Chapter 1: 1
Chapter Text
The ground was damp enough to soak the portions of his blacks that peaked between the gaps of his armor, chilling him as he lay in the moss-covered ridge. It annoyed him, but his posture remained relaxed, his grip steady as he stared through the lens.
Far below his “batch” slipped between the trees. The idea that they thought they were being stealthy would be amusing if it weren’t so infuriating. He could only imagine the amount of noise the lumbering oaf alone was making amongst the fallen leaves and brittle foliage. The fact that they remained undetected despite being so close to their target was truly an act of sheer cosmic luck.
“Crosshair do you-” Hunter began to ask over the comms, but Crosshair cut him off, his breathing remaining controlled and even.
“I am certain you know better than to ask if I have a visual on the objective,” he replied crisply, the silence that followed was disgustingly telling.
“Right,” Hunter spoke up again a moment later and Crosshair knew it was likely his imagination that tweaked the other’s voice with chagrin. “Once we breach the perimeter hold position and warn us of any incoming ships or speeders. ETA five minutes.”
“Copy.”
The comm went silent and Crosshair tried to not let his annoyance disrupt his concentration. They were, they just! He let out a carefully controlled sigh pressing his shoulder into the stock in a familiar motion.
Ever since he had been paired with his new called “squad” Crosshair had felt as though he was being tested. Surely of all those from the ninety-nine batch, these could not have been the best? The most perfectly altered elite team that the Kaminoans had sought over the years?
He had been engineered nearly to perfection to perform his best behind a scope and all through his training he had exceeded expectations. He’d been praised as one of the elite. A prodigy, a survivor! The others had slowly been whittled down until he had been the only one in the range and yet he had still proven his worth day after day, test after test.
The day that the Trainer had come in to tell him he was to be placed in a highly trained squad had been the day that was meant to have made everything worth it.
Clone Force 99. A special operations team created for the sole purpose of serving as the Republic's most elite troopers. Genetically enhanced clone variants each of whom had undergone the same training and elimination programs as Crosshair himself, not a few months before him.
The best of the best.
The sole survivors of their batch.
It had taken two training sessions for Crosshair to start to believe that something was wrong. By the third one, he was certain.
Oh, their skills were clear. They each performed feats that no regular clone would even begin to succeed at, but there was something off about the other three.
It took him being forced to be around them constantly for it to click.
It was their personalities. Here stood the most elite troopers ever produced and they acted like immature cadets.
They had undergone the same level of training as him. Succeeded where others failed and yet they still joked and blustered and acted as though they were just some other reg batch who had been raised to march cheerfully to the slaughter.
Crosshair didn’t understand. It made no sense.
On their first mission, the other three had treated it like they were on some off-planet training drill instead of a hit on a high-level political target. They’d joked about the mission, and even suggested stopping at the nearby market before carrying out the operation to ‘experience the real world’ as their idiot leader had called it.
It was absurd.
“We’re at the perimeter. Commencing breach in three, two, one. Perimeter breached,” Hunter reported over the comms.
“Alright! Finally! Don’t fall asleep up their Cross! We’ll be back in no time,” Wrecker chimed in as Crosshair watched them make their way through the now opened side door, forcefully stopping himself from snapping back at the jab.
He hated how they got under his skin with nothing more than an offhand comment, or flippant remark. He had worked too hard at his control all these years to have some idiot causing him to lose his temper now!
He slowly pulled back from his sight to scan the skies. He’d chosen this spot specifically for its clear view of all feasible routes to reach the outpost. No speeder nor ship would be able to approach without him seeing it with enough time to warn them.
One last visual sweep and Crosshair allowed himself to settle in for a long wait.
(-o-)
Crosshair would curse himself later for having not noticed the lack of the usual chatter over the comms. As it was, it took until he tried to raise Hunter to alert him of the half-hour mark for him to realize that something was off.
Figuring the other may not have been able to answer straight away Crosshair ignored it, but something in the back of his head continued to dwell on the silence from the other end of the line.
He decided at the forty-five-minute mark to try to raise them again, this time going against all protocol and tapping the open line for the entire team.
Once again silence.
Something was jamming the comms. He was cut off.
Snarling a low breath he slowly snaked an arm back to his belt to retrieve a smaller short-range comm. Tech, probably the most tolerable of the group, had gifted them all with one just before their first mission. They were meant for short use, with no speaker, just a small button that could bounce a tone through Tech’s equipment to pass intel if comms were ever compromised.
It had been one of the few intelligent moves the squad had made.
Bringing it up he slowly tapped out a simple call and response sequence, waiting impatiently for Tech to answer.
A few minutes later he was forced to acknowledge that there was no response coming and that something had gone wrong.
