this."

"Just hold onto me," Wrecker says. "I gotcha."

You clamp your hands onto Wrecker's arm as best you can and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to get off, but the ride hasn't even started yet. You can hear Omega in one of the cars in front of you giggling in anticipation, while you, on the other hand, are hyperventilating and hanging on for dear life. Every terrifying possibility and horrific outcome races through your mind all at once and you wonder if you should have written a will before you let yourself get on the ride.

It's too late now. You feel the car jerk beneath you and the chain clanking as it pulls the line of cars down the track and towards the first hill. Every muscle in your body is tense and you don't dare to open your eyes, but you still feel it. You feel it moving beneath you along the track and your anxiety grows when your body leans back against the hard seat as the coaster is pulled up the first hill. Every alarm bell in your head is going off, warning you that you won't survive the drop.

Then it stops, and for a moment you let yourself relax, thinking you must be at the top of the hill. Of course, where else could you be? The anticipation of what's to come overwhelms your already tense body and you steal a peek, but instantly regret it. You're up, high up, very high up, and the only way down is to let the coaster take you there, but you don't want it to move. You feel sick and you hold onto Wrecker's arm even tighter, wondering if he feels the same way.

Before you can get the answer, you're careening down the hill at top speed. The rushing wind blows your hair wildly as your stomach enters your throat as the feeling of weightlessness takes over. But before you can pass out, your weight returns, pushing your butt back down into the seat. Now that your breath is back, you can finally scream. You scream for dear life, and you're pretty sure Wrecker is having as much of a horrible time as you are, but he stays strong for you.

Thankfully, the ride comes to a stop back at the station. The safety bars release, but you've got one solid grip on the bar and another on Wrecker's arms, refusing to let go, even though the ride is over. Your body has clamped down and you're stuck. You won't even open your eyes. Even if you try to move, you know your legs will be wobbly and you'll probably fall over, or at the least look ridiculous trying to exit the ride. Then you feel two strong arms lifting you out of the seat.

"I've got you," Wrecker soothes. "You're okay."

"Am I alive?" you ask with a shaky voice, eyes still squeezed shut.

"I think so," Wrecker says, then pinches your arm.

"Ow!" you yell and open your eyes.

"Yup," Wrecker says. "Alive and well."

You can't help but laugh. "Thanks."

Wrecker smiles and gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, which you lean into to help soothe your shot nerves.

"C'mon, guys!" Omega calls. "We're gonna miss the firework show!"

"Can you handle that?" Wrecker asks.

You sigh as your body begins to relax. "As long as I get to stay on the ground I can."

"Can do," Wrecker smiles, then drops your legs so you can stand.

"Actually, can you carry me?" you ask with big doe eyes. "I'm so tired and my legs feel like jelly."

"Always," Wrecker says, then picks you back up and follows after the rest of the group.

Masterlist

AO3

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[zoeykallus]

Hey, if it isn’t too much trouble and when you have all the energy you need, would you consider making (preferably fem!)reader x crosshair fic where some bad guy takes the reader and then after she is rescued the bad guy says “I should have killed your little girlfriend when i had the chance” id really like to see how you would express his emotions in this one, you capture all of the characters’ behaviour soooo well i love your works <3 ty for considering

Aloha!

This isn't going to end well.

Crosshair x Fem!Reader Short One-shot - The Fatal Mistake

Warnings: Angst/Violence/Tiny Bit Of Fluff

_________________

Forgive me for making something up that isn't canon (yet).

After Crosshair managed to flee Hemlocks facility, he reunited with you, after months of being missing. The Doctor doesn't take it too well, especially since Tarkin is watching this failure critically.

Hemlocks spies know about you, and he gets hold of you. As Crosshair tries to free you, things turn ugly.

___________________

The Fatal Mistake

After the sound of gunshots fades, it is eerily quiet for a long moment. A deceptive silence that seems almost peaceful. Until a voice familiar to you breaks the silence.

Crosshair snarls, "You're in over your head, Doctor."

Hemlock knows what Crosshair can do, and yet he feels superior, his movements deliberate, slow and confident, like those of a predator. His posture carries the arrogance typical of a bully who feels superior to his victim.

He has you handcuffed in front of him like a shield, he is sure that he holds all the cards at the moment, even if Crosshair has taken out his men, and he is facing the Sniper alone.

"I don't think so," Hemlock replies in his calm, low voice, almost purring, "I have someone very close to your heart here, as you can see, and I intend to take advantage of the situation."

Crosshair tilts his head slightly forward, his gaze piercingly fixed on Hemlock, almost like a bull ready to charge at any moment. There's so much hatred in his amber eyes that even you feel it run down your spine, though you know that hatred isn't for you at all.

"Bringing her into this was a big mistake. If you take her from me, I have nothing left to lose, and I will walk over dead bodies to get her back," he growls.

Hemlock has one hand on your shoulder, with the other he points to the dead on the ground, the bullet holes still smoking.

"Yeah, I saw that. You've always been willing to take lives, even innocent lives, without hesitation, from what I've heard."

Crosshair grits his teeth, avoiding looking at your face for fear of the judgment that might lie within. He is well aware of his mistakes, and they've kept him up many a night.

"Those were different times, different circumstances," he says reluctantly.

Hemlock smiles and says unapologetically, "Tell yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. But in fact, I know you hardly slept in the weeks before you were brought to me. Guilt?"

Crosshair doesn't dignify that question with a response, but instead demands, "Let her go."

You listen to the men, nervously. You know that your life or death is being decided here. You feel Hemlock's hand on your shoulder and the handcuffs cutting into the skin of your wrists.

A few minutes ago you thought you were lost, but Crosshair really showed up, he really came to save you. Fear and joy mix. You trust him, you trust that he will do the right thing. You force yourself to take a breath, to trust that Crosshair has the situation under control.

"Tell yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. But in fact, I know you barely slept in the weeks before you were brought to me. Guilt?"

"Let her go."

You know about the conflict Crosshair still fights with himself regarding past actions of his. You don't judge him, even though the realization when you first learned some things was a shock.

Crosshair raises his rifle and Hemlock's hand shoots from your shoulder to your neck, pulling you closer to him. He doesn't strangle you, but the grip is firm enough to be uncomfortable. Both men are more than tense.

"Get your hands off her, now!"

"I'm inclined to take them from you just to see how far I can break you," Hemlock says, laughing softly.

You hear a gunshot, you feel Hemlock flinch behind you the next moment and let you go. Hastily, you dash forward and behind Crosshair, who hastily comes towards you and pushes you behind him.

The sniper growls, "There's a reason my name is Crosshair, you should know that, Hemlock. You didn't really think you could use her as a shield, did you?"

Hemlock lies on the ground, one hand, on the side of his neck, looking up at the two of you. He's not mortally wounded, probably would survive this. He looks at you, a biting smile on his lips as he says, "You cost me so much, the respect of my superiors, my project, everything. I should have killed her when I had the chance, only to see in your face how you are breaking inside."

Crosshair growls and slowly leans over him, like a predator sure of its prey.

"You won't get another chance at this"

The muzzle of the rifle tilts toward Hemlock's face. Hastily, you look away as Crosshair pulls the trigger several times at once. You smell burning skin, and flesh, and shake yourself. Automatically, you take a few shaky steps away from Hemlock, who is now lying dead on the ground, to escape the smell.

Crosshair hurriedly follows you, you hear him close behind you, "Are you hurt?"

You shake your head and say softly, "No, just still in a bit of shock."

Very slowly, almost tentatively, Crosshair grabs your shoulder, turns you around to face him and looks at you scrutinizing. His amber eyes roam over your face.

"Are you sure?" he asks gently.

You nod and say just as gently, "Thank you for saving me."

Crosshair relaxes a little, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, barely noticeable, but you know him well enough to see it. He kisses your temple, long and tenderly, maintaining contact for quite a while, a rare gesture.

"Of course. Anytime, Kitten."

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[notallthoseinheadspace]

Another little fic, kinda my prediction for the finale. PG, extreme tension, angst at the end.

Now also on AO3!

HEARTBEATS

“There is… something else you should know.”

The hesitation in Emerie’s voice does not fill Echo with confidence. “I’m sure there are a lot of things I should know,” he answers, aware that he’s growling the words out and making no particular effort to change that. “What in particular are you referring to?”

“What do you know about the CX assassin project?”

Echo knows cold. He’s been frozen in carbonite, suspended in cryo-stasis, and neither of those made him feel the same level of frozen horror as that question. “More than I’d like, but less than I need to. Why?”

-

The stormtroopers shift, all three of them aiming their weapons at Rampart’s head, fingers steady on the triggers.

The middle one tips his helmet, surveying the former Vice-Admiral, before scoffing softly. “Edmon Rampart. Supposed to be in the company of Clone Force 99.”

The left trooper looks to the center one, the movement brief. “We supposed to be bringing this one in?”

The center trooper’s helmet centered again, hands tightening briefly on his blaster. “The defective clones we capture. Orders for Rampart are to shoot on sight as a traitor to the Empire.”

Rampart, already drawing himself up to argue the use of his name rather than his lost title, froze as the blaster muzzles pressed forward.

Three shots rang out.

-

“Get me a secure comm channel,” Echo ordered. “Now.”

“I don’t - we’re not supposed to communicate outside the base!”

“Still ‘just following orders’, huh?”

Emerie’s shoulders sagged, then straightened, and she pointed wordlessly to the necessary panel. “You should be able to have access from there, but it will alert base security.”

“How long will it give us?”

“A matter of minutes. Five at the most, unless something else happens.”

Echo gritted his teeth and bent to scomp in. “Let’s hope something else happens.”

-

“Wh - ” blinking in bafflement, Rampart stared at the three stormtroopers lying stunned on the ground before him before whipping back around to stare up small hill.

Crosshair shouldered his rifle and glowered down at him. “Get up. Wrecker’s injured and we’re wasting time.”

“Wh - why did you save me?” Stumbling to his feet, Rampart futilely attempted to dust off his uniform and stumbled towards Crosshair, shoes slipping on the dirt of the hill.

“I told you I’ve changed, it’s your own fault for not believing me.” Another moment, and Crosshair sighed deeply, reached down, and hauled Rampart bodily up the hill by the front of his jacket, ignoring the slaps the man aimed at his wrist. “You should be grateful, you know. My Imperial self would have thrown you out an airlock as soon as we’d secured the coordinates.”

Seeing Rampart draw himself up and inhale deeply, no doubt in preparation for another self-aggrandizing lecture, Crosshair seized him by the wrist and began dragging him back down the narrow game trail to where he’d left his brothers.

Shockingly, Rampart did not argue.

-

“Hunter? Hunter, come in!”

“Echo? What’s the situation?”

“CX-2 is in play. Do not use lethal force!”

-

Hunter, having tied off the bandage around Wrecker’s chest, peered out of the knot of roots where they’d taken shelter. The energy signature of the base was near enough to be a painful, staticky hum in the back of his head, and the warning sense of danger-danger-danger throbbed like a migraine behind his eyes.

“Do not use lethal force!”

It all happened far too fast - a whiff of Crosshair’s familiar scent, growing closer, Rampart’s sour fear-sweat odor close behind it. A rustle, faint but far too loud in the pervasive quiet that followed the rampage of a large, angry predator.

The sound of an exhaled breath and the squeak of a glove.

The whine of a blaster shot far too close far too close danger screaming in his mind and a shower of splinters sharp and hot against his face as the bolt struck the root beside his head.

A curse, a shriek, the sound of Crosshair’s Firepuncher stock squeaking against the pad on his chest -

“I repeat, do not use lethal force! CX-2 is - ”

Hunter flung out a hand, too late, too desperate, even as Crosshair’s finger tightened on the trigger - “Crosshair, wait!”

The bolt hit home.

CX-2 wavered, for a moment, rifle falling from his hands as a curl of smoke drifted up from the armor over his chest. His crouch on the broad tree limb above them became unsteady, and, achingly slowly, he fell.

The crack of his armor against the branches as he fell was nowhere near as deafening as Hunter’s pulse in his ears, and the broken helmet rolled away as the shadow trooper tumbled to a stop on the ground before them.

Hunter struggled to draw a breath, barely aware of Crosshair dropping his rifle as he fell to his knees beside the body, Crosshair’s hand shaking worse than ever as he reached out to touch that familiar, beloved face.

“ - Tech!”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 2: I've Said Too Much

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Content Warnings: Usual COD content (violence, torture, death, guns), mutual pining, back from the dead, friends to allies to lovers, Reader is GN, some use of Y/N.

Chapter 1 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 3

You were dropped off like kids at school, waving off the heli as its blades cast pulses of air across the natural landscape, your uniforms rippling against the swift tide. Your ride floated back into the air and swivelled back the way it came. Fading fast, your ears still strained to hear its farewell whilst you adjusted your vest strap so that it was tucked away and irritating you no longer.

Thus began the hike. You thanked your workout regimen that you were able to power-walk up an incline whilst carrying a heavy duty rucksack and replying to any remark made your way.

Any other day, you’d probably appreciate a walk through these forests. Pine trees thick and brusque, blocking anyone from spotting your team but preventing you from seeing them as well. Overcast clouds of the early evening aided your cover into night and meant you didn’t have to carry around sunscreen, force it on your teams whilst they squinted and whined about it, bunch of babies. Another saving grace was your boots, broken in enough that you never received blisters.

One of Čiernik’s lieutenants, an arm’s dealer called Markovič that he’d collaborated with more and more frequently over the past two years, was rumoured to be at this location, and his identity had been pinged crossing the border. Your first step was to reach the safehouse, an apartment in the town Fraleni, where Markovič was known to frequent, and intercept him on his biweekly visit to the only bar (called Los Gatos) tomorrow night. That was the worst thing to do as someone who wanted to remain under the radar: follow a strict routine.

“Makes you wonder what level of stupidly confident they are,” Crash muttered when you revealed this yesterday.

You had to agree, but not without its own warning: “As long as you don’t make the mistake of acting the same.”

Of course you were suspicious of this routine. Whether it was a trap or not, that remained to be seen. But you were prepared for that potential outcome – as prepared as you could be. Ever the restless beast, your mind ran with every outcome it could come up with.

After two hours, you let someone else lead the way – they’d read the maps, checked their compasses. Meanwhile, you played tail end Charlie for the next hour, watching how the two teams were becoming one. Soap and Bronze were directly in front of you – a few feet ahead, chatting about scars on their arms and their sources. Gaz and Crash, as expected, were next up but included Chance in their talk, occasionally reaching Ghost near the front. Price was leading the way now.

Respite from the growing risk assessments let you wonder when Price had adopted this new kind of hat. He’d had a baseball cap not unlike yours and Garrick’s. As a matter of fact, he borrowed one from you the last few missions you had together. You collected it from his bunk the day he was designated KIA, weeping on the bedsheets with it clasped to your chest as if it could reach and heal your heart, bring him back so you could annoy him into giving it back. It now sat folded and burning a hole in your back pocket.

“How do you know Price?”

Ghost, in your little thought tangent, had drawn back to step beside you. His strides were still longer than yours but you could sense his deliberate hesitation to go at full-steam ahead.

“We worked together, ‘just under a decade back. How’d you two cross paths?”

“Met him being assessed to become a Sergeant, then he brought me into the 141 four years ago.”

“Ah.” You didn’t really know what else to say, nor did you want to add anymore. In your brief time with the Lieutenant, and having pieced together pieces of his reputation, you figured he’d probably appreciate your mutual silence.

Not so mutual, it seemed.

“You’ve been after Čiernik for two years?”