Sneering he tapped one last call and response, shifting back away from the edge, ready to pack up his kit and go in after the idiots.
The whine of a drop ship’s engines, however, froze him in place. Pressing himself flat he watched with mounting annoyance as a battered ship came in over trees at his three o’clock, skimming low enough that the ship’s belly snapped the tops off a few of the taller branches.
Kark
The intel packet they had been sent had this outpost storing data banks worth of syndicate trading information that should the Republic gain access to would suddenly provide a large amount of sway over the clan’s activities in this region.
CF 99 had been chosen as Republic troops could not be tracked to the job. If they failed or were captured it could spark hostile retaliation against the nearby Republic planets, all of which were of a civilian populace. The Chancellor had apparently decided that while he was unwilling to risk such a chance with standard-issue GAR clones CF 99 could complete the objective on the grounds that their cosmetic defects and nonstandard armor could place them as mercenaries who had been hired by a rival clan.
It was far from ideal, but they had known that this is what they were meant for. Doing the dirty work that would tarnish the name of the Grand Republic.
Now, however, all that was running through his head was the fact that they were completely alone out here, with no chance of reinforcements or extraction in the case of an emergency.
Crawling forward, Crosshair carefully panned his scope to track the descending ship to where it set down on a derelict landing pad just a few hundred feet off the main structure.
He tapped a quick alert to Tech, but once again received no acknowledgment.
They wouldn’t know anyone was coming until they were on top of them.
Idiots or not, Crosshair couldn’t allow that.
Making his choice, as if it was a choice at all, he shuffled back to where his gear had been stashed against a rock. Stuffing everything inside his pack in fast, practiced motions he left only his rifle out as he tugged the straps over his shoulders and shimmied back to his stand.
The ship had landed and dropped its ramp and he grimaced at the sight of at least two dozen beings exiting the ship’s bay. Risking a few precious seconds he moved his sight along the top lip of the roof until, there, one of the alarm sensors.
He would need to kill and draw as many away as he could to give them a chance to get out, but he could at least trigger the alarms to alert them of the incoming threat. It would alert the syndicate of their presence but with the presence of this new party, the mission was scrapped anyway.
He would still need to play this carefully though. He could give no indication of who they were so he would need to make this look more like an attack than an intentional distraction.
A few of them were wandering towards the structure, if they got too close they would see the damaged lock and know someone was inside. He was out of time.
Bracing himself carefully so that he would be able to move positions quickly once he began firing he took a deep breath, sighting one towards the middle of the group splitting off.
Breathe out.
Fire.
The shot struck the man in the mid back dropping him with a scream, but Crosshair didn’t wait, firing three more rounds quickly, easily clipping one in the main group, dropping a second with a head shot, and intentionally putting the last into the ground. No need for them to think he was anything better than an average marksman.
They were scattering like insects now. Some sprinted for the safety of the ship, a few dove behind trees and rocks, but none ran for the building. Perfect.
Another two rounds went artfully wide pinging the side of the ship before three more strafed the area closer to the outpost, one just happening to strike the alarm system. The claxxon of sirens could be heard even at his distance as all over the outpost security protocols were triggered.
He’d done what he could to warn them. Now he needed to give them the chance to act on that warning.
He fired two more rounds, one killing a man with a messy headshot as he peeked over the edge of the rock he was covering against, the other striking a wide tree trunk. Crosshair didn’t stop to even fully acknowledge the last shot hitting before he was shoving backward away from the edge. His hand tugged the stand free from his rifle even as he rolled on his back and scooted another few feet so he would be covered by the lip of the cliff before rolling forward onto his feet, shoving the collapsed stand into his belt and taking off.
He would need to get to another location quickly and fire from there before moving on again. Rather they think there were several mediocre snipers than one elite marksman. It would hopefully make them more cautious.
He staggered and slid down a short slope before stopping to drop into a quick crouch and fire twice blindly at where the hostiles were beginning to leave their cover and shout, some firing their own rifles at the ledge where he had originally shot from.
So not all idiots. How unfortunate.
He risked the extra few seconds it took for him to aim and take out the man who had been shooting the closest to his original position before he was sprinting again.
(-o-)
Inside the outpost, Tech was frantically turning down the audio sensors on his helmet as the sudden shriek of the alarms threatened to deafen him. As it was he couldn’t stop himself from clapping his hand to his helmet and staggering slightly as he recovered from the sound.
“What in the pits is that?” Hunter whispered harshly from his right where he had been in the process of dragging a body clear of the left side corridor.
“It wasn't me I swear!” Came Wrecker’s not very whispering volumed whisper from his other side where the larger clone was crouched, rifle pointed at the doorway they had just come through.
“That, it would seem, is our warning that we are out of time,” Tech answered as he began working to disconnect his datapad from the terminal.
“Tech?” Hunter queried as he shifted his blaster to a ready position.
“Those are the proximity alarms. So either Crosshair has become extremely clumsy and impatient over the last forty minutes, or someone else is trying to access the facility. Regardless, I suggest we make our way towards the exit.”
“Did you get it?” The Sergeant asked as he shifted uneasily.
“Yes, though I will need to finish decrypting the data on the ship,” he replied distractedly as he shoved the last of the connecting wires into his pack and drew one of his pistols. “There are only two exits to this facility, we are closer to the one we did not use to enter.”
Hunter nodded in understanding.
“Right, then we’ll use that one. Any luck on comms?”
Tech frowned behind the covering of his helmet, “No, I still can’t break through whatever interference is causing the issue. Even the short-range comms are still non-functional.”
He carefully took the lead, glancing at his datapad before swinging them around a corner and into a dark hall.
“Alright. We’ll just have to trust that Crosshair stays covered and meets us at the ship. He’s smart, I’m sure he’s realized something is wrong by now. He’ll be fine.”
(-o-)
Crosshair snarled as he roughly slammed into a tree just as another one to his left spit chunks of bark.
He had known as soon as he heard the speeders that the game had changed and he was out of time. He’d risked firing just a few more shots before he’d finally begun to try to put some distance between the attackers and himself. He’d taken down eight, but they were becoming bolder and with the added help of the three speeder bikes, he knew his luck was out.
He could only hope he’d drawn their attention long enough for the other three to have gotten out.
His left leg burned where a stray shot from one of the speeder drivers had scored a lucky hit on his thigh but he easily ignored it. He’d intentionally aimed for the denser brush, making pursuit on the speeders nigh impossible, but they had been riding in pairs, and while the bikes circled around three men were on foot behind him.
He swung around and fired a quick shot at the nearest man just visible through the thick foliage, grinning viciously as he heard a choked scream. It hadn’t killed the man, no, the aim had been too hasty, but he would be slower at the least and that would have to do for now.
The shot had cost him precious lead on the other two pursuers, however, as another shot scored the rock face of a cliff alongside him. Turning he sprinted, ignoring the new burst of pain as he sought to put more and more ground between them, dodging and ducking as he did. The harder a target he made himself the better.
As he ran he considered his options. If he could get back to the ship, he would have a defensible position. But he would also be running the risk of them comm’ing their ship and it reaching him before the rest of the idiots got back.
In a split-second decision, he decided to take a longer route to try to lose them before circling back.
He swore to anything listening if he got there and they still hadn’t made it back to the ship after everything he was doing that he was going to leave them and not even look back!
(-o-)
Tech raised a clenched fist as the exit door came into view just ahead of them. Wordlessly Hunter nodded and slowly crept out into the open corridor. They had met no further resistance beyond the sparse guard in the outpost, but they would be foolish to allow their own guard to drop while still so deep within hostile territory.
A few seconds later and the Sergeant gave the all-clear as Tech and Wrecker moved past him, Tech immediately moved to the door. He accessed the panel alongside and used the exterior camera to take a quick glance outside.
“Clear, seems we chose correctly,” he mused as he keyed the door open and the three made their way outside.
The alarms were just as loud out here so Tech didn’t immediately hear anything of concern, but Hunter froze, his head cocked in the telltale show that he was listening to something with his enhancements.
Tech and Wrecker glanced around as they waited for an explanation, more than used to this behavior. A few seconds later Hunter drew his attention back to them.
“Someone’s shooting and I can smell blood,” he reported gruffly and Tech felt an involuntary prickle of unease.
“Crosshair?” He questioned, knowing that the other man would be able to tell based on the sound alone if it was their teammate.
“Yeah, but not just him. There’s someone else firing back.”
Tech nodded, he’d feared as much. Tapping the comms, he was disappointed to find that they were still down. Hopefully, it was just their proximity to the outpost and would clear up as they moved further away. He relayed this information to Hunter who nodded.
“We’ll skirt the edges of the perimeter. This is still a stealth op. Unless we come across Crosshair on the way we’re going to have to hope that he makes his way back to the ship.”
“You sure about that Sarge? Shouldn’t we go help? I mean if there’s people shooting at him then we should try to find him right?” Wrecker questioned uneasily.
Tech turned to watch Hunter as he hesitated. It was a long few moments before he answered.
“We have to trust Crosshair to know what he’s doing. If we get to the ship and he isn’t there we’ll go look for him, okay? We need to trust that he can handle himself and make it back.”