“Three, five if you count the theory crafting.”

“I do.”

“Five it is.”

“That why Price didn’t get you on 141?”

A nervous itch began to whisper that Price had talked about you to the 141, and up until yesterday you’d been a name without a face.

“You’d have to ask him that,” You replied after that brief sabbatical into your thoughts.

“Hey Ghost!” Soap was walking with his head craned around as he yelled back, “You playin’ nice?”

“On my best behaviour,” Ghost replied, his Mancunian accent adding a natural humour to his words.

Soap barked out a laugh at that, and Chance followed up with: “Is that so, Captain?”

“Hmm, he’s gonna get a gold star for his manners,” You said.

Just as this steepness was causing you to break a sweat, your team found the vehicle left for you by an ally, a van with tinted windows. A view from the ridge revealed Fraleni nestled at the foot of the hill, with more modern amenities spreading over and out of the bowl of the valley, miniscule windows glowing in the dusk.

Gaz volunteered to drive, letting the rest of the team fight over the passenger seat, then the rest loading up into the back whilst Bronze enjoyed his seatbelt privileges.

“Last time I got in a car with Ghost at the wheel, crushed two guys with the truck bed and almost gave me whiplash,” Soap said to you, his grin boastful.

Ghost blinked slowly at this short story, “Got us out alive.”

The pride in Soap’s smile was still bold as brass, “You sure did.”

And even you could tell that Ghost was likely smiling beneath the balaclava. It vanished when the van bounced like a see saw, everyone letting out noises of distaste to drown out Gaz’s apology.

Backroads and their bumps brought you into the town. Tiny pavements kept the residence confined to it, and no one paid any mind to your vehicle as it weaved around under Bronze’s directions until it turned straight into a garage, the shutters locking in almost immediately after. Efficient, just the way you liked it, and exactly how you filed into the apartment above, scouting just in case. Plaster was spread across the walls like buttercream on a decorator’s first cake. Sparse decoration made the space feel less homely than if everything was bare, the thick layer of dust giving the safehouse apartment a haunting air. The only thing you could appreciate were the ornate rails at the windows, creating two Juliet balconies that perfectly overlooked

Los Gatos was populated with outdoor seating and a wall of glass that folded to leave it open to the unevenly paved street. The food looked miles better than the MRE awaiting your digestion; the smell wafted up across to your building, knocking on the glass. A foolish part of you suggested going down and grabbing some for the team tomorrow.

Satisfied with their initial survey, everyone gathered in the living room.

“Ghost-”

You stopped immediately, because someone was talking over you. Saying the exact same thing in fact. Price was mirroring your expression, his jaw ajar from cutting you off. The team flicked between you and Price like they were watching a discordant match of tennis, waiting for one to let the other score or take the point for themselves.

Within the following second, Price shifted his weight from one leg to the back with an apologetic expression, his hand gesturing to the team, “Your op.”

Why did him passing the mantle back to you feel so irritating? Childishly you wanted to disagree, offer the reply of “your team”. But it was technically your operation, not the polite Olympics. Last thing you needed was your team – now technically both Banshee and 141 – getting the wrong idea about chain of command out here. It was your call.

You started over: “Ok, Ghost, get on the radio to Laswell and update her. Crash and Bronze, set up the perimeter. Gaz, set up sightlines by the windows for where we’ll take watch in slots. Soap, Chance, check the house’s layout for the exits, any dead ends. Once that’s done, we’ll get started on the MREs and organise a schedule for taking watch.”

Murmurs of “yes, Captain” and “on it” followed, bags dumped in the centre of the room before they scuttled off to fulfil their orders. You counted them as they went and landed back on Price who was adjusting a familiar knife handle on his right shoulder.

“What about me?” He asked, still with that relaxed manner meant to appease.

“Come check the plans with me.”

Upon the tiny island countertop, you spread out the plans that had been hiding in your bag’s front pocket. Price stood beside you, and you didn’t ignore how he leant in just a little before speaking.

“I think I owe you an explanation.” His voice was low, his eyes on the others in the room and if they were close enough to hear him. Only you were; a few inches between you and the brim of the boonie left you feeling both discomfited and desiring to lean in further. For fuck’s sake.

Though Price’s words were vague, you knew he was referring to your “unfinished business” – not the mishap over leadership just then, the fact that he’d been KIA in your mind longer than it was a misprint on official documents. Even if the desire to do so was there, you gave no time to playing coy or dumb, especially after such a hike and with so much ahead.

“You don’t need to tell me anything. I read what happened,” You said as you pulled out the blueprints of Los Gatos.

“You did?” Price’s expression and tone were a cross between incredulous and amused.

You remained as neutral as possible, “I requested your file, amongst your team’s. I like to know who I’m working with.”

Ok, that was unintentionally scathing. As you felt the words cross your lips, you felt an edge appear in the final few words to pass judgement on the man in front of you, the kind of man not to tell his best friend he’s not actually dead.

Price’s voice softened, “You’re angry.”

You were four days ago, reading that file of his, redacted areas held up to the light, a stiff drink cooling your palm and soothing your raw throat.

“I’m fine.” Weariness was slipping into your body language, out of the mask, so you adjusted and straightened up your posture. “I’m ready to go over the plans and get this sorted.”

“It’s long overdue, but-” A soft sigh popcorned in Price’s lungs. He must still be a smoker “-I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

That was at least partly true. His capture wasn’t his fault. The last time you heard him being a cry of pain in your earpiece then static wasn’t his fault. Your final moment replaying over and over in your mind, torturing you with every instance you could have intervened, possible or otherwise whilst knowing it was impossible to change it, that wasn’t his fault.

But the years between his return to the SAS and this moment were his fault. What you read about him doing in that span, those were his fault. Most of them were good things: preventing worldwide panic, catastrophe, terrorist attacks. But that long list of achievements and commendations did not report his decision to not reach out and relieve you of the pain you were in. Never sending news of his return, never inviting you to join the 141, never asking you to be a part of his life again.

And, again, you weren’t angry. You had been, and you’d also been devastated that you had evidently meant so little to him when he’d meant more than the world to you. But your head was clear, now that you had missed and mourned for Price longer than you’d known him. The whole ordeal put to bed from your point of view; you just wish he would do the same, for both your sakes.

Price didn’t press for whether you accepted or dismissed his apology, just let you have it and continue with the task at hand.

“Gaz’ll do well down there tomorrow, and Bronze too. I want Soap as sniper, just as a precaution. Chance too. You, Crash and Ghost can intercept in these paths should he make a break for it. I’ll be in the car, ready to take him to the rendezvous for questioning, or for back-up should you need it.”

Price’s affirming nods and hums to your plans were welcomed. They weren’t necessary, neither was his perspective on the plans that you knew were fine. Yet you’d asked for them anyway. Something to consider later.

After another quarter of an hour, you released him to join the others, who’d returned with their duties complete, reported to you their findings, and were opening their MREs – which gave Price an excuse to use that daft pair of scissors he insisted on carrying around with him. You stayed at the counter whilst they cooked, updating your thoughts in your ring-binder notepad. Soap did the same, except his was less tallies and more drawings from the brief glimpse you caught in the tattered leather jacket. You didn’t linger on him, busying yourself with your alone time six feet from the hubbub around the makeshift hobs.

It came to an end all too fast but you didn’t enter this profession for alone time. Chance brought you your plate – some kind of curry - which you accepted then followed her back to the group. No space on the sofas (cushions or arms) so you leant against the wall instead. You were still stirring your meal around in your mess tray when everyone else had finished.

“Captain?” You glanced up to see Chance holding up a deck of cards. “Shithead, you in?”

A short smile brushed across your face, “Sure.”

“I haven’t played in ages!” Gaz said in a tone of hushed awe.

Chance sifted through the deck carefully to check all cards were present, “Crash taught us. She can remind you.”

Already ahead of him, Crash eagerly explained to Soap who’d forgotten the rules and Gaz who was just along for the verbal ride. You let yourself get dealt in, joining around the coffee table. Ghost volunteered for first watch; you had a sneaking suspicion he would sweep the floor everyone if he got the chance to play later on. For the three rounds of Shithead, you were safe from embarrassment. Soap was the first Shithead, then Chance twice which she blamed on being sat beside Crash – merciless and high on breaking her four times Shithead streak.

Settling for the night, the team began choosing their spots on the floor, opting for the biggest room together rather than spread out into the minute bedroom. And if anyone opted to sleep on the bathroom floor, you would’ve asked for a psych eval the second you returned to your base.

You were woken up once, and you rolled over away, trying your best not to notice Price having words with Ghost during their shift swap.

Stirring again at what felt like seconds later, your watch quickly disproved this notion and informed you that it was two minutes until your watch. For that first minute, you continued to lay back, your eyes taking turns to be closed to prevent falling asleep again. The second minute started with you rubbing your eyes and pushing up from your sleeping bag. Then you glanced to where your next two hours would be

Price was sat against the wall, one knee bent, the dull light of his cigar softly illuminating his moustache and nose, but nothing more – attracting no unwanted attention from the street below.

“My turn, scoot.” Awoken somewhere in your muscle memory, your boot gently poked him on the ankle.

Price arched his back with a groan, his shoulder blades crunching as he did so. Then he grappled with his knee to stand up and swap spots with you.You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the way you used to when he used to put on this act, sounding like a grandad getting out of his easy chair. He was fine. Fit as a damn fiddle.

“Nothing to report,” He whispered gruffly before taking your space on the floor.

Your back guided you down against the wall, and you drilled your stare through the glass. Seconds rolled over one another as you stared at the marmalade glaze that emitted from the scattered lampposts and coated the road. A snore arose from one of the many sleeping bags bundled around your fellow officers. Then another. You sighed in time with the third. Long night ahead.

_______________________________________

AN: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! I saw the MW3 trailer and I’m Stressed™ about it. I just want all my boys n gals to live!!! That being said, it'll probably motivate me to keep writing, so that I can finish this before the game comes out and if Price dies, y'all have content whilst I go into mourning.

Taglist: @mockerycrow

[photogirl894]

Hey Morgan! I came across this prompt and thought it would fit well with your fics:

“How could you just abandon her like that? She needed you!”

“It was— It was complicated, okay?”

Feel free to use or not to use but I thought you could do something really cool, creative and interesting with it! Feels like a Hunter, Crosshair, or Tech thing to me but thought I'd throw it your way!

Oooh this is an interesting one! Thanks, my friend!! 💜 I'll make this a Tech one since I haven't done anything for him in a while! Let's give our favorite smart Clone some love!

"Barricade"

Pairing: Tech x fem reader

What should've been an easy, calculated explosion to seal in some gundarks behind you and Tech ended up being a huge mistake.

You thought you had made the shot precisely enough that the ceiling would only collapse between you two and the gundarks trailing you, but it did more damage than you anticipated. The whole ceiling had started to come down.

"This is not going as anticipated!" Tech called out as you ran.

You replied, "Tell me something I don't know!"

Right then, you heard a loud crack from directly above you and you could tell that the ceiling was about to give way and Tech, who had gotten ahead of you, was going to be directly impacted by the debris.

"Tech, look out!" you yelled, picking up speed and shoving him forward. Just as you did that, a section of the rocks above you came down and a heavy impact hit you on the back of your head and neck, a sharp pain shooting through you as you collapsed to the ground and everything around you went dark.

Tech, after being pushed, skidded to a halt upon hearing your cry of pain and he shouted your name, running back to you. However, the ceiling continued to cave in and he couldn't get close enough to you before it all came down, separating you two. He moved back a few feet, waving his hand through the cloud of dust that had formed and continued calling out for you. To his concern, there was no reply.

"Oh no," he said aloud with worry. While he was strong, he knew he wouldn't be able to move all of the rocks and debris on his own. He'd have to have the rest of his squad help him. In order to do that, though, he had to get out of the cave and run back to the Marauder because he knew comms would be no good. There was too much atmospheric interference on this planet.

He turned on his heel and ran back in the direction of the cave entrance, overwhelming guilt eating at him inside. He didn't know if you were alive or dead and he hated the thought of leaving you in there alone, but there was no other way. You had saved his life and he was leaving you to an uncertain fate in order to return the favor. He could only hope he could get his brothers and make it back in time.

Minutes later, he spotted light from the outside and made his way out of the cave, now booking it as fast as he could for the Marauder.

"What happened?" Hunter questioned as he saw Tech coming. "And where's (Y/N)?"

Catching his breath, Tech replied, "There was...an unforeseen cave-in. She's...trapped inside."

"And you just left her there?" Wrecker questioned.

Then Echo added, frustrated, "How could you just abandon her like that? She needed you!"

"It was--it was complicated," Tech responded. "The fallen debris separated us and I knew I could not get through the barricade alone. That and I could not comm any of you. I need your help. Her life may be in jeopardy."

"Then we need to hurry," stated Hunter, already breaking into a run.

The Clones all sprinted back to the cave and made their way back to the barricade. Wrecker suggested just blowing the cave-in up, but Hunter said that might too dangerous as the debris could further injure you. Instead, they set to work immediately moving the boulders and stones that were in the way by hand. Tech took out his datapad and did a scan of the area ahead. Your body was still lying motionless on the ground...and to his relief, his scan was still reading signs of life.

"She is alive," he stated aloud to the others.

"She won't be for long unless we get this cleared," said Echo.

A few more minutes went by as the Batch moved the stones as quickly as possible. Before long, they were able to create a big enough hole for Tech to slip through to the other side. He ran over to your unconscious body, knelt by your side and pulled you into his arms.

"All right, Wrecker, I've got her. You may blow the rest of the barricade," he called out.

Seconds later, Wrecker cried out, "Take cover!"

Tech shielded you with his body just as the small explosive went off and the rocks all went flying around him, a few small stones bouncing off his back and helmet. Once he saw the way was clear, he scooped you up carefully into his arms and rejoined his squad. Then all of them returned to their ship to get you proper medical attention.

Your eyes fluttered open, a throbbing pain in your head. Your hand reached up and felt there was a bandage wrapped around your head. The last thing you remember was shoving Tech out of the way of some falling rocks and then...

Tech!

Just as you were about to panic and wonder if he was okay, you turned your head and Tech was already seated at your bedside, his datapad naturally in his hands. However, hearing you stir, his attention was immediately on you.

"Welcome back," he said to you.

"What happened? Are you okay?" you asked him.

Tech's eyebrows rose in confusion. "You are the one with the injury and yet you ask if I am all right?" he questioned.

"Well...yeah," you answered. "I remember pushing you out of the way so you wouldn't get hurt, but then...everything's fuzzy after that. I don't know what happened and I just want to be sure you came out all right."

"I am...unharmed," he told you, still trying to figure out how you could be so concerned for his wellbeing when you were the person who had been hurt. "You should not have done that, however. You were hurt and I should have been the one to protect you," he then said.

You sat up, slightly wincing from the aches in your head. "You had gotten ahead of me, Tech. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't have been able to stop that cave-in in time."

He released a sigh. "That is a fair point...and indeed, an oversight on my part."

"It's okay," you said. "You're okay and that's all that matters to me."

In that moment, Tech felt the sudden urge to reach up and lay his hand on your cheek, overcome with foreign emotion at seeing how caring you were regarding him. His hand came up, but then hovered hesitantly and he looked away for a moment, contemplating if that was a wise choice. Though, when his eyes returned to you, you were smiling at him and the look in your eyes was telling him it was okay for him to proceed. His gloved hand ever so gently came to your cheek and he laid his palm against your skin, caressing it softly with his thumb.

"Thank you," he said to you.

Leaning into his touch, you replied, "You're welcome, Tech. I would do it all again if I had to."