Tech and Wrecker nodded, but Tech couldn’t stop from worrying at the comms again as they began moving. He had a bad feeling about this all.
Chapter 2: 2
Notes:
Wow, thank you to everyone who read and commented on the first chapter!! I appreciate you all so much! I've had this one sitting in my docs for a while not sure if I was gonna post it, but I'm glad you guys are enjoying it!!
This chap is where the wound tags come into play, but hey this chap is longer too! Hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Crosshair sneered as he turned to stare at the two men approaching him, blasters raised, his own steadily trained on the space between them, ready to snap to whoever dared fire first.
The warm stench of blood met his nose as he locked the muscles in his abdomen against the urge to curl forward.
The speeders had found a path through faster than he had been expecting, heading him off in a sparser area of the forest. He’d backtracked and managed to hit the fuel tank on one, sending the bike and its riders up in a plume of fire and smoke, but the debris had clipped him, lodging a thin piece in his side.
He hadn’t been stupid enough to stop and pull it out, but the jostling of the shard of metal had winded him, and he’d lost ground even as he looped back into the dense groves. The pain had nearly caused him to blackout when he lost his balance and slid down a small leaf-covered slope, and the precious seconds he’d spent lying dazed on the floor had lost him the last distance advantage he’d created.
Now he could hear the other two speeders coming back around as he stared at the two before him, their masked faces staring sightlessly at him. They all knew what was going to happen. The first to fire at him would die, but the second stood the chance of taking him down before he could get off another shot. The only delay came from deciding who would be the one to pull the trigger. Crosshair was confident that they would wait here forever if he left the choice up to them, the cowards.
The speeders would end the standstill sooner rather than later, however. If they reached this pathetic little standoff, the two men wouldn’t even have to fire, he’d go down under a spray of lasers before he could even pick a target.
“What are you waiting for?” He snarled through bloody teeth, “Going to shoot me?” The goad was a desperate play, and he felt the first sharp sting of something in his chest when they didn’t react at all, just standing there with their blasters steady.
He would have to take his chances. The whine of the remaining speeders’ engines was unmistakable, but so were the sounds of water. He’d caught glimpses of the choppy, flood-bloated river through the trees as he ran, and he figured he’d been unintentionally running parallel to it for most of this idiotic game of tooka and mouse.
He knew it was a desperate move. If he took the time to aim, he would risk the retaliating shot from the other, but if he fired blindly and ran, then he would be exposing his back to both of them.
Where is that brute and all his stupid amounts of explosives when you need him? He thought longingly of the various smoke grenades he knew the larger clone carried on him. If he made it out of this pit-forsaken situation, he was insisting that he be given some for their next assignment.
His stomach throbbed, and he twitched slightly but didn’t allow his rifle to waver. The whine of engines was too close. He had to act now.
With one last bracing breath, he burst into action, snapping his rifle in a quick one-two and, to his absolute shock, saw both men stagger, the scream of blaster fire not his own echoing in his ears, but he didn’t even pause to see if they fell before he was running, sprinting as fast as he could through the trees. His feet slipped on leaves, but he was no longer even attempting to quiet his steps as his entire world narrowed to the glimpse of brackish movement through the trees ahead of him.
The ground behind him splintered, spraying debris as the whine-boom of the forward cannons of the speeders reached him just as he burst from the brush.
He didn’t have time to think as he threw himself forward into the rushing water as a shout sounded behind him.
The cold nearly stole the air from his lungs, but he forced himself to stay under the surface as the water pulled him quickly along. All he could do was curl around his rifle and try to brace his arms around his head as he lost all sense of direction in the gloomy dimness of the water.
It was deeper than he had thought, and he couldn’t stop the instinctual kicks he made, the frantic searching for the riverbed to orient himself, but his boots only met open water as he tumbled.
He bounced from one unseen object to another, too cold and disoriented to even begin to react to the rough treatment. It wasn’t until he felt as though he would break and breath the filthy water that he forced himself to begin to swim.
Every clone on Kamino had experienced the terror of the raging seas of the planet at least once, and it was that experience that allowed him to instinctually recognize the tugging feeling of the water trying to drag him down and kicked in the opposite direction.
Only to be met with nothing. The light didn’t change. It was still dark. Where was the sun? The surface? He tore off his helmet, letting it be ripped away by the current, desperate to find even a glimpse of the surface in his panic.
The first real spike of fear pierced his heart, and he kicked upwards again, his only free hand pushing down in a powerful stoke as his eyes stung and his lungs ached. He bounced into something else, not rock, something floating with him, and latched on, using it to drag himself in the direction of the surface. It had to be the surface.
He breathed his first lungful of water just as he felt cool air on his hand, and in a last desperate surge, he pulled himself up the object, a tree he realized dimly, and broke the surface with a ragged, choking gasp.
Gagging, he clutched to the slick wood as his chest heaved with the effort to expel the water from his chest. His entire body curled as he finally threw up the remaining water, along with anything he’d eaten recently. He gagged a few more times before he felt himself able to breathe clearly again, leaving him to stare around dazedly as he clung to his anchor, trembling from cold and the after-effects of having heaved.
It took him longer than he would have liked to muster the willpower to drag himself, careful handhold by handhold to the edge of the river, where he could grasp the dangling roots of nearby brush and heave himself up the gouged out bank.
Ignoring the aches in his body, he forced himself to stagger to his feet, water streaming from his armor as he staggered into the trees. He had no idea how far downstream he was, but there was nothing to gain by remaining in the open. He could orient himself once he was hidden.
He pushed himself to make it at least a hundred or so feet from the river before he began to hunt for a tree to climb. The damp debris on the forest floor would help to cover his tracks, but he would have better luck with a vantage point of avoiding detection and reorienting himself.
Plus, if his survival training had taught him anything, the enemy very rarely looked up.
(-o-)
Not long into his hunt, he found a patch of evergreens, some of the few trees that weren’t nearly bare with the coming winter. After quickly crouching to store his rifle, he made to stand and make his first jump for the lower branches but instead found himself staggering hard as his vision grayed threateningly at the movement.
Alarmed, he locked his knees and tried to breathe through the lightheaded feeling. A moment later, he felt vaguely steadier and made his way to his chosen target. Some relatively thick branches had drooped under their own weight over time, and he easily grasped the lowest one, intending to pull himself up.
Pain lit up his mind, and the next thing he was aware of, he was lying on the forest floor in more pain than he had ever experienced.
Gasping raggedly as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensation, he cautiously levered himself to sit and lean against the trunk, finally taking a moment to assess himself.
The shrapnel was still lodged in his left side abdomen, but he could see that his armor had done its job in slowing the impact enough that he figured only an inch or two had actually pierced him. His entire body felt battered from his time in the river, and his leg still burned from the earlier shot he’d taken on his thigh.
Then where was all the blood coming from, he wondered dimly as he slowly became aware of the tightness around his shoulder and upper back.
Hesitantly, he rolled his head to look down towards the tugging sensation around his right shoulder and stared, vaguely confused by what he was seeing.
There were two neat holes through his armor, the plastoid appearing to have been blown outward, the dark gray scored from the heat and blood.
He dimly remembered the sound of a blaster firing just behind the echo of his own as he’d made a run for the river.
He’d been hit. Two shots through the back of his armor as he’d turned to run.
Crosshair realized that he should be more concerned about this and should likely be feeling some sort of pain. But there was nothing but disbelief as he stared at the neat little exit wounds.
(-o-)
He lost time. He didn’t know how he knew it, but Crosshair was sure that time had passed when he next became aware of himself. That still, numbness from before had faded, and he nearly retched again as the pain in his shoulder finally registered. As it was, he couldn’t stop himself from curling forward with a long whine of pain, panting through nausea even that small movement caused. The smell of blood clogging his senses did nothing to help, and he tried to take shallow breaths through his mouth.
He needed to...to… his mind stalled in a way that sent a cold flash of fear through him as he struggled to remember what it was he had needed to do.
He needed to run? No, he’d been climbing. Climbing? Climbing! Find a vantage point and hide!
Crosshair’s eyes widened as he snapped his head up, holding his breath as he strained to hear the telltale whine of an engine, the sound of footsteps or voices.
He had been sitting here senseless like some shiny cadet while the enemy could be searching for him!
He sat there listening for only a short time before he was forced to breathe again, but the adrenalin of his realization had cleared his mind enough for him to begin moving.
One slight movement of his right arm nearly caused him to blackout again, so he quickly gave up on that for now, focusing instead on using his good hand to slowly ease the straps of his bag away from the injury so that he could access its contents.
First...first he...Bleeding. He needed to stop the bleeding. He’d lost time which meant he’d been losing blood for too long.
He dug into the pack and pulled out the standard-issue medpack that every trooper was required to carry. Popping the small case, he stared in dismay at the meager kit. He’d known what he would find inside, but he still couldn’t stop the thin whine of frustration as he realized just how little there was to help him.
The kit was never meant for a full field triage, just enough to stuff a blaster wound or two until a real medic could get to you. Or, in their case, the closest thing to a medic they had, Tech.
Stop wasting time! He reprimanded himself angrily as he caught himself just staring at the pack. You’re bleeding out, karking do something!