"I would advise against that," he stated back, eliciting an amused laugh from you.

More Tech fics

Bad Batch Writing Requests

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 3

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut (not for a few chapters still), Canon-Typical Violence

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2

Chapter 3 summary: The mysterious woman rescued by Crosshair comes to on the Marauder. Rather than interrogate why he decided to save her, Crosshair decides to antagonize her, because that's who he is.

“Hey, hey. Easy now.” Hunter appeased the woman like a wounded animal, crouching to her level, hands held out carefully in front of him. Crosshair rolled his eyes.

“I hardly think she needs consoling,” he intoned sibilantly. “She did take out four troopers on her own.”

“That you know of,” the woman muttered under her breath. “Where’s my gear?” she demanded, shifting herself into a seated position.

“Careful there. Hang on just a minute,” Hunter continued. Crosshair could barely stand it when Hunter was like this; gentle, cajoling, infantilizing. He didn’t see why the woman ought to be treated with kid gloves. “You’re hurt pretty bad,” the Sergeant continued. “Just rest up, and we can help you out. What’s your name?”

“Who’s asking?” The woman was defensive, distrustful. As she scanned the Marauder, Crosshair felt like he could see the gears turning behind her eyes, sizing them up. Wondering what she had gotten herself into, and how she could get herself out of it.

“I’m Hunter. That’s Tech, Echo, Wrecker, and Crosshair. We’re not going to hurt you. Crosshair said Imperials were after you, so he took you back to our ship.”

Tech, the most direct among them—with the possible exception of the sniper himself—got straight to the point. “How did you find yourself out there?”

The woman eased up a bit, but continued to be less-than-forthcoming. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The squad looked at one another. “We weren��t the ones crash-landing in a stolen shuttle,” Echo pointed out.

This time, the woman remained silent.

Hunter decided to take a different tactic, easing up on the interrogation. “Not too chatty, eh?” He chuckled.

“I’m sure I could find a way to get her to talk,” Crosshair interrupted suggestively, earning him a stern glance from his brother.

Hunter turned back to her. “Ignore him. Look, we get it. We’re not exactly friends of the Empire, either, and you never know who to trust. We’re on our way to Ord Mantell. It’s going to be a few hours, but there’s a spaceport there. Take some time to recover, and then you can be on your way.” He exited, taking the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit alongside Echo.

Tech reached for her leg to continue treating her injuries, but the woman shrank back. He regarded her seriously from behind his goggles. “Your recovery will be significantly longer if you do not receive treatment,” he observed pointedly.

“Fine,” the woman grumbled, allowing him to take her leg into his hands and begin again. The blaster looked to have only grazed her calf, and soon Tech was sitting back.

“Please remove the clothing over your torso. I need to examine and wrap your ribs,” he requested politely. Crosshair raised an eyebrow, waiting to see the woman’s reaction. She began peeling off her poncho, unbuckling her holsters, finally unbuttoning her shirt to reveal a cropped band beneath, which exposed the flesh of her ribs and belly. She moved slowly, but not self-consciously, caring less about undressing in front of the men than about minimizing the pain. Crosshair took it in, his eyes raking over the fine line of her collarbone, the sweat dripping down to disappear between her breasts, her winces, the soft curves of her hip, the purple bruising that bloomed all over her torso. He noticed a small tattoo on her ribs, but the discoloration was too extreme for him to make out what it was. A puckering of the skin on her abdomen just to the right of her belly button provided evidence of earlier wounds, and he wondered hungrily what the scar would feel like under his fingertips. When he met her eyes, she was glaring; he returned the gaze with a raised brow, amused.

Her anger flickered, interrupted briefly by pain as Tech undertook his work. “What’s your problem?” she demanded.

“Just enjoying the show.”

“Please do not antagonize her, Crosshair,” his brother admonished. The sniper smirked, thinking that he wasn’t the only one a little bit pleased; Tech’s fingers seemed, to him, like they were dwelling a little unnecessarily long against the woman’s skin as he tucked the bandages into place.

A moment later, he was looking down the barrel of Tech’s sidearm. The woman had taken advantage of his brother’s focus on her injuries to unholster it from his hip. “Say that again,” she warned. She had a steely edge to her voice that thrilled him. He only smirked wider. The rest of the squad had already raised their own weapons in turn, a series of metallic clicks echoing from their various positions around the ship indicating that she was outnumbered. She lowered the blaster, slowly, and tossed it to the floor.

Tech retrieved it and stood, unbothered, as the rest of the squad returned to their tasks. This was not the first passenger aboard the Marauder to pull a gun on one of them, and the sniper deserved it a little. “Crosshair, she has a concussion. Keep her awake.”

“Oh, goody,” came his reply as his brother left them to it.

The woman pressed a palm to her forehead before running her hand through her long, silvery hair. There were some leaves tangled in it. He wondered idly if she’d try to break his fingers if he reached over and plucked them out. “Can I at least have my pack?” She sounded more exhausted than defeated, like she had simply run out of the energy to sustain herself.

Crosshair pulled her pack from the shelf where it had been stored behind him, rolling his toothpick between his lips from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Anything… dangerous… in here I should know about?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“Dangerous?” Between the pain and exhaustion, the woman almost looked amused. “Not me. I avoid danger. Just trying to make a life in a nice, quiet corner of the galaxy.”

“I’m sure the hijacked Imperial shuttle was all a misunderstanding, then.” He glanced through the contents of her pack, removing a few knives before returning it to her. She didn’t take the bait, busying herself instead with dumping some of the contents of a leather pouch—what appeared to be dried leaves, giving off a grassy, bitter smell—into a mug that looked to be made out of a hollowed gourd. She heated a thermos of water with an auto-camp kit, poured some into the mug, and finally sipped the beverage through a filtered metal straw, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

“Habit I picked up on Endor,” she replied to Crosshair’s raised eyebrow.

Tech was evidently still listening from the cockpit, nosy about their passenger. “There is no civilization on Endor,” he countered. “It is inhabited only by hostile primitives.”

“I’ve seen how civilization is defined in the Galactic Empire. I prefer to spend my time with the primitives.” Her tone was mostly even, but the sniper thought he heard traces of venom in her words.

Crosshair decided to take this cue to restart the interrogation. “Is that little… ideological disagreement… how you ended up shot?” She sipped at her tea impassively, meeting his eyes but refusing to take the bait again. He would have to go on needling her to get the reaction he wanted, poking and prodding to find the limits of her self-control.

He had liked that steely edge earlier, but that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. Nor did he care about the determination—what had been on her face as she dove behind cover and exchanged fire with the troopers, what was still detectable in her expression now as she tamped down her emotions, waiting to reveal her hand until she could thoroughly evaluate the strangers she found herself at the mercy of.

What he wanted was to draw out the woman she’d shown him before she’d known he was watching through his scope: the rage, the frustration. The despair. The pain. And yes, that gentle glimmer on her face when she’d thought she was at her end, meeting her death not with fear, but the certainty—perhaps, even, the hope—that it had come time to let go. The real reason, which he would never tell his brothers, that he had decided not to let them kill her.

End Note: How many times do you think someone has pulled a gun on Crosshair because he was being a little shit? It feels like probably a lot.

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter Four: A Little Juicy Gossip

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair meets Todo 360 who does not know how to keep a secret.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 (Coming soon)

Available also on AO3

“Great callouts, Hunter! You’re a natural leader. Wrecker, we’re gonna need stronger droids to handle your strength. Tech, you sliced those panels in record time! Now let's see," The lieutenant looked at his datapad, scrolling through the rest of the data. 

Crosshair waited for his turn.

The lieutenant kept scrolling, frown deepening.

A brotherly hand squeezed Crosshair's shoulder. He pushed it away. He didn’t need comfort. He needed feedback.

“Alright, pack it up, soldiers,” the lieutenant said, tucking his datapad away. “The final test of the quarter is tomorrow.” 

“Hey, wait,” Hunter said. “What about-”

Crosshair's elbow found Hunter's ribs, chasing the question away.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” The lieutenant asked, raising an imperious brow.

Hunter clutched his side. “No, sir.”

The lieutenant left.

Crosshair would have left too if not for his brothers surrounding him, blocking his escape. 

“You did great , Crosshair,” Hunter insisted. 

“You hit every single mark flawlessly,” Tech observed.

“Yeah! You’re wizard!” Wrecker shouted.

Molten anger heated Crosshair's cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” he hissed. “The lieutenant’s opinion is all that matters. They are going to retire me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Hunter said.

“It’s not up to you, Hunter,” Crosshair said. 

“Bugger this,” Hunter sighed and grabbed Crosshair’s wrist, tugging him towards a nearby ventilation grate. "Recon time. C’mon.”

Crosshair thought about kicking him, but...the recon may prove useful.

“Aww, recon?! I wanna come, too!” Wrecker whined.

“This mission requires more stealth than you are trained to handle, Wrecker” Tech indicated. “Also your size would break the air vent.”

“Hehe, yeah, I’m a real tank,” Wrecker grinned, proudly.

Hunter hoisted Crosshair up into the air ventilation tunnel before leaping up behind him.  The tunnel ran in a dozen different directions like a many-armed rapthar, each path identical to the next. Hunter always knew instinctively where to go. It didn’t take long before they found the vent overlooking the lieutenant’s office.

There was another clone in the office with him. 

No...not a clone...

“Is that Fett?” Hunter whispered. “Last time Fett was here, they took Radar away.”

“I know,” Crosshair snarled quietly.

“Oh yeah,” the Lieutenant snickered below, taking his seat at his desk. “He's the best in the facility.” 

“Cut the sarcasm, Pynk,” Fett leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We need a sniper in this squad.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good sniper, but we train good snipers every day. This squad needs someone extraordinary and he isn’t. It’ll save a lot of time and energy to just retire him and pick up a normal sniper for the team.”

A normal sniper…

Crosshair had heard enough. He shoved Hunter down the tunnel and followed him, angrily wiping his blurry, wet eyes as they went.

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker whispered loudly to Tech as Crosshair climbed out of the vent.

“They will have to retire me first,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles, not bothering to lower his voice. “I won’t let them take him.”

“Yeah,” Wrecker slammed his fists together, “me neither.”

He ignored them both. He made a point to ignore them both. They were all idiots, thinking they could change anything by just wishing it wouldn't happen.

And Crosshair was an idiot for daring to think he could be extraordinary.

The next day, Crosshair earned the nickname “Misfire.”

Not long after that the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, took him away.

***

Crosshair couldn’t sleep.

The room was too quiet without Wrecker’s chest-rattling snores, too dark without the faint glow of Tech coding on his datapad, and even though Hunter was practically a ghost at night even when awake, Crosshair missed him, too.

Facing the fact sleep wasn’t going to find him, Crosshair slung his rifle over his shoulder, tip-toed down the hall past Bane's room, slid down the bannister, avoiding the creaky stairs altogether, and slipped soundlessly out the front door. The weather-beaten porch was barely held together by whatever rusted nails poked out of the cracked wood. He kept his steps light, but each footfall he could feel the threat of a creak beneath his boots. He leapt over the stairs entirely and landed in the dark soil with little more than a quiet squelch.

The moon was a meager sliver in the sky that didn't do much to illuminate the wheat field, but the way it moved in the wind reminded Crosshair of the black waves of a rarely calm nighttime Kaminoan sea. 

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Crosshair hadn't heard anyone approach. How was this possible? And yet, as he turned, he found that Bane had been sitting in a rocking chair in the darkest corner of the porch, only his red eyes, half-moons obscured by the brim of his hat, could be seen.

Crosshair refused to be rattled. He planted his feet firmly in the soil and and puffed up his narrow chest. “I’m going to scout the perimeter.”

“Got sensors for that, kid” Bane replied. “Ain’t a soul out there except for us n’ the Fabools.”

“Then I’ll go check on the Fabools.”

“You don’t gotta worry about them until tomorrow mornin’. Todo will show ya what to do.”

Crosshair had no response. Wrecker's clumsy question floated in his head.

Are they gonna retire Crosshair?”

He needed to do this. He needed to do...something.

Bane’s head tilted slightly.  “What?”

Crosshair didn’t respond.

I don’t want to be retired. I want to live… at least long enough to fight a real battle with Tech.

Bane let out a strained growled, his spurs jingling as his boots landed heavily on the porch. In the darkness his scarlet eyes cast harsh shadows against his scarred face. 

“You n’ me are gonna get along a lot better if ya stop bein’ so fuckin’ timid. You’re a soldier, right? You’re an elite sniper? You’re a tough guy? Then stop bein’ afraid of everything. I’m bein’ paid to train ya, but I may ask Jango for extra cuz I gotta go lookin' for yer spine first before I can teach ya anything.” Rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the dark. “Start talkin’.”

I want to live.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I-

“I…don’t want to be retired.”

The teeth vanished. The eyes dimmed. Bane leaned forward and into the meager moonlight, confusion etched into his scarred face. “What do ya mean ‘retired’?”

“If soldiers don’t meet their lieutenant’s expectations, they’re retired and their data gets erased. Radar and Pintsize were retired last year. No trace of them anywhere. Like they never existed.” Crosshair scrubbed his sweaty palms against his pant legs. He couldn’t stop talking if he wanted to, like trying to fight momentum down a steep hill. “Radar was redundant. Hunter’s tracking skills were sharper than his. Pintsize could barely hold a blaster with his tremors. The lieutenant said I’m not ‘extraordinary’ like the rest of my squad. I dropped my sniper rifle last test. They started calling me-”

The name seized in his mind. Tech’s magnified eyes glaring at him as if he was somehow holding onto the name. 

“That’s not who you are.”

“Jango knows about this? These retirements?”

Crosshair blinked. “What?”

“The retirements. Are they his decision or not?”

“It’s the lieutenant’s decision.” 

Bane rested his elbows on his knees, his unyielding glare boring into Crosshair. “Who’s this lieutenant? What’s his story?”

“A first generation clone. Lieutenant Pynk,” Crosshair thought about how to describe him. “He’s an asshole.”

Bane snorted. “Yeah, I gathered that much. So when you told me you’re the best in the facility that was his sarcasm I was hearing?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, fuck Pynk. We’ll show him what extraordinary looks like.” he extended his hand. “Gimme your rifle.”

Crosshair tightened the grip on his rifle strap. “Why?”

“Oh yer full of questions now, huh?” Bane sneered. “Official inspection, soldier. Give it here.”

With a small hiss of protest, Crosshair handed the rifle over.

Bane gave the rifle a little spin as if testing the weight. He looked through the scope. He ran his fingers over the stock and gave it a good shake.

“No wonder you can’t razzle and dazzle anyone,” Bane snickered. “This here’s a piece of bantha poodoo .”

“There’s nothing wrong with my rifle.” Crosshair said. “I clean it everyday. I calibrated it this morning. It’s fine.”

“Yeah?” Bane tossed the rifle back to Crosshair. “Prove it.”

Bane stood up, reminding Crosshair just how tall the Duros was compared to him. He was taller than Pynk and somehow that was comforting to know. In one swift movement, Bane hopped over the porch railing and with a crisp snap of his leather duster, he vanished around the side of the house.

Crosshair followed. At first it looked like Bane had simply disappeared, but upon a closer look, the side of the house was covered with a wide wooden trellis far too reinforced to withstand just the weight of creeper vines.  He looked up and saw a brief glimpse of the brim of Bane's hat on the roof. Crosshair slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed. 

Some of the roof tiles were flatter and smoother than they appeared, leading to an ornamental bell tower half the size of Crosshair and far too small for Bane to fit. Still, Crosshair peeked into the bell tower and found...a short chute leading into a spy holodrama.