He dug through the contents with clumsy fingers until he felt the small cylindrical shapes of the two hypos. One painkiller, one stim. He immediately grasped the painkiller and, after fumbling with the safety cap for a few precious seconds, lined the tip up with the gap in his armor on the inner part of his thigh and depressed the plunger.
Gasping raggedly for a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes as the painkiller slowly took effect, waiting until his senses dulled just enough before he forced himself to alertness again.
The dosage on the hypos was lower than average to allow the user to remain cognizant after using them in the field, and he knew that his faster metabolism would burn through the dose even quicker than a reg, so he would need to act fast.
He quickly decided he would save the stim shot until right before he moved to help him push through the pain of the first hypo wearing off. Carefully setting the second dose in the open lid of the container, he instead tugged out the small packet of sterile wipes before stopping again as he realized he would need to remove his cuirass in order to get to the wounds, and he would need to remove the shrapnel first...
“Kriff. Kriff!” He hissed as he felt a surge of frustrated helplessness wash over him, making him want to scream at everything and nothing, but he shoved in forcefully down as he instead let the packet drop and hesitantly raised his trembling fingers to the clasps of his armor. He was able to undo the buckles, but his hand hovered above the shrapnel. It wasn’t as deep as he first thought, but it would still hurt. Deciding that he was just wasting precious time, he took two sharp gasps and yanked the metal free, sending a sharp stab of pain through his abdomen, but the piece came free with only about an inch or so of its tip stained red.
The easy part over, he raised his hand to grip his collar, but he paused just before making a move to lift it.
At that moment, bracing for the pain he knew was coming, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing desperately that someone else was here. That he wasn’t karking alone.
Shut up, you absolute fool! You don’t need them! You’ve never needed anyone, and you don’t need anyone now! Pull yourself together! He thought angrily, and as if to prove that to himself, he gripped the edges of the armor with both hands and lifted it up and off of him in one quick movement and threw it down beside him.
Fire tore through his shoulder, and he couldn’t stop the scream that rose in him, even as he clenched his jaw against it. Involuntary tears of pain filled his vision as he took several sobbing gasps, forcing himself to not curl forward, knowing that it would only pull on his back more.
“Kark kark kark kark!” He gasped as he fought to not sob openly, fumbling for the zipper of his blacks with his good hand that shook so bad it took him several tries to grasp the small clasp and tug it down.
“Kark this karking planet and this karking mission and those karking bastards!” He snarled only to have another sob of pain and anger torn from him as the fabric pulled away from the wound, tugging the little blood that had managed to congeal around the wound free and setting the entire thing bleeding again.
He cursed helplessly as he fumbled the sterile wipes as he tried to tear the packing open, dropping them twice before he tore it open with his teeth and got the first one free.
Three rapid, bracing breaths, and he pressed the sterile cloth against the wounds.
And screamed.
He couldn’t even try to contain the sounds of pain as the alcohol burned into the wounds, and the pressure felt as though he were driving a stake through the raw flesh. The cloth immediately colored pink, then red as the blood-soaked the white fabric. He was becoming lightheaded again, but he forced himself to hold the fabric long enough for the cloth to serve its purpose. As soon as the silent count was done, he dropped the cloth and allowed himself to carefully curl forward, just a little whimpering slightly as even that only brought more pain.
Maker, he was going to throw up again. Or pass out. Or both at this rate. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, not alone. He still needed to sterilize the entrance wounds, and even the thought pulled a ragged half sob of fear and anger from him.
Why was he alone? Where was his squad, his teammates? Things were supposed to be different now. He was never supposed to be alone once he had a team.
Tears streamed down his face as he gave another scream, this one of pure anger at the unfairness of his situation, at the fact that they weren’t here, at the fact that he wanted them here so badly despite everything.
Panting for air, he slowly dragged himself back under control because it didn’t matter. They weren’t here, and even if they came looking for him, he needed to help himself, or he would bleed out long before they found him. He was not going to allow himself to die like some pathetic reg who had been separated from his batch.
The pain was just as excruciating, and the angle at which he was trying to reach made it even worse, but he was ready for it this time and managed to muffle the sounds that punched from his chest as he applied pressure. He only hoped that this quick attempt would prevent at least some of the infection, though, after the state of the water, he knew he would likely need a real medic before this was over.
He allowed himself just a short break before he was tearing into the bacta infused gauze patches and roughly pressing them against the wounds, peeling up the edges as to secure them to his skin with their adhesive. This at least brought a brief relief as he felt the cooling properties of the bacta leech away some of the sharper pain.
Having stopped himself at least temporarily from bleeding out, he finally took a few minutes to simply breathe and allow himself to calm down, listening with his eyes closed for any signs of his pursuers as his trembling slowly faded back to a more manageable level.
He knew he still needed to address his other injuries and would need to get moving again soon, but for just a moment, he allowed himself to rest.
(-o-)
They set a fast pace, skirting the area surrounding the outpost with a wider trajectory and thus weren’t aware of attackers until they were almost upon them.
They had been jogging in short bursts, keeping to the denser trees, when Hunter suddenly froze, his head snapping to the side. Tech and Wrecker slowed hesitantly, waiting to see what had caught their leader’s attention. Hunter suddenly jerked back into motion almost as fast as he’d stopped.
“Speeders!” He barked, and then Tech heard them too, the telltale whine of their engines unmistakable.
“Cover, we won’t outrun them on foot,” Hunter orders, and they all immediately duck back into the denser brush.
The speeders, two modified bikes, shoot through the area not a minute later, heading in the direction of where the Havoc Marauder sat nestled into a small grove.
“Well,” Tech said as they cautiously stepped out of their various hides. “That may complicate things.”
“Yeah, no kidding! What if they find the ship? Won’t be much of a stealth mission if they know we’re coming. And what if Cross is there?”
Tech glanced up at the clear worry in the larger clone’s voice.
“If Crosshair has made it back to the ship, then he will be in far better shape than us if we’re caught out here by those. Worst comes to worst, he simply closes the door and takes off until we can contact him,” Hunter commented, watching the direction the speeders had disappeared in with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to the pair.
“Still not comms?” He asked, and Tech hesitated before revealing his recent discovery.
“That is a complicated question. I’m afraid that the comms are actually fully functional now. We must have left the dampening field,” he admitted earning a whoop from Wrecker.
“Alright! Now you can comm Cross, and we can get outta here!”
Tech winced and caught Hunter’s eyes, the other’s face grim as he likely caught on to what Tech hadn’t said.
“He’s still not answering,” Hunter said plainly, not bothering to make it a question as Tech shook his head, brow furrowing with frustration and concern.
“No, he isn’t. Ever since I realized that the comms were functional again, I have been sending repeating call and response prompts over both the encrypted channel and our short wave system. Wherever Crosshair is, he has either damaged or lost his comms,” he hesitated too long, and Hunter filled in the rest.
“Or he’s in a situation where he can’t answer.”
Tech nodded solemnly.
Either way, something had gone terribly wrong.
(-o-)
By the time Crosshair had managed to wrap his shoulder to secure the gauze and bandage the other wounds, he was exhausted. Nothing sounded better at that moment than simply leaning back against the tree and sleeping until everything didn’t hurt.
Which is why he instead set about replacing his armor. He knew that if he allowed himself to rest now, then the next time he woke, he may not have the energy left to get up again.
The cuirass hurt just as much getting on as it had taking it off, with even the brief relief of the bacta not able to do anything against the pain of lifting his arm and fitting the armor back into place. The best and worst part of replacing the tightly fitting plastoid was that with the gauze and wrapping, the dressing was just bulky enough for the unforgiving armor to place constant pressure on the wounds. Crosshair knew logically that this would only help him in the long run, but Deep Gods did it hurt. Just sitting still now felt like a chore, and he could only imagine what moving or firing his rifle would do.
The last thought stopped him as icy fear trickled into his mind.
His rifle. The stock would need to be braced against his right shoulder to fire properly.
No. No, he couldn’t. He could barely stand the light pressure of the armor. No matter how good his training, attempting to absorb the recoil of the modified sniper rifle would be too much.
Of course, he had trained to alternate shoulders, but he had allowed himself to fall out of the habit. Without the maintained muscle memory, he would risk injuring his other shoulder, and his shots would be sloppy and wild. But what was his alternative? He was alone and injured. He couldn’t be unarmed as well.
No, no, he would need to risk it. If the men from before found him in this state, he wouldn’t be able to run, which meant he would need to make a stand and hope that it wasn’t his final.
Suddenly it struck him. The short-range comm!
Scrabbling with numb fingers, he dug frantically into the pouches of his belt, nearly crying out as his fingers wrapped around the bulky little piece of tech. Crosshair tugged it free with a small noise of triumph and held it up to the light streaming through the trees, only for his heart to sink.
The device was waterlogged and had no visible lights.
“No, no, no!” He snarled helplessly as he shook the water from it and frantically thumbed the switch that would send the tone. Nothing, not even a crackle of static, met his efforts.
“Kark it all!” He yelled and, in a fit of anger, tossed the thing hard away from him only to immediately regret it as the device tumbled to a halt a few yards away where it lay mocking him.
For the first time, he felt something akin to despair take hold as it sank in exactly how bad his situation was, how little chance there was that he made it out of this.