It was one part sniper tower, one part high-tech surveillance bowl filled with panels and devices similar to the simulation models Tech ran through to practice slicing communications and monitoring air traffic.

Bane sneered up at him. "C'mon in, kiddo."

“What is this?” Crosshair asked, hoisting himself into the chute and using the short ladder to climb down.

“Crow’s nest, watchtower, sniper tower, reinforced bunker, whatever we need it for. There are a couple of cots under the false floor if we get swarmed and have to lay low for a while.”

“Who would attack us?”

“The local authorities, mercs lookin' to even the score, raiders aimin' to steal the Fabools which can sell for a pretty credit on the black market.” Bane pressed a switch under his seat and the blank wall flipped over to reveal a pair  of LL-30 blaster pistols and a 773 Firepuncher rifle, the kind Crosshair had only seen in firearms databanks Tech sliced in for him.

Bane grabbed the rifle, charged it up, and checked the scope. “Don’t have to worry about any of that tonight though. Tonight, we’re doin’ some target practice...”

He dialed something into the control panel. A long opening slid 280 degrees around the tower at Crosshair’s eye-level, no taller than his fist, yet a screen flickered around the opening to reveal a holographic image of the surrounding area. 

“I can see everything,” he said.

“That’s the idea,” Bane replied. “Watch the field.” 

He flicked another switch and a blue light shimmered over the wheat field as the security shield went down. 

The grass started to quiver almost immediately. 

“What’s out there?” Crosshair asked, sliding the barrel of his rifle through the opening and peering through the scope. 

“Stalker lizards,” Bane said. “Lookin’ for a free meal inside that Fabool enclosure. Tell me what ya see.”

Crosshair toggled the heat sensor display on and off, watching the heat signatures from the lizards and the dark shadows of the landscape. “Lizards about a meter long coming from the southwest.” He scanned the enclosure next, remembering his training. Always check doors, corners, exits, and blindspots.

“We have blindspots.”

“Where’re the blindspots?” Bane asked, clearly a test. 

“South and East walls of the enclosure.”

“Already covered. Look again.”

The heat signatures didn’t change. The landscape didn’t change much either. Crosshair lowered his scope and leaned over the edge of the bell tower as if it would help. “How-”

Bane grabbed his jumpsuit and pulled him back. “Stay in here.” He pushed some monoculars into Crosshair’s hands. “Your little toy scope doesn’t have a range finder, use these.”

“It’s not a toy.”

“It surely is. You wanna be an extraordinary sniper? You gotta grow up n’ use a real sniper rifle. Now quit givin’ me that death glare n’ look at coords 233.32, 33.4.”

Fuming, Crosshair looked through the monoculars. “Coords 233.32, 33.4.” He repeated. 

Crosshair dialed in the coordinates and let the cursor on the display guide his movements.

There were several panels in various parts of the field. Each panel was painted with a shiny yellow number and embedded with silver reflective discs. “Are those mirrors?”

“Tell me which one to shoot.”

“What?”

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but yer askin’ too many questions. Just do it.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and shifted his scope from mirror to mirror until the caught the reflection of a stalker lizard climbing up the fabric wall of the enclosure.

“Panel two, center.”

A blaster shot rang out, it ricochet off the mirror and the low-power stun blast knocked the lizard off the enclosure, driving it back to the treeline.

“Again.”

Crosshair aligned his vision. Another panel. “Panel three, top left.”

The blaster bolt fired, ricocheted, and hit its target.

“Keep callin’ ‘em,” Cad said. "Faster."

“Six, low right. Four, center. Two, top center. Two, top left, no wait-”

“Two, middle left,” Cad corrected and took the shot. 

“How do you see them without the monoculars?” 

Bane snatched Crosshair’s monoculars and shoved the Firepuncher into his hands. “Built-in rangefinder in the scope. Give it a try.”

Bane’s rifle was heavier than his, but it also felt sturdier and a lot more powerful. He did a quick procedural check of the power cell, the scope angle, and acclimated himself to the weight before sliding the barrel through the opening.  The scope was alive with readings. Rangefinder, coordinates scale, the crosshairs shifted as it looked for moving targets and returned to center when there was nothing. 

“This is cheating,” Crosshair grumbled.

Bane snorted. “No such thing in this business. Besides, you can spend all the fancy credits in the galaxy and it don't make you the best. Yer greatest mod is yer eyes n' yer instincts. Now shut up n’ start firin’. Lizards are startin’ to swarm.”

The heat signatures doubled and Crosshair took shot after shot, chasing the lizards away.

“Good.” Bane said.

Good, but not extraordinary, Crosshair thought.

Two lizards scaled the corner of the enclosure. Crosshair hit the leader and it landed on its follower, scaring both away.

He waited for Bane to praise him. It was an impressive shot.

Bane remained silent.

Another lizard leapt from a panel onto the enclosure wall. He shot one mirror and it ricocheted off another mirror and hit the lizard between the eyes, sending it sprawling backwards before scurrying off. 

That was impressive too. He waited for the Lieutenant...no...he waited for Bane to comment.

Bane said nothing.

“He’s a good sniper…This squad needs someone extraordinary.”

He took another shot. The blaster bolt bounced off the mirror and hit the tail of the lizard. It kept climbing. 

He took another shot. The lizard dropped.

“Sloppy,” Bane said.

Crosshair’s bolt hit the edge of the enclosure, wool sizzled. The Fabools inside bleeted and honked irritably.

“Shit shot.”

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker asked, eyes wet with tears.

Another miss.

“Worse,” Cad said.

And another.

“Shittier.”

He shot a mirror, it ricocheted into the night.

“Now yer takin’ yer failure out on the mirrors, huh?” Cad snickered. “Try again.”

The rifle felt heavier. Like the hands of a dozen laughing cadets and one unimpressed lieutenant was pushing it down. 

“Look out, here comes Misfire.”

The heat signatures began to multiply through the scope.

“What’re you doing?” Bane asked. “I said try again.”

Shit shot…worse…failure…

The trigger refused to move. 

“Misfire…Misfire…Misfire…”

“Dank farrick,” Bane swore and grabbed the rifle, firing five shots in quick succession. Blaster bolts soared and ricocheted off the mirrors, scaring away the rest of the lizards. He punched the control panel and the blue shimmering shield spread across the wheat field again. “What was that about? You forget how to shoot?”

Crosshair's hand twitched. He didn't move. He stared at the rifle.

“What the hell, kid?”

Crosshair couldn’t feel his fingers.

Hands shaking, he managed to hoist himself out of the bell tower.  By the time he got to the bottom of the trellis he realized he had left his own rifle behind.

Tears blurring his eyes, he raced back to the front of the house, crashing through the door and stomping up the stairs. 

He hid under the covers.

In a bed that wasn’t his.

Without the rifle that he didn’t deserve anyway.

***

The next morning, the house seemed empty. Bane wasn’t downstairs, but breakfast was waiting for Crosshair. A plate of bacon and eggs on a warming plate.

He ate quickly and guzzled the apple juice, politely pushing away the black caf and wondering if it was only there because he knew Fett was never far from a cup of caf.

He wandered outside to the sun sprinkling the wheat field with golden light. It made him squint. Climbing up the trellis, he poked his head in the bell tower. Neither rifle nor Bane was there.

His heart dropped. He felt sick. If Bane confiscated his rifle, then Crosshair was probably heading back home today. He hoped he’d be able to say bye to his brothers before they retired him. Then again, he didn’t get to say bye to Pintsize and Radar.

Climbing back down the trellis, he walked to the Fabool enclosure punching in the code he watched Bane use the day before. The gate swung open and before he could fall into a cuddle pile of Fabools, a stout droid flew directly at him, nearly slamming him against the gate.

“Who are you?!” The droid asked, round, unblinking yellow eyes flashing with suspicion, his thrusters hissing angrily as he floated in front of Crosshair’s face.

Crosshair pushed himself off the gate. “Bane told me to take care of the Fabools with Todo this morning.”

“I am Todo 360,” the droid declared, spindly arms flailing. “Did Mr. Bane order you to spy on me?” 

“No. If I was going to spy on you,” Crosshair said, dryly. “You’d never know it.”

The droid’s three-fingered hand touched his non-existent chin thoughtfully. “Oh. Hmm. That’s…a valid point. Fine, you may stay, but I am in charge here and you will tell Mr. Bane that I am doing a perfectly good job and I don’t need any help.”

“Fine by me.”

“We’ll start with feeding practices!” Todo announced, shooing away the Fabools who seemed to hate the sound of his thrusters. They rolled towards Crosshair and away from the noisy droid. It was hard to worry about retirement when there were a dozen soft, bouncing balloons begging for his attention, and Crosshair decided to enjoy the moment, taking time to pet each one while Todo did all the work. 

“Well, you’re already proving yourself to be an adequate assistant," Todo said, cleaning the water trough. "It takes me three times longer to fill their troughs when they try to bully me into their cuddle piles.” Todo floated towards the hose and dragged it across the enclosure, straining between words. “Your...reaction...to them...is...far…different…from…Mr. Bane’s…first…interaction.”

“What do you mean?” Crosshair asked.

“Oh, Mr. Bane was terrified of the Fabools when Fett brought him here. Practically climbed up on the fence to get away from them. He was scared of a lot of things back then though.”

Crosshair’s jaw dropped into his lap. “Bane? Cad Bane?”

“Well he wasn’t Mr. Bane back then. Just Cad. He hadn’t chosen a surname. Some Duros culture thing. I never understood it.”

“How long have you known Bane?”

“Many, many years.”

Crosshair cupped a Fabool chick in his hands and pressed it against his cheek. It snuffled at him, inquisitively. “Why was he afraid of the Fabools?”

“He full of paranoia when we met him,” Todo said, lightly. “Just distrustful of everything, in general.”

"But..." Crosshair stared dumbfounded at Todo. “How did he get so…”

“...so very 'Bane' ?” Todo asked.

“Yes.”

Todo held up an authoritative finger. “By eating his vegetables, little boy,” Todo hummed and floated towards the food sacks.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “What else do you know about Bane?”

“Oh, I know lots about him. I’ve known him for a very long time. I’m his most trusted confidant. I am sworn to secrecy though so I couldn't possibly share anything with you.”

Considering how much Crosshair learned about Bane in the thirty seconds he knew Todo he decided to just nod. “Okay.”

“But…” Todo floated forward, hands rubbing together conspiratorially. “...I do have a few juicy tidbits I could share if you’re interested.”

Crosshair made a mental note to never tell Todo 360 anything about himself. “Sure.”

“Oh goodie! It’s so rare I find someone to gossip with that aren’t Fabools. Bossk and Aurra tell Mr. Bane everything .”

Crosshair scooted forward, setting the chick down on the ground only to have two fabools bounce into his lap and a third bounce against his back. Somehow all of the Fabools reminded him of Wrecker, only cuter and less annoying. “What else do you know?”

“Hmm…oh! Here's something. He didn’t know how to use a blaster when he met Mr. Fett. Mr. Fett taught him everything he knew about being a mercenary.”

“I figured that much.”

“But did you know that Mr. Fett and Mr. Bane engaged in a bar fight before Mr. Fett left for his secret project?”

“Why?”

“Is it not obvious? Mr. Bane idolized Mr. Fett, followed him around like a fabool chick bounces after a feed bag. When Mr. Fett left mercenary work, he left Mr. Bane behind. Mr. Bane took it very personally, but I think it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Why?” Crosshair pressed.

“Because that is when Mr. Bane found that cool confidence in himself. Mr. Fett was always there to lift him up, reward his victories, and tutor his failings. Mr. Bane had to figure out how to exist without Mr. Fett and it was then I noticed that confidence grow like a hmm…like a cactus blossom! He went from Mr. Fett’s shadow to being quite the opposing figure himself.”

Crosshair sat quietly, absorbing this fact. It was hard to imagine the Bane today cowering from Fabools or needing help from anyone.

Or starving for someone else's approval.

When he thought of Bane, he thought of the easy stance, arms relaxed and thumbs hanging over his belt buckle, a toothpick casually moving between his teeth, round eyes behind hooded lids that could see through a person with more accuracy than a scope. That nonchalant drawl, the cheeky turn of phrase, unrattled, and prickly.  

All the things Crosshair wanted to be. 

“Has Bane ever had an apprentice before?”

“Not to my knowledge. Mr. Fett’s request is unusual, but Bane would do anything for-”

“Kid, get up.”

Crosshair startled, whipping his head back to find Bane leaning against the wall, arms folded, toothpick rolling lazily in his teeth. How long had he been in the enclosure? A Fabool snuffled at his boot, lost interest than bounce against Crosshair's head.

“Come with me.” Bane left the enclosure without another word.

Crosshair didn’t move at first. Not because he was covered in Fabools, but because he knew this was the end.

Retirement…

He’d finally find out what happened to Pintsize and Radar.

“Nice to meet you, Todo,” he said, standing up and gently rolling the fabools away who happily bounded towards the droid.

“Oh! Well nice to meet you too, um… ‘Kid’.”

“Sit down,” Bane said, pointing to the rocking chair on the porch before going into the house.

Crosshair sank onto the flower-patterned cushioned seat, trying and failing to rest his boots on the railing. It was too far away. He sighed and drew his legs up, hugging his knees. He watched the skies for a ship to come and pick him up. 

Bane came out a few minutes later and sat in the other rocking chair, boots landing with a jingle of his spurs on the railing. Crosshair’s rifle was in his hands. It took all of Crosshair’s self-control not to lunge for it, hug it, and promise he would never abandon it again.

He hugged his knees tighter.

“Doesn’t take a genius to know why you ran out last night,” Bane began, tilting his hat up to look Crosshair in the eyes. “You crave praise like a dying man thirstin’ of jocola . I don’t reckon you get a lot of positive reinforcement at the facility n’ ya know what? Tough shit. The sooner ya realize the galaxy ain’t gonna give ya validation is the day ya actually become the extraordinary sniper I know ya can be.

“This is the last and only time I’m gonna say this," Bane continued. "Yer real fuckin’ good, and yer gonna be the best. I ain't ever wrong about shit like this. Now...you hold onto that praise because after this conversation, I ain’t gonna be nice to ya anymore. Yer gonna get pushed n' pushed hard, yer gonna get shaken, and I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to get ya past this bullshit worry about what everyone else thinks. Maybe you’ll hate me, hell ya might even shoot me in the back, but it’ll be worth it because it’s gonna send ya past that kraytshit extraordinary standard Pynk’s got for ya.”

Bane offered the rifle back to Crosshair. “I promise, by the time ya get back home, yer gonna be tougher than a reek’s horn n’ twice as deadly.”

The moment Crosshair’s fingers touched his rifle, he knew it was augmented. It felt like a Firepunch. Better scope, heavier stock, a weapon for a real sniper. He peered through the scope. 

“Whoa,” Crosshair murmured, scanning the field with his scope, toggling between more scanners than he knew existed. “Wizard.”

“Listen kid, in this galaxy there’ll be plenty of people tryin’ to put you down, break your spirit, break your bones. Only person you gotta trust is yourself. Yer all ya need, you understand me?”

Crosshair realized it was a lesson Bane had to learn when Jango left for Kamino. It would be a lesson Crosshair would carry with him the rest of his life.

Even if Bane was hired to train him, to be this mentor, it meant something to Crosshair. "Understood."

“Go clean up. Food’s in an hour. Beef stew minus the carrots. After that you start yer real trainin’. Deal?”

Crosshair hopped up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Deal.”

“One more thing, kid.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you and Todo talk about this morning?”

Crosshair didn’t bother lying. “You.”

Bane growled quietly. “That gossiping little shit. What did he say?”

Though Crosshair didn’t intend to lie, he also didn’t feel like ratting Todo out. So he was honest about the thing that mattered most. 

“He said you’re better off without Fett around.” 

The words seemed to splash cold water on Bane’s face. The mercenary  looked away, out to the golden field, too bright in the noonday sun. 

“Is it true?” Crosshair asked. 

Bane’s glare didn’t skewer Crosshair as sharply as he expected. In fact, it looked like he may even answer.

“Target practice starts at dusk. Bring your A-game, kid. Not holding back on you. Now get outta here.”

And with that Bane sank into his rocking chair tilted his hat forward over his eyes.

The conversation was over.

Crosshair was happy he asked.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

A Fair Price To Pay

@febuwhump prompt: "Who did this to you" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Tortured for Information

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Omega, Hemlock Post Season 2: Escape from Tantiss. If you've read my fic 'A Cosy Bed', you know what's in store for Crosshair. Enjoy. Word Count: ~9675 Read Here On AO3

Content Warning: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence/Injuries Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Crosshair is determined to get Omega out of Tantiss, even if their freedom comes at a price.

Along the way, she saves him too.

*now with added epilogue! check the reblogs!*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hemlock walked slowly around the table, inspecting the restraints that his assistant tightened to hold the tall clone in place. Yes, CT-9904 was weakened from his long incarceration, but this time they weren’t taking any chances.

“I am truly impressed by your fortitude and ingenuity,” he said, in that soft-spoken tone that somehow imparted so much more fear than those leaders who raised their voices. “I thought it remarkable, but a fluke, that you escaped the first time and attempted to transmit a message to your… ‘brothers’… to warn them about – well. You know.

“But to defy me again, and hide the girl from me?”

He stopped at the head of the table, leaning into the periphery of Crosshair’s vision. Crosshair couldn’t turn his head – he was fastened too tightly to do more than twitch in defiance. He kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the ceiling, trying to refute the weakness in his body, the faint tremor that set up in his muscles in response to fatigue and fear.

“I would like you to tell me where she is.” A soft plea, but insistent. “This facility is a big place, and she may come to harm if she is unattended. So please, Crosshair. Could you tell me where Omega is?”

Hemlock’s request sounded so reasonable.

Crosshair blinked and said nothing. Bit the sides of his tongue to keep from talking. Stared at the ceiling. At the ceiling. Not at the vents. Lifting Omega up, hiding her in a vent. Hissing at her to stay silent, not to be found.

Stare at the ceiling, don’t answer.

Don’t answer.

Hemlock sighed. “It disappoints me that you are unwilling to co-operate.” He gestured to his assistant, and a needle bit into the skin of Crosshair’s neck. Don’t look. Don’t give them the satisfaction of looking.

“What can I do that might compel you to tell me the girl’s whereabouts? There is nothing I can offer you. You have proven, repeatedly, that you cannot be trusted to submit to incarceration without resistance.” A soft huff of laughter. “Perhaps I should be unsurprised. The Kaminoan reports always indicated that your batch of ‘enhanced’ clones were unreliable.”

A warm, numb feeling began to spread through Crosshair’s body. His mind worked sluggishly. What had they dosed him with? He wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t betray the kid. It was the least he could do. Try and protect her. It’s what Hunter would want.

Sensation dropped away. There was no table. No restraints. His body was cushioned on air.

Hemlock was still talking.

“If I cannot offer reward for co-operation, I must threaten punishment. Thus far, you have been remarkably resistant to our… usual methods of data extraction.”

Data extraction. Torture. Crosshair’s jaw worked. Was he trying to talk? He shouldn’t do that. Didn’t want to. That’s what they wanted. They wanted him to talk. Tell them about Omega, hiding in the vent. Waiting for him to come back.

That’s right. He’d promised her he would come back, once he’d found a way out. He’d better go find her.

Tried to move his legs, but they wouldn’t function. That was odd. He pictured rolling to his side, standing up, off the table. Staggering forwards. Wondered why his body wouldn’t obey.

“The sedative should have taken effect by now.”

Sedative. That would do it. The numbness.

Why would they sedate him?

Hemlock wore a small smile as he leaned directly into the path of Crosshair’s vision. He blinked, the doctor’s face swimming in and out of focus.

“What can I take from you?” Hemlock asked softly, almost to himself. “What do you treasure? What do you hold on to in the belief that it sets you apart from all the other multitudes of clones in the galaxy?”

A medical droid hovered into view. This wasn’t right. Crosshair was still conscious. If they had sedated him, consciousness should fade. Instead he was awake, thoughts wildly roaming and unable to take action as his mind had become uncoupled from his body.

Crosshair was just barely aware of a touch to his face – Hemlock, tracing a finger down the fine line of his tattooed eye socket.

“I think,” said the doctor with a humourless smile, “I shall take your sight.”

The droid unfolded its appendages, positioning the fine, sharp tools just above Crosshair’s right eye.

“Do tell me, Crosshair, if you want me to stop. We can desist at any time. I just need to know where you have hidden Omega.”

Crosshair didn’t know if he could make his mouth work anyway, in this drug-induced dream-haze. At least he wouldn’t be able to give the girl up by accident.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Hemlock’s voice was more distant now, the doctor retreating to give the medical droid space to work.

“The sedative has robbed you of motor function. It has not dulled your pain receptors.”

*

Crosshair had been conscious for surgery before, in the labs of Kamino; pain numbed but mind sharp, responding to each instruction to focus, read this, can you see that, whilst the surgeons grafted synthetic muscle to his enhanced eyes to give him unprecedented control over his superior eyesight. Back then he had been silent, answering only when spoken to, bitterly determined to see the ordeal through with iron willpower.

Now, mind numbed but pain sharp, Crosshair found his voice. Moreso than the pain, panic ate at his nerves; strapped down, unable to flee, the right side of his world going dim.

Even when tears choked him, he didn’t give up Omega.

The sedative was still leaden in his body when he was returned to his cell, laid into the barren cot with a tasteless meal placed on the floor beside.

Hemlock was a shadowed figure just beyond the doorway as the droid assistant retreated.

“If I do not find Omega by the end of the next day,” came the doctor’s soft, even voice, “I will return for your other eye. If you wish to disclose her whereabouts, you have only to alert the guards.”

The door shut with a clang, the finality of a tombstone settling into place. Crosshair tested his sluggish limbs. He could move in an uncoordinated way, like swimming through heavy atmosphere. He dragged himself to the edge of the cot, all but falling to the floor, right hand coming up to claw at his hollow eye socket. A sob welled up but he swallowed it, forcing silence to his lips instead. On the floor he curled, foetal, arms cradling and protecting his head, one remaining eye squeezed shut to block out the reality of his loss.

If he kept his eye shut, he could pretend that’s all it was. Just like having his eyes closed.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Perhaps he finally slept from exhaustion.

A scratching sound nearby permeated his consciousness, slowly dragging his mind back from the numb vortex of despair his thoughts circled. A sound not in his cell. A sound in the walls.

Carefully he rolled to his side, pushing up to sit cross-legged with his back to the noise. His right shoulder hunched high, defensive, shielding his broken face. With his left arm he reached across his body, pulling the food tray to him, then without turning shuffled backwards until he was leaned against the wall.

Once he was there he sagged against the supporting expanse of steel, drained even by that small amount of movement. Fatigue coursed through him with quivering intensity, invading his thoughts and muscles with equal ferocity, but he forced himself to gather the bread roll from the tray and slowly start picking it to pieces.

Once the roll was in shreds he tucked his hands behind the small of his back, posting the fragments of bread through the vent.

Omega’s fingertips brushed against his and he stilled, almost ready to weep at the contact. He tilted his head back against the cool steel, closing his eyes. Closing one eye, trying not to feel how his eyelid stretched in pain over the empty place his right eye used to be. He briefly squeezed her fingers in return.

“Eat up, kid,” he whispered, voice no more than an exhaled breath. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Have you got something to eat too?”

Crosshair cracked open his left eye, peering uncertainly at the tray. “Yeah. There’s stew.”

“Can’t pass that through a grate,” came Omega’s voice with forced cheer, and tears stung his lids at the way she could find levity even in the darkest situations.

When he finished passing the bread he reached out and lifted the bowl to his lips, sipping at the stew. His hands shook so much that the ceramic bashed against his teeth, the vibration sending a fresh jolt of pain to his empty eye-socket, and he hissed in displeasure.

“Crosshair?” Omega’s voice was small and concerned. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”

He took a breath. Summoned up some deep reserve of determination and stilled his quaking.

“I’m fine,” he said, and there was enough acid in his tone that he sounded almost like his old self. Then, “We’re getting out of here. Tonight.”

He heard a shuffling as she shifted her position within the walls. “What do I need to do, Crosshair? Tell me, and I’ll be ready.”

“Get back to the loose vent panel as the base switches over to night-cycle,” he said, trying to inject more confidence than he felt into his words. “I’ll meet you there.”

*

Tech had taught him all about their enhanced physiology. Had taught all of them, lecturing his brothers for hours on end to ensure they understood their enhancements so that they could best utilise them.

All clone troopers possessed an element of rapid healing, allowing them to shrug off injuries that would stall a nat-born, or recover more quickly from even more grievous wounds. And Experimental Unit 99 was enhanced even further than that, their growth and repair times even faster.

Crosshair wasn’t sure Hemlock knew that. Didn’t think he’d accounted for how quickly his body would break down the torture drugs which had been a feature of his long incarceration. He’d certainly never given them reason to suspect that he recovered faster than normal from the toxins they flooded his system with.

Too busy laying there in despair for them to think the drugs had worn off any quicker.

He would make use of that unintentional obfuscation now. They would expect him to still be staggered by the sedative.

All his short life, he’d been underestimated. Now, as before, he would turn it to his advantage.

“Guard.” He injected a tremulous note of feebleness into his voice. “Guard.”

An armoured solder appeared at the door of his cell. Not clone armour. The TK troopers.

“What do you want, prisoner?”

“Hemlock,” he stuttered. It wasn’t so hard to pretend, lances of pain stabbing through his head from behind his right orbit. “O…me…ga…”

A quick conference outside the door. The sound of retreating footsteps. The door opened, and the one remaining guard entered.

“On your feet,” came the command as he was grabbed roughly by his arm, “ready for the Doctor.”

Crosshair let himself be dragged upright, sagging his weight away from the TK soldier. Feigning weakness long enough for the man to off-balance to catch him.

One rapid, smooth move to sweep the knife from the sheath at the trooper’s belt. A single upward stroke of his arm, ending with the blade embedded under the rim of the helmet. A quiet gurgle and now it was the TK trooper’s turn to sag, Crosshair catching him and staggering under the weight.

He eased the dying man to the floor soundlessly, glancing at the door. Had he been too loud? Would someone investigate?

Hunter would know. Hunter would hear someone coming, sense them, long before they arrived.

Crosshair didn’t have Hunter. Only his own, un-enhanced senses, dulled by pain, and vision that swam in and out and faded disconcertingly where his peripheral sight used to be on the right.

He quashed the rising panic. With trembling hands he set to releasing the catches on the dead man’s armour, fasting it to his own body with the rote instinct of years performing the same actions, no matter how shell-shocked he felt. Knife at his belt. Pistol at one hip, blaster in hands.

Pulled on the helmet, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the close warmth of another man’s gear pressing around his injured face. Activated the HUD. Wished he knew how to compensate for his missing eye.

Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet. Both hands clutched the blaster, trying to still the tremors that ran through him. The armour felt unbearably heavy, and he wondered how he ever used to carry this weight, let alone move agile and evasive across battlefields.

He looked down at the youth whose lifeblood pooled darkly on the ground, eyes glassy and unseeing in death. There was nowhere to hide the body, and even a cursory glance would show it wasn’t Crosshair, so no point trying to disguise it in the small cot. He forced his body straight, falling into the memory of rigid protocol to step out of the cell, just another guard, another obedient soldier–

Two more guards, at the end of the corridor. Their visors trained on him as he walked slowly, so slowly, towards them. Too slow? No. Slow enough to be relaxed. Like a guard who thought nothing was wrong.

“The Doctor will be here shortly,” one of them told him.

Did they expect a response? His voice would give him away, knowing that his soft, sibilant tone would never pass for the voice of the young conscripted trooper. A slight incline of his head, acknowledging he had heard. Would it be enough?

The guards parted, and one keyed the door open for him.

Past the first hurdle. Now to find Omega.

*

The stolen helmet was oppressive, tight and humid. His breath was harsh in the close space and sweat beaded on skin which flushed hot and cold, clammy and uncomfortable. With each step the headgear rubbed against swollen right side of his face, bruising stretched tight over his angular cheekbones, and he was certain that someone would notice he didn’t walk with the confidence of a soldier who owned this armour.

Where had he spotted the loose vent; the one he had boosted Omega up to when stray chance had brought them together in an empty corridor the day before? His attention drifted and he pressed a hand to the helmet, trying to steady his pounding head. Perhaps the sedative wasn’t fully out of his system. Too late to worry now. There was no going back.

They would make it out today, or he would die. That’s all there was to it.

He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, letting the blaster in his right hand drop limply to his side. A wave of nausea coursed through him, the meagre meal he had consumed threatening to reappear. Desperate, he glanced around. Not alone. Two guards, escorting prisoners the opposite direction.

No choice. His stomach convulsed, vomit and bile burning up his throat and into his mouth. Unthinking, he dropped the blaster and wrenched the helmet off, lunch spewing forth as he collapsed to his hands and knees. Dimly he was aware of clamouring voices as he dry-heaved, clawing his fingers against the slick puddle of vomit inches from his face.

“That’s one of the prisoners!”

Still dazed, he felt himself picked up and slammed against the wall. What was left of his vision swam, agony lancing through his head at the impact, a hot poker of pain rocketing from the base of his skull to the aching emptiness of his right eye socket. A fist found his gut, robbing him of breath he had barely recovered, before some deep-seated need to survive burned through the numbness and he thought to fight back.

Another blow to the stomach and he doubled over. His hand groped for the pistol at his hip. Once he could have done this in a heartbeat – release the cover, draw the pistol, fire. Old training guided his muscles but new weakness hobbled him; one, two, three attempts to free the pistol.

Someone grabbed his throat, squeezing, dragging him upright. The guard. Fingers pressed into his windpipe, hard enough to bruise. Crosshair couldn’t swallow the mewl of fear as he writhed in the unforgiving grip.

Then the pistol was free, blast bolt ricocheting from the floor, and the sound of live fire was drowned by a ragged cheer from the chain of prisoners who surged towards where Crosshair struggled with the guards.

Crosshair shakily brought the pistol to bear, firing again, but the guard released his throat and knocked his hand aside. The shot went wide and Crosshair grunted as the guard tackled him, pinning him to the wall.

The second guard was readying his own blaster, backing away from the cluster of prisoners he had lost control of, trying to angle over his partner’s shoulder at Crosshair. Crosshair tilted his head back, gasping as another blow found his narrow ribs, tuning out the pain as he focused on the second guard.

He raised the pistol. His arm was shaking. Stars danced across his vision, going dark as his grip on consciousness faded.

Three shots. The third hit. The guard fell.

Noise swelled. The body was swarmed by his fellow prisoners before it hit the floor. Summoning a desperate reserve of strength, Crosshair shoved at his assailant. The guard stepped back for just a moment, then lunged.

Pain exploded in his face as the guard’s fist connected with his cheekbone. For a moment Crosshair sagged, the oblivion of unconsciousness pulling tantalisingly at his senses. But before he met that relief he was wrenched back to full awareness, a raw scream torn from his throat, as two fingers hooked into the bottom of his orbital socket and pulled.

Crosshair howled as he dropped to his knees, forced down by pressure which might have been the barest touch or might have been the weight of a neutron star; it didn’t matter, his body would do nothing but obey the grip inside his broken eye-socket. Somewhere within the excruciating blossom of pain, newly repaired skin from the surgical extraction tore.

Then the weight of his attacker was lifted from his body and still he howled, and the pistol was prised from his fingers and there were hands on his shoulders and someone was shaking him.

“He’s dead. He’s dead. Pull yourself together. You looked like you were going somewhere.”

Clawing at his face, blood pulsing lazily down his cheek, Crosshair gazed up in desperation. Prisoner’s garb. A familiar face. The hollow cheeks and shaved head of an underweight reg.

“Echo?” he groaned, reaching out with his left hand, fastening trembling fingers round the other’s arm.

A shake of the head. “Sorry, brother.” The reg was crouched in front of him, tearing strips from his sleeved tunic and wadding them up to press to Crosshair’s face. The sniper hissed and recoiled, the fresh damage to his eye socket settling into an intense, pulsing nexus of hurt.

“Is he alright?” asked another voice.

“Don’t think so.”

“I’m fine,” ground out Crosshair, pushing away at the ministering hands, staggering to his feet. He glanced around, searching, but one reg was holding out the pistol, and another had the stolen helmet.

His thoughts were sluggish, swirling in a disparate haze of pain and fatigue, but through it all one goal cut clearly.

“I have to go,” he muttered, gesturing for the pistol. It was placed in his palm, his arm sagging tiredly by his side. Then the reg holding the helmet stepped in front of him, reverently offering the protective headgear.

“Is there anything we can do?” one of them asked, and a murmur of assent rippled through the group.

Crosshair eased the helmet back on, panting shallowly through his mouth. Adrenaline demanded his body continue, even as his mind wanted to shut down.

“A distraction,” he muttered, voice distorted by the vocoder. What he wouldn’t give to have Wrecker and his explosions by his side.

A reassuring hand clasped his shoulder.

“Leave it to us.”

*

The loose vent. Crosshair came to a halt, pressing one hand to the side of his helmet, pretending to receive a com as another group of guards marched past. At the far end of the corridor a maintenance droid whirred away in silent industry.

He positioned himself opposite the vent, but had to turn his head to check both approaches were clear. The right side of his vision was a haze of red and black.

“Omega,” he hissed, low and urgent.

He saw the gleam of her eyes in the dark, checked the corridor once more. Then he stepped under the vent, lifting his arms up to her.

The girl pushed the vent from inside, sliding it out until it swung free on the one screw that held it. Then she reversed her position, shuffling out legs first and wriggling until her body dangled down the wall, holding on with the lip of the vent under her armpits.

“Drop,” he instructed, and she did. He reached out to catch her.

Almost missed.

One hand lodged securely under her armpit. The other was wide, and Omega squeaked in alarm as the uneven brake tilted her descent sidewards. Crosshair flung his other arm around her chest, pulling her tight and breaking her speed against his body, staggering as her weight hit him.

“Quiet,” he choked out as a fresh shockwave of pain lit up his nerves. He wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or to himself. The pressure inside his skull was so intense he felt sure it would fracture.

“Crosshair?” came her quiet voice, and the single word of his name was saturated with concern.

Crosshair lowered her the rest of the way to the floor, shuddering breath into his lungs. He looked up at the open vent. He’d meant to catch her and keep her aloft so she could replace it.

“We need to move,” he gasped, fingers closing vice-like round her shoulder as she turned to face him. He drew her to his left side “Stay close to me.”

A hum as the power cycled, and the lights of the corridor dimmed. The base was switched to night cycle. Distantly, the maintenance droid continued to rumble.

Crosshair fumbled to retrieve the blaster he had stowed to catch her. He didn’t mean to lean so much on her slim frame. Wasn’t certain he could walk without the support.

“Where are we going?” Omega asked, starting forwards with halting steps at the pressure of his hand. “What’s the escape plan?”

“Get to the hanger level,” said Crosshair, hoping that the vocoder would blur the exhaustion in his voice.  “We’ll find a shuttle.”

Omega’s small hand curled over his, squeezing. “There’s no way we can reach the hangers undetected,” she said hesitantly.

He didn’t know how to assuage her fear.

“Keep going,” he muttered, pushing her forwards.

*

Luck was on their side, at first.

Crosshair’s disguise held. The armour may have been an ill fit for his six-four frame, but it was the armour of a TK trooper, and nobody expected TK troopers to be an identical height the way clones were. Omega, in her medical assistant’s garb, simply looked like she was being escorted between assignments by Crosshair’s firm grip.

Crosshair’s stamina didn’t hold. Every step was a supreme effort of willpower, calling his attention back from the soft edges of the void to try and stay upright. His earlier nausea had given way to a gnawing enervation, his thoughts spacing out in absent drifts as he struggled to keep a continuous thread of consciousness.

His footsteps became heavy, dragging along the floor, and he stumbled. He caught his weight against Omega’s frame, felt her arms go round his waist to support him. Across the hall, heads turned to look at them.

“Report, soldier,” barked a captain, peeling away from his unit. “What’s the matter?”

Crosshair dragged his head up, trying to train his attention on the man. An enemy. Someone planning to stop their escape.

Achingly, shakingly, he began to raise his arm with the blaster.

Omega stepped firmly in front of him, arms out defensively. “This soldier is sick,” she said, her voice firm and uncompromising. A blaster was pointed her way, but she didn’t waver. “I am taking this patient for treatment.”

“And who are you?” came the dispassionate question. “Identify yourself.”

“Um,” began Omega, and the hesitation was enough to end them. The captain tensed, raising his weapon aggressively.

“Identify yourself!”

Pain zeroed in on Crosshair’s mind, forcing out all higher thought. There was nothing left, nothing but the need to survive.

He raised his arm. Raked a ragged line of fire through the captain, through his squad. Wavered on his feet as the men yelled and dived, trying to evade his haphazard attack.

One of the blaster bolts had taken down the captain at least. The others in the squad scrambled for defensive positions, nursing wounds, readying weapons. A bolt of blaster fire zipped into the dark space where his peripheral vision once was.

“Crosshair!”

Omega was clinging to his arm, dragging him, stumbling, into cover. She grabbed the pistol from his holster, peeking out to spy their enemies.

Deep-trained discipline kicked in. Crosshair crouched over Omega, shielding her body with his own. Sighted down the weapon. Watched his first shots go wide. Compensated. Still missed.

His sight was shot. Depth perception gone. Injury and exhaustion worked on his body to rob his hands of their steadiness.

Everything that had made him what he was; taken from him.

Crashing to his knees, head lolling, the blaster fell limply from his hands. He clutched at the right side of the visor, the reality of his lost sight hitting home. Unbidden, a wail of despair was dragged from him; back arched, head thrown back, a desperate keening sound ripped from his lungs and garbled through the helmet’s vocoder into an electronic howl which gave pause to the firefight, TK soldiers looking about in confusion.

Omega emerged from their meagre cover and levelled the pistol. Her expression went hard, eyes glinting in determination.

Every shot found its mark. With every shot she claimed a life, until the corridor echoed with sudden stillness after the fight.

She didn’t wait. Immediately she grabbed Crosshair’s arm, looping it across her shoulders and dragging him to his feet.

“Come on,” she implored, half plea, half command. “We have to make it to the lift.”

Crosshair allowed himself to be pulled along, unable to resist. Something in the back of his mind needled him as he let her take his weight, barely able to hold himself upright.

“I’m… slowing you down,” he managed, trying feebly to shake free of her support.

“I’m not leaving here without you, Crosshair.”

Deep inside, her words were a balm to his injured soul. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. He swallowed thickly against the pulsating agony in his head and tried to keep up.

*

They reached the lift, Omega keying in the code to summon the capsule that would carry them up to the hanger level. Crosshair slouched against the wall, breathing heavily. It was all he could do to stay upright.

When the doors parted Omega led him through, her small hands in his, before she took charge of that control panel too. Sinking to the floor, Crosshair tilted his head back and let his mind swim in and out of consciousness. Not far now. Not far.

“An alert has been triggered,” came Omega’s voice, soft and distraught. “Reporting our escape. They’ll be waiting for us when the lift stops.”

Crosshair knew he should care about that. He waved a hand dismissively.

“I can handle it.”

He sensed – didn’t see, his eye was closed – her crouch next to him.

“You’re injured, Crosshair.”

He shook his head, but she was gently releasing the seal from the helmet and lifting it from his head. He didn’t have the strength to stop her.

The helmet clattered to the floor as she gasped, hands going to her mouth in shock. Bitterly, Crosshair rolled his head to one side. Tried to hide the right side of his face from her.

“Crosshair.” Her voice choked on tears. “Who did this to you?”

He knew how it must look. His right eye socket, empty. Bruising purpling the hollow lids, stretched across bone. Fine-line tattoo lost under a crust of dried blood.

“It doesn’t matter,” he managed through gritted teeth. He peered at her out of the slit of his left eye, dark brown iris glinting in the low light. “Are you okay?”

She threw herself at his chest, arms wrapping round him in a tight embrace. He grunted at the contact but raised his left arm weakly, folding it over her back and stroking her hair.

“Hey now, kid,” he murmured, words faint. “Don’t get soft on me. We’ve still got a fight ahead of us.”

She stayed pressed against him, and he felt her warm tears on his collar. Didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

*

The lift jolted to a halt, throwing them about and drawing a protesting hiss of pain from Crosshair. Omega raised her head, dashing her arm across her damp eyes, and looked about.

“There’s a new alert,” she said, scrambling up to inspect the panel. “It says there’s a fire! The lift has been deactivated. What do we do now?”

A thin-lipped, humourless smile pressed across Crosshair’s face. “A distraction,” he said aloud, wry satisfaction in his voice.

He dragged himself up, staggered as he lifted Omega onto his shoulder and directed her to open the emergency hatch in the ceiling. He barely managed to stay upright as she climbed up, and had sagged back to his knees when she reached down through the hatch for him.

“Come on, Crosshair.” Her voice was filled with stubborn determination. “You can do this.”

It was like she didn’t give him a choice. Her child’s voice cut through the throbbing pain in his head and he found himself obeying, passing up the blaster and helmet first, then letting her take hold of his hands and haul him up. He didn’t have the strength to assist. Even with her help he lay panting and spent on the roof of the lift, staring up at the dark chasm of the elevator shaft in unthinking exhaustion.

Omega shook his shoulder gently but insistently. “We have to keep going,” she said, easing him up to a sitting position. Wordlessly, she offered the helmet.

He glanced at her, bruised face meeting her gaze with a silent nod of thanks before he took the headgear and pulled it back on, hiding the extent of his injuries.

Omega slung the blaster over her back, leaving him with the pistol and the knife. Without discussion they moved to the service ladder, Omega clambering on first before turning to check Crosshair was following her.

“Stay with me,” she instructed, and he nodded.

Crosshair settled into the leaden rhythm of the climb, holding his body close to the ladder. He didn’t trust the strength of his grip so each step he laboriously hooked an elbow round the rungs, clinging on through dogged determination, resting and panting for breath with every excruciating foot he climbed.

The hot-cold nausea was back, setting up a tremble of weakness in his muscles. He choked, gagging, his stomach convulsing once more as he retched fruitlessly inside the helmet. His bottom foot slipped and he fell, catching himself on his right elbow, left hand linked around right wrist as he dangled helplessly against the rungs.

“Crosshair, keep climbing!” pleaded Omega, wrapping her own limbs around the ladder securely as she watched him, waiting for him to continue. He shook his head, arm slipping slowly through his own grip.

“Crosshair!”

Omega lunged as he lost his grip. Snagged the grapple from the TK trooper utility belt he wore, hauling it up even as he dropped. She gasped and snatched her hands back before her fingers could be trapped, the hooked grapple head clanging tightly to the ladder rungs. The ratchet on the cable jerked and caught, Crosshair grunting in pain as he swung into the wall at the end of the line.

“Keep climbing,” he said, voice ragged and broken, waving at her to continue.

Instead she climbed down to him, positioning herself under him, pulling him back to the ladder and helping him hook his arms and legs back around the rungs.

“We can do this,” came her voice, small but determined. “I’ve got you, Crosshair.”

This time he climbed ahead of her, and every time he sagged he felt Omega’s body curl close and protective against him. Her hands tightened on the rungs as she kept him pinned against the ladder, her cheek pressed against the small of his back. Despite the tremor in her own tiring muscles she held on, letting him catch his breath before urging him to continue.

They were still climbing when the power was restored, the ladder rumbling beneath them as the lift began to rise towards them. Crosshair glanced down, then quickly pulled Omega against him and released the ladder, letting them drop to the roof of the lift as it rushed up to meet them.

Omega’s blonde hair was tousled by the rushing wind of their ascent, and Crosshair swayed on his feet as he held her tightly to his body. He turned his face down to her, studied the hardened look on her face through the blurred edges of his vision. His arm squeezed tight around her shoulders, drawing on her strength as he embraced her to replenish his own flagging reserves.

The lift slowed, then stopped.

“Hanger level,” said Omega softly.

Below them, through the open hatch on the roof of the lift, came the hiss of a door seal releasing.

Crosshair dropped to one knee, slamming the hatch closed.

“Through the service tunnel,” he ordered, shoving Omega ahead of him. “It’ll take us above the hanger.”

Muffled voices. “The lift is empty.”

“What? They must be there. We had confirmation they were in this elevator.”

“Stay on guard! They have to be somewhere.”

They crawled into the narrow vent, Omega fitting easily, Crosshair struggling to drag his armoured shoulders along the tight channel. Plastoid scraped against durasteel with a grating whine, echoing along the duct, and he knew the sound would give their position away.

“Keep going,” he hissed, stopping to release scraps of armour and shed them inside the tunnel. It wouldn’t be much use now anyway. Once they reached the hanger, the opposition they faced would be so overwhelming that the armour wouldn’t save him from blaster-fire coming his way.

Pauldrons and pack discarded, he carried on after Omega. Blood drips spattered the inside of his visor. He didn’t have time to stop and wipe them clean. Had to keep moving. Almost out.

Almost out.

So tired.

Almost out.

Omega had stopped over a grille, pointing down into the hanger below.

“There’s TK troopers everywhere,” she whispered, shuffling to give him space to look.

He barely glanced at the scene. Trying to focus on the distant squads of soldiers set his head aching. Between the lost half of his vision and the smears inside his visor, so much was obscured.

“There,” he slurred, “that line of fighters.”

Omega scanned the hanger and saw the row of fighter ships, cockpits canopies open and ready to welcome their pilots.

“Do you know how to fly them?” she asked.

“Yes. Tech made me memorise-”

“-the specs of every ship,” she finished, a small smile curling her lips. “He did the same with me.”

Crosshair’s chest constricted at the memory of his brother. Choked back the wave of grief that threatened to drown him.

“We go along the line, sending them off on autopilot,” he said. “They won’t know which one to follow.”

“Which ship are we taking?”

“We need something with hyperspace capability.” He pointed to a slightly larger shuttle. “That one.”

They resumed their crawl along the duct, trying to ignore the shouts of the search parties below. Omega stopped when they reached a vent almost directly above the row of ships, threading one slim hand through the grating and starting to unscrew it from the outside.

Crosshair readied the grapple, then folded his body into an awkward seat and stole what rest he could whilst Omega worked. Everything was starting to sound very distant. His mind floated on a cushion of adrenaline, comfortably numb as his consciousness divorced itself from the pain wracking his body.

Then Omega was shaking him awake.

“Ready?” she asked. He blinked groggily inside the helmet, wincing at the way his bruised eyelids pulled on the tormented right side.

“Yeah,” he muttered unconvincingly, shifting into position.

Omega released the final screw and caught the grate before it dropped, lifting it back into the duct and stowing it behind her. She spidered herself over the hole, letting Crosshair and the grapple cable lower down first, before shimmying onto the cable herself.

Crosshair dropped quickly to the floor, knowing speed was as essential as silence to their descent going unnoticed. He misjudged his footing at the bottom, rolling his ankle with a muttered curse. Quickly detaching the cable from the utility belt, he hobbled to the protecting shadow of the nearest ship and watched in desperate anxiety as Omega shinned her way down the cable.

The girl dropped to the floor and scurried to his side, peering up at the fighter. “I should be able to activate the autopilot on a timer so they all start moving at once,” she told him.

“I’ll keep the patrols off your back,” he replied, taking the blaster from her and passing her the pistol instead.

Omega hesitated, about to turn away, then straightened to face him. “Crosshair,” she said with an uncertain waver. “We’re leaving together.”

Crosshair shook his head. “If you get the chance to go, take it. Tell Hunter-”

“Tell him yourself!” she snapped, voice rising angrily. “I’m not going without you!”

He clamped a hand across her mouth to quiet her, hissing a warning. She struggled and he released her, crouching down so he was on eye level with her.

“Omega,” he said, tiredness in his voice stilling her protest more effectively than his hand had. He blinked inside his helmet, trying to clear his vision, trying to fix the image of her determined, trusting face in his mind.

She pressed into him, arms folding round his half-armoured body in an embrace that spoke all of the words they didn’t have time to say. Crosshair cupped one hand to the back of her head, trying for a soothing hum that broke as his voice quavered in exhaustion.

Then he let go, shoving her gently towards the ships.

“Get on with it,” he hissed, and turned away to avoid the hurt in her eyes. The recrimination at the sacrifice they both knew he planned.

Because it would be worth it. His life for hers. Returning her to his brothers was all that mattered.

His head swam as he steadied the blaster in both hands.

Escape, or die trying.

Help the girl escape.

Die trying.

*

The floor wobbled and gave way beneath his feet as he crossed the hanger. He fell with it, crashing to the spongy surface with a thud. Blaster in his right hand. Left splayed against the ground, testing it. Firm. No give. Still, his head strobed in and out, attention bowing and flexing as the world pulsed indistinctly around him.

He might be hallucinating. He suspected that now.

Dragged himself to his knees. Levered back to his feet.

Raised the blaster. Tried to focus.

Everything seemed so fuzzy, so distant. The HUD told him how far to his target, but it must be reading wrong. Surely he was closer than that. Was he? Leaden legs carried him forwards without conscious thought. The inside of his visor was smeared with his own blood, further restricting what remained of his sight.

The helmet was stifling. His own breath was hot and harsh, the noise of it filling his ears. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t see.

Needed to concentrate. Needed to be able to see.

Uncertain, trembling, he reached up and pulled the helmet off. Winced as it dragged past the tender swelling of his face.

Or maybe he cried out. That would explain why the TK troops suddenly turned to his direction.

“There he is!”

“All units, respond.”

“I don’t see the girl.”

“Don’t let him escape!”

The helmet fell to the floor with a clang. This was better, he thought dully. He could breathe easier. See better, without the distracting smears of red across his vision.

Heavy footsteps. Lots of them. Armoured figures surrounding him, weapons ready.

“On your knees, prisoner!”

Crosshair turned his ruined face, surveyed his captors. Dragged in a wet breath through his open mouth.

A blow landed on his back, staggering him. He dropped to one knee, a broken whimper escaping him.

“Drop your weapon!”

Shakingly, he raised his hands. The blaster swung loosely from his right.

Heard someone step towards him. Couldn’t see them in the blind spot left by his missing eye.

The roar of an engine awakening. A chorus of engines. Shouts of surprise, and the TK troopers turned.

“Siths hells…”

Crosshair didn’t look. Couldn’t afford to look. Had to take advantage of Omega activating the line of fighter ships.

Spun the blaster, bringing it to bear. Finger closed around the trigger.

Opened fire.

Howls of pain, blaster bolts burning through armour. He didn’t know how many he hit. Didn’t know where he hit. Arms, legs, it didn’t matter. Gone was the ability to pinpoint each enemy, one shot, one kill. This would have to do, a haphazard spray of fire and a prayer that they would escape.

A fresh burst of adrenaline drove him to his feet, subsuming the emptiness that clawed at his willpower as he began to move towards the shuttle. He was lightheaded, stumbling as he staggered forwards with the blaster swinging between targets. Didn’t care if his shots hit. Couldn’t have aimed if he tried. It was enough that his continued fire forced the troopers to dodge out of his way, clearing a path for his exhausted body to follow.

His vision blacked out and in again. He realised he was on the floor, slumped on his front. When did he get there? He didn’t remember falling. Aligned his arms underneath his body. Pushed up. Struggled to get his legs to work.

“Order confirmed. Prioritise the girl. Stop her escaping!”

Crosshair raised his head. Blinked away the blurriness. Watched one of the gunships lift from the ground, turning slowly.

They were going to shoot Omega down.

Kept turning. Cannons pointed towards him.

Oh.

It was Omega.

Just in time he let his weight drop, belly pressing to the floor once more. The gunship’s cannons spoke, shells rocketing over his head and detonating against a stack of crates, starting a chain reaction as stored ammo and munitions were consumed in a rapid inferno. A blast of heat seared his back, baking even through the protective armour, and he slowly began to crawl forwards on his stomach to escape the blaze.

The ramp of the gunship lowered, exposing the troop transport hold within.

What was she doing? She was supposed to flee. Take the ship and go. Why was the ship hovering in place, entry ramp open invitingly?

Not leaving without you.

Her words constricted the broken fragments of his heart, filling him with purpose.

Not leaving without you.

He staggered to his feet, lurching forwards. One step. Then another. Another. Towards the gunship. Towards the light that spilled from the hold.

Towards freedom.

Close enough now to see her frightened face through the canopy, barely tall enough to see over the controls.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Another step. Towards Omega.

Towards salvation.

Her expression crumpled in panic. Mouth opened in a warning shout that didn’t reach his ears.

His smile faded to confusion.

Pain erupted in the exposed joint of his shoulder, protecting pauldron discarded to fit through the vent.

A blade twisted. A howl as bone sprung free of the socket.

Whirling, staggering, Crosshair faced down the soldier in his blind spot, snuck up where he could no longer see.

The knife, dripping with his blood.

The soldier lunged again, knife digging into the seam of his collar bone, so close to main arteries.

Pupil dilated with shock. Crosshair’s hand flew to his neck, pressing against the gout of blood threatening to spurt as the soldier dragged the knife back. Gripping the hilt, he kept it embedded in the wound.

The soldier struggled against Crosshair’s grip. Crosshair dropped the blaster. Tugged the knife from his belt.

So tired. Too tired to find the will to fight.

Dislocated shoulder refusing to bring the knife to bear.

He imagined a hand closing over his. Hunter’s grip, strong and sure.

Closed his one eye. Darkness, so comforting.

Drove the knife home.

A high voice, calling his name. “Crosshair!”

Hands pulled at his armour, tugging him forwards. He opened his eyes.

Omega, hauling him towards the ramp of the gunship.

Crosshair’s mind whipped back to wakefulness, the urgency of their situation crashing over him. He finally forced his legs to work, stumbling forwards under Omega’s guidance until they were both in the ship and she released him, running back to the cockpit.

Crosshair’s hands grasped for a gun he didn’t have, and he turned dazedly back to the hanger. TK troopers were recovering, emerging from cover and launching volleys of blaster-fire towards their ship. He dived to the side, a blast bolt grazing his hip and drawing another guttural cry of pain from him. His left arm wrapped across his body and he gripped his right elbow, holding his loosely swinging arm against his chest as he staggered after Omega.

“This isn’t the ship I pointed out,” he gasped in frustration, collapsing heavily against the wall.

Omega’s hands flew over the console, activating the ignition sequence. “I know,” she said. “This one had more defensive capabilities.”

“It has cannons!” he hissed. “That’s offensive!”

“Wrecker always says that offence is the best form of defence,” countered Omega. She gripped the steering column and the ship lurched forwards, towards the strip of night sky showing beyond the under-hang of the mountain. Already, fighter jets swarmed outside, anticipating their escape.

The front of his chest was growing warm and damp. The knife still embedded in his shoulder was slowing the blood loss but couldn’t stem it completely, and the stab wound that had dislocated his right shoulder flowed freely. The whole right side of his body was a mess, so much pain clouding his senses that it was hard to distinguish one injury from the next.

His breathing was shallow, rapid, skin cold and clammy. He released his grip on his own arm to steady himself against Omega’s pilot chair instead, leaning heavily against it as he tried to focus on the rushing darkness outside the cockpit.

“Can you do this?” he asked, the words laboured and indistinct. Omega glanced at him in worry, then fixed her gaze straight ahead.

“Don’t worry, Crosshair. I’ll get us out of here.”

The ship lurched as she dived, evading the fighters which raked fire towards their fleeing ship. Crosshair all but fell into the co-pilot’s seat, answering the impact with an agonised growl before forcing the restraints across his protesting body to strap in safely. He was no good to Omega passed out on the floor of the cockpit.

Omega snuck another look at him, her brown eyes pointedly following the red stain cascading down the stolen armour. Rivulets of blood trickled down his right hand, hanging limply at his side, dripping to the floor with alarming alacrity.

She gunned the engines, the ship roaring as it picked up speed. She shot through the waiting cloud of enemy ships, then killed the thrusters and hauled hard on the controls. The ship swung back round in a tight reversal, and now that the fighters were clustered in front of them she opened fire, front lasers tearing into the delicate fighters and sending them, flaming, into death spirals.

Crosshair grunted, the sound little more than a breath. “The Tech turn,” he whispered, a smile ghosting across his lips.

Omega gave a shaky laugh. “He says it’s not called that,” she told him, angling the ship up and sending them shooting towards the edge of the atmosphere.

“He’s the only one of us who could pull it off.” Crosshair’s voice faded in and out, eyes closed. His right hand twitched, fingers convulsing, as though he would reach out to her. “I guess he taught you well.”

“Stay with me, Crosshair.” Omega’s voice cut through the tiredness of his mind, calling him back from the edge of consciousness. She sounded like she was crying. “We’re nearly there.”

That’s right. Once they made the hyperspace jump they’d be safe.

“There’ll be a blockade,” he managed. Opened his eye. Watched her punching co-ordinates into the hyperspace drive.

Dragged his left arm from his lap. Wrapped his hand feebly round the co-pilot’s controls.

“You can’t do that yet. We’ll burn up if you ignite the hyperdrive now.”

Omega grit her teeth, snuffling against tears.

“We’ll make the jump as soon as we break atmo.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing. It seemed to be harder than he remembered. His chest, lungs, throat, didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

He trusted Omega.

Trusted she would get them out.

A sudden, high-pitched whine as the hyperdrive engine came up to speed.

The ship was rocked by vibrations as blaster fire from the blockade raked the shields.

A blinding white-blue light pierced his closed eyelid, painting his world in a haze of dark and light.

They made the jump to hyperspace.

*

Crosshair surfaced slowly from unconsciousness, groping about with his other senses without opening his eyes. The right side of his face still throbbed but it was a numb pulse now, pain deadened beyond layers of exhaustion and sedatives. Around him the ship was quiet, computers and engines humming idly. There was a strong smell of disinfectant.

He tried to command his left arm, found it would move. Lifted his hand to his face, pressing it over his left eye before cracking it open, breathing a gasp of relief as he saw his own palm. His sight. He still had his sight.

“Crosshair!”

His name was spoken low and urgently, but with undeniable enthusiasm. He dropped his hand and blinked the rest of the world into focus, a blonde-haired face swimming into view.

“What happened?” he croaked, wincing against the dryness in his throat.

Omega pressed a canteen to his lips and he drank greedily, the water slaking a thirst he hadn’t realised was so intense. Then she was helping him sit up, hands gentle on his aching body.

He realised he was still in the co-pilot’s chair, semi-reclined. Outside the starscape was still, pinpoints of light against the black curtain of space. They weren’t moving.

“What happened?” he repeated, and this time his voice was a little stronger.

The girl immediately set to checking his wounds. He realised most of his upper right body was swathed in bandages, and the cold of space hit him as he realised she had cut his clothes away to treat the wounds. He was covered by a thin blanket which had slid down as he sat upright, and he grabbed it now and pulled it anxiously up to cover his body.

“You passed out after we made the hyperspace jump,” she told him quietly, not looking at him as she worked. She adjusted the tension on the sling that held his right arm, then smoothed down the edge of a bandage that was peeling away on his shoulder. “Hypovolemic shock,” she added, as though it made a difference. “You shouldn’t try to stand just yet.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, lying against the light-headedness he still felt.

She huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Sure.”

He let her continue her checks, until she came to his face. Her slim hands tried to rest on his cheeks but he batted them away, turning his face from her. Turning so that she was in the blind spot of his bandaged right-hand side.

“Please let me check your wounds, Crosshair,” she said in a small voice. She dropped one hand to his chest, resting it over his hand which trembled, knotted inside the blanket.

“I don’t want you to,” he said softly, trying not to sound sullen. He kept his gaze averted, sorrow etching his face.

“We need to-”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

She stopped, mouth set in an unhappy line.

“Please, Omega,” he said, and the uncharacteristic plea softened her expression. She nodded, going to sit back in the pilot’s chair.

“So where are we?” he asked after a moment, drawing her from her thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, a soft waver of worry in her voice. “I’ve sent a signal to the rest of the Batch. I’m hoping they’ll pick it up, but without Tech-”

“Echo will get the signal,” Crosshair interrupted her without thinking. “He’s good at things like that.”

A meek, watery smile wobbled onto her face. “Yeah. They’ll find us.”

Now Crosshair tilted his face to her, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure of his bruises as he returned her smile. It even crinkled at the corners of his left eye, a glint of his old fire and flint flashing in his gaze.

“That was some good flying,” he told her honestly. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, a shy grin coming to her face.

“It was pretty cool,” she agreed, a shaky laugh shuddering up through her small body. Then, “Thanks for getting me out, Crosshair.”

“You got yourself out, kid,” he said, a low admission of approval.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He touched his hand to his bandaged arm, his neck, his cheek.

“I wouldn’t be here without you either, so consider us even.”

They lapsed into silence. Crosshair reclined back into the co-pilot’s chair once more, letting the padded seat take the weight of his aching body. His head span and he closed his eye against nausea, hoping Omega wouldn’t notice his pallor.

He kept his eye closed as he listened to her shuffle, approximated that she was imitating his position. His thoughts abstracted, snatches of memories surfacing and then flitting away as he continued to hover between sleep and wakefulness.

Eventually the com beeped.

A familiar voice.

“Havoc Five, come in.”

Crosshair started, flinching awake with a cry as the movement strained his injuries. Omega was scrambling for the com, leaning over the console with a delighted gasp.

“Hunter!”

“Omega!” The relief in Hunter’s voice was tangible as a cheer set up from the background.

“Omega! Where are you?” That was Wrecker’s voice, booming with enthusiasm. Omega laughed giddily, sitting up and tapping at the controls.

“I don’t know where we are. I’m sending our co-ordinates now,” she said, quickly relaying the data.

“Received,” came Echo’s confirmation. “I’ve got your position, Omega. Hang tight, and we’ll rendezvous with you.”

“Omega.” It was Hunter again. “You said ‘we’. Did a group of you escape?”

Omega glanced at Crosshair. He was sitting up now, shaking his head slowly.

She reached out and covered the com. “They have to know,” she whispered imploringly.

Crosshair looked away. “I haven’t seen Hunter since-”

“I know.” She reached out and laid a hand gently over his. Then she turned to the com again.

“Crosshair is with me.”

“CROSSHAIR?” His name was echoed in triplicate.

“He’s injured, so he can’t talk right now,” she said quickly, saving him from the demands of conversation. “Hurry,” she added. “Please hurry.”

“We’re on our way, Omega,” said Hunter, and the com blinked off.

Crosshair sagged back, staring unseeingly out the window. The young girl stayed at the controls a moment more, before hopping down and coming over to his chair.

Before he could protest Omega had climbed up into his lap, tucking her head under his jaw, one small hand stroking the back of his neck soothingly.

He couldn’t summon the energy to fight her.

Found he didn’t want to.

“They’re going to be pleased to see you, Crosshair,” she whispered into his chest, fingers tracing repetitive lines on his skin. “Just like I was.”

Despite the way his right side throbbed, he relaxed into the comfort of her weight on his left. He brought his uninjured arm up and closed it round her, pulling her tight against him as he rested his left cheek on her soft hair.

No, he didn’t want to see his brothers. No, he didn’t want her to check his wounds, face the reality of his loss.

But laying here like this, listening to her soft breathing, he found his doubts fading.

It didn’t seem so bad when he thought of it as a trade-off.

A price paid.

His eye. Her freedom.

His little sister.

Not leaving here without you.

It would take time for his injuries to heal. But she had already mended something in him that had been broken.

He would go through it a thousand times over if it kept her free.

He closed his eye, trying not to remember the darkness at the side of his vision.

A price paid.

A fair price.

This time, as he drifted just above the threshold of sleep, he was at peace.

*check the reblogs for the epilogue!*

[sylpheoftheforce]

In honor of the new fic im writing on AO3 (to be posted later, I just started on it:

The Moment You Fell For The Bad Batch (in my WIP) (FEM!Reader)

Hunter:

Hunter was the first person to welcome you to the batch. He showed you around and helped you find where you fit into the team. He was your rock and your leader and you fell for him slowly through small interactions. Everything from the way he led the team to the way he took care of everyone after a rough mission, his attentiveness drew you to him. He always knew what everyone needed before they needed it. He even, when learning a woman would be joining the team, stocked up on Hormone Regulators and Menstruation Products. He incorporated them into his own pack for missions and made sure they were always accessible to you. The moment that really sold you and made you realise your own feelings was sitting with him in the cockpit of the Marauder treating each others injuries and confiding in each other. His gentleness in both his actions and words touched your soul when he leant you his bandana, a prized possession of his, to wrap up a wound you had even though he knew it would get soaked with blood.

Wrecker:

It wasn’t hard to fall for Wrecker with him being the giant Teddybear of the group. He’s a gentle soul that feels more than he thinks. A lot of people assume that he’s a bit unhinged but you learned that it just came down to him being one of the most passionate people you’ve ever met. He’s easily the most touchy of the group, never shying away from showering everyone with hugs. He shares everything that is his to give without a second thought and loves his personal belongings just as intently as he loves the people around him. The exact moment you fell for him was when he gave you a boost so you could see over a crowd of clones who were watching an intense game of Sabaac between two Jedi even though he’d been injured earlier. You never asked him for help, he just noticed you were a little down because you love Sabaac and wanted to see what it was like for Jedi to play. He even loaned you Lula so “she could see the game too” even though you both knew the only time he loaned her out was to cheer people up.

Crosshair:

You never imagined in a thousand solar cycles that you would fall for Crosshair. You spent more time bickering and he was constantly hurting your feelings with how removed and cold he was towards you. You honestly thought he hated you. It wasn’t until he yelled at you for taking an unnecessary risk during a mission that everything clicked. He hadn’t hated you this entire time, he was worried for your safety. That didn’t brush away all the hurt he had caused but it did explain his actions. You went quiet and waited before calmly exposing that you thought he’d hated you and that if he was concerned for your safety then he needed to find a better way to communicate that. You conceded that you would try to be safer during missions but at the end of the day you were all fighting in a war. After that he went quiet, only letting out an “oh.” before leaving for a bit to think and collect his thoughts. He came back a couple of hours later explaining that he didn’t like that you went into everything without backup and that he felt useless and undervalued by you because he was supposed to protect and cover all of you. He felt like you were going to get hurt because he wasn’t good enough. From there you consistently waited for his backup and showed more faith in him. Everything clicked into place for you when he got hurt protecting you on a mission and you got to save him for a chance, the worry of whether he would die or not eating you alive.

Tech:

Tech was the easiest person for you to figure out on the Marauder. He said what he meant and was very blunt from the get go. You’d spend a lot of time around him listening to him info-dump about whatever he was interested in or focused on at the time. You learned as much as you possibly could from him and he did the same in return. He was always interested in what Holovid you were watching or what you were reading on your datapad. You’d sit there in silence sometimes and other times you’d both talk about your interests. You also learned over time that he conveyed his emotions a lot more through his body language than he did his words. You fell for him when he fell asleep leaning on you one night and you looked at his still open datapad to find out he’d been reading up on a topic you’d mentioned being interested in. You ended up putting his datapad to the side before laying the both of you down and falling asleep in your bunk.

Echo:

Echo was the one who caught you off guard the most. He was a former reg and you thought he’d be fairly predictable. He was anything but and found ways to surprise you everyday. Bantering with him was easy and he was a mix between soft, gentle, and a true leader. His personality complimented everyone’s on the Marauder. He’s the person you get into the most trouble with and he regaled you with stories of his time in the 501st albeit with a bit of a bittersweet tone. He showed unwavering faith in you and trained with you to help you improve. You fell for him after you crashed a speeder that had been shot and it went into flames. Echo pulled you out of the wreckage, his arms wrapping around you assuring you that you were going to be alright. He carried you back to the Marauder, covered by Crosshair, assuring you that you were going to be ok the whole time. While he was resting you for burns and pulling shrapnel out of you, he told you about the crazy stunts that Domino Squad used to pull and how General Skywalker and Commander Tano were never far behind with their own crazy methods. Every time you flinched or whimpered in pain he’d reassure you that you were doing great, that you were safe, that the worst was over. After he was finished treating you, he stayed by your side telling stories until you fell asleep.

[techtalksfics]

Where's your toothpick? (Crosshair x f!Reader)

Instead of studying, I have sat here and written this fic. It's quite rushed because I actually need to get my law degree. There are no degrees from bad batch lovers. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: heavy drinking (i guess)

Word Count: 1,884

You and your best friend, Jenshay (or Jen, for short), often frequented 79s, the clone bar. You liked the stories the clones told, you liked that a fight happened every, single time. But most of all, you really liked Crosshair.

The only problem? It would seem that Crosshair did not like you.

You sighed at the thought. Shaking off your insecurities, you finished getting ready for the evening. Choosing out your favourite red dress, which tied at the waist, showed off both your figure and your breasts, you quickly push the dress over your head and pull it down.

The doorbell rang as you began to tie your dress. Swerving around furniture, you check the comm to make sure it was Jen. You had a persistent and unpleasant neighbour who always seemed to be in the corridor when you were arriving or leaving. You dreaded to think how.

Letting Jen in, you could already smell the alcohol on her breath.

“Jeez Jen,” you laughed, “already pre-drinking?”

“Always, you know me.” A rather sad statement to make, you thought. “So, you hoping for a certain silent sniper to be there this evening?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You retorted whilst fixing your hair in the mirror. Your friend snorted. You knew you liked Crosshair. She knew you liked Crosshair. Interestingly, Tech knew you liked Crosshair. So, who didn’t know at this point?

Well… Crosshair would be one of the only ones it would seem.

Grabbing your satchel, you grabbed her hand and pulled her to your door. Checking the comms for creepy neighbours quickly and seeing that the coast was clear, you both ran to the lift and left for your night out.

------------------------

As you exited the air taxi, you made sure that Jen did not trip and fall before you got to the door. So, you held her at the waist, just in case. She probably wasn’t drunk enough to be refused entry, but you didn’t want to risk it.

You’d heard the Bad Batch were temporarily in Coruscant, the first time in many, many rotations. So you did not want to miss your chance to… well, stare longingly, at Crosshair.

Luckily, you managed to get into the bar and were greeted by the Wolfpack. Your second favourite clone trooper squadron. Letting go of Jen’s waist, you were pulled into a hug by Commander Woolfe. You had grown close after he saved you from a potentially fatal mugging a few years earlier.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” His voice shouted into your ear. As you pulled back, he held you in place for a moment, his eyes fixed on you. He gave a smirk and said, “though based on those colours, it’s not this squadron you’re here to see.” He raised his eyebrow at you.

Great, is there anybody who doesn’t know, you wondered.

“There on the back table, as usual.” Woolfe hugged you once more and whispered, “I do not know what you see in that group of misfits.” Whilst returning the hug, your eyes drifted towards the back of the bar, where you saw Clone Force 99. A small smile graced your lips.

But before you could even approach them, one thing was in order. Grabbing Jen by her arm, you shouted, “SHOTS?” Liquid courage couldn’t hurt. Particularly as the sober one. She looked at you like you’d proposed marriage and shouted a big ‘yes’ back at you.

Pulling her to the bar, you managed to get the immediate attention of the bartender, who greeted you as she always does, with a smile and a ‘what can I get ya’? Like she doesn’t already know.

“Four Antakarian Fire-“ you start.

“- Fire Dancers, I should’a known.” She shakes her head and chuckles. “Coming right up.” As she prepares your drinks and Jen rambles on about her love of the Wolfpack, you take the chance to glance at the 99 boys. As your eyes drift over the familiar sights of Tech with his PADD typing away, Wrecker eating his food and Hunter broodingly watching the scenes happening before him, you noticed one thing. One off thing. Crosshair was looking directly at you and once he caught your gaze, he shifted the toothpick in his mouth from left to right and smirked.

With an embarrassed blush, you turn back to the bar and paid for the drinks which arrived right on cue.

After a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, you and Jen downed the first shot. The fire of the drink is undisputed, and your face squelched together from the warm, strong alcohol goes down your throat.

Because you were unlucky, Crosshair walked past at the exact moment that your face had contorted into a horrific image after taking the shot. He walked past, eyebrow raised and as usual, said nothing. Great, you cursed.

Downing the second shot in shame, you asked the bartender for a Revnog before making your way over to see your favourite clones. With a smile, you sat down next to Wrecker and offered up a ‘hello’.

“Ah, we wondered if we would see you here tonight,” Tech said, placing the PADD down temporarily. He was always willing to chat with you.

“Y/N!” Wrecker bellowed, “if it isn’t our favourite civilian!” You laughed as he spoke, grabbing you around the shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug.

“She’s the only civilian you know, Wrecker.” Crosshair commented as he made his way around the table. “Y/N, shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on Jen?” He said, pointing his toothpick at Jen. You turned and saw she had, in fact, gotten on the table to dance. You put your face in your hands and turned back to face them.

“She’d been pre-drinking before we came out.” You took a sip of your drink. “The Wolfpack are here though, so she won’t be able to do too much damage without them stepping in.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the handsome soldier. Instead, you turned your attention to Tech with an awkward cough, “what are you working on today then, Tech?”

 As Tech explained, in detail, his latest research on tactical droid schematics and tactics, you listened intently. Occasionally, your eyes would drift to Crosshair…as they always do. Usually, he does not pay attention to you but not tonight, tonight he looked at you with fiery gaze. One you could not discern. It was unsettling but you could feel your skin heating and the blush on your face darkened.

Well, at least it was dark in this place.

As you finished your drink, you announced that you were going to get a round for the table. Stumbling upwards, and cursing for your lack of grace, you made your way back to the bar. Back to safety.

Jen noticed you and clambered off the table, she flounced over to you and asked, “how’s it going the Crosshair?”

“I’d have better luck seducing a Rancor.” You moaned.

----------------------

“I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her.” Hunter goaded Crosshair, “she’s a sweet girl.”

“I don’t like sweet things.” Crosshair retorted, taking a quick sip of his drink.

“Well, you like this sweet thing.” Wrecker’s laugh boomed around the bar which caused Crosshair to cringe, physically retreating further into the darkness.

However, he couldn’t help but look at you. Your gorgeous brown hair curling around your shoulders and back, swaying as you laughed at whatever Jen had said. You were wearing red and dark grey, his red and dark grey. Was that on purpose? He had secretly loved how you always sat with his brothers on these rare nights out. Nobody would normally do that. He also secretly loved when your green eyes always drifted towards him.

The entire Wolfpack loved you; he’d even seen you with the 501st battalion on occasion. But you always looked at him.

Secretly, and he would never admit it, he liked almost everything about you. He grumbled nothingness to himself and stayed routed in the corner.

---------------------------

After a few more drinks, you decided Jen had better go home. You signalled Commander Woolf as he was always good at convincing Jen that she’d had too much.

Woolf rushed straight over and backed you up when you told Jen she should go home and sleep it off.

She whined but complied and stumbled slightly. She let out a ridiculous laugh and held her arm out to you. You held her up as she shouted, “I’m being booted from the building boys, I’ll see ya soon!” There came a number of ‘byes’ and even one ‘I’ll take you home, princess’ which was disturbing, to say the least.

Helping Jen to the door, Woolf politely held it open for you and you exited into the cool night. The air hit your lungs and the booze hit your system. Jesus, maybe you should go home too. First, Jen. Get Jen into an air taxi. So you did your duty, as you had done many times before. As the taxi sped away, you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d be holding. Staring out as the speeders raced on pass the bar, you debated your next steps.

“I could go back in and try again,” you debated allowed, “who am I kidding? He’s never going to want me.”

“They say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, you know.” Crosshair’s grizzly baritone came from behind you. You screwed your eyes shut. Of course he’s behind you right now. You turned on your heel to face him and retorted, “I never once said I was sane.” He smirked and uttered one word, true.

He took two small steps towards you, the movement was confident. He knew you couldn’t step backwards as you’d fall your death, so you were trapped. Trapped worked for him.

“So,” he said, taking the toothpick out of his mouth, “who doesn’t want you?” Knowing you were trapped, you tried to think of a quick way out of this.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your inability to think about anything in his presence, you weren’t sure. But you uttered one word back, “you.” He took another step forward and suddenly he was close that you could feel his armour pressing against your exposed cleavage.

“I never once said I didn’t want you.” He was mimicking your words, toying with you, surely.

And yet, within the next second, his lips were on yours. The kiss was fierce, as you always thought it would be. His hands came up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss. His hands were not only holding your face to his but at this point, were holding you upright.

Your hands found his waist, pulling him closer to you. His tongue invaded your mouth, playing with yours. Toying with you, as he always does. He pulled back ever so slightly and you were worried the kiss was ending but instead, his nose rubbed over yours gently and he approached you from the other side. He deepened the kiss once again.

When he finally pulled back to look at you, you realised something. “Where’s your toothpick gone?” “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He chuckled darkly and looked at you, with a slight squint. “I have more. Don’t worry.”