All his years of training had drilled into him that as soon as you allowed yourself to slip into the mentality of losing, you had already lost, but now as he sat there, soaked and aching, all he could think of was that those Trainers could shove it.
There came the point where he needed to be realistic. That had been their other shining piece of knowledge over the years. Knowing when the odds were just plain against you. At the time, Crosshair had scoffed at the notion. Giving up, losing? That was something regs did, not someone like him.
He really had been an arrogant little bastard, hadn’t he? The dark humor managed to drag a grim smile to his face.
Notes:
I actually feel a little bad about what I'm doing to this poor man...but that's not gonna stop me :) Thanks for reading!! As always love and appreciate chatting in the comments even if I'm garbage at replying in a timely fashion! Please know that even if I don't reply very fast I read all of them and appreciate you all immensely and will reply! See you guys next weekend!
Chapter 3: 3
Notes:
Long time no see friends! Sorry for the long absence, life has been life and a lot has happened since the last chapter, but thank you to everyone who has read so far and for your patience!
Appreciate you all and hope you enjoy! This chap is dedicated to wwheeljack & Polyphonic_Garden without whom this chapter may have never gotten done!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They had nearly reached the Havoc when they were forced to cover once again as a ship suddenly buzzed overhead, setting down not far ahead of them. Right, as a matter of fact, where Tech knew their own ship waited.
"Looks like we're out of luck, boys," Hunter murmured over the comms as they crept a short distance further and saw that, sure enough, the larger ship had landed not a few hundred feet from where the Omicron shuttle sat with two manned speeders parked nearby.
"The ship isn't on, and I'm not picking up heat signatures inside," Tech reported with mounting dread.
"He's not here. Hunter, come on, you know something's wrong!" Wrecker whispered harshly as the Sergeant stared out at their newest threat.
"Hunter!" The brawler demanded when their brother didn't answer.
"I know!" Hunter finally snarled, rounding on them in a sharp movement that forced Tech to step back slightly. Hunter immediately seemed to register his tone and spoke up again, his voice lower. "I-I know, alright? But what are we going to do about it? These forests are dense, and even if we find him, we still have to get our ship out of there," he gestured towards the clearing.
"The longer we wait, the higher the risk of them getting in there and finding out things they shouldn't know."
Tech was nodding along, but Wrecker still seemed hesitant, "But what if he needs help? What if something bad happened to him?" He insisted, and Tech didn't envy Hunter's position.
Make the call to get to the ship and risk losing precious time finding their missing brother? Or jeopardize their status as Republic agents and their way off this planet? Neither option was ideal, which is why Tech decided to present an alternative.
"Then we shall simply have to accomplish both objectives."
Two visors turned to him in question.
"We cannot allow our ship to fall into the hands of syndicate agents or pirates, nor can we risk Crosshair by delaying our search for him for the undetermined length of time it may take to fight our way through and escape with the ship. So the only solution is to do both."
"Yeah, but how?" Wrecker muttered, but Tech could feel Hunter's eyes boring into him.
"He's talking about splitting up," he said flatly, his voice telling Tech exactly how his brother felt about that plan. Wrecker seemed to share his opinion.
"What? That's exactly what got us into this mess in the first place!"
But Tech was shaking his head, staring hard at Hunter, knowing that he needed only to convince him of the plan's logic.
"We are operating under the assumption that Crosshair has been incapacitated in some manner. As the only fully trained medic of the three of us, it is imperative that I be present when he is found to administer aid. However, as you said, searching for him will take time we cannot spare with the risk of those men breaking into the Marauder. What I am proposing is that we rig an explosion on the ridge to the left, just over there," he gestured at the short choppy ridgeline and the other two briefly followed the movement before looking back at him.
"At least some of their force will move to check on the activity, leaving a better chance for you two to make a break for the ship. Once onboard, you will be able to take off and potentially cripple their own ship. Meanwhile, I shall make my way to Crosshair's last known position and track him from there. Once you two are clear and won't draw attention, I can comm you my position, and you can loop back to pick up Crosshair and me."
"What happens if we can't cripple the ship?" Hunter asks, and Tech gives him a half shrug.
"Then you engage them in aerial combat or leave atmo and hope to lose them that way. You both completed the same piloting modules as I. Though you may not be as proficient, I trust you to not crash at least."
Hunter went silent after that, and Tech waited patiently for him to reach the same conclusion as Tech himself. He knew there were several points where critical errors could occur. However, given the short notice and time limit, it was, in his educated opinion, the best option available. Wrecker had crossed his arms, clearly disagreeing with the idea, but Tech knew he would accept Hunter's decision.
"Alright, fine. We'll split up."
"Excellent! Now, Wrecker, if I could borrow a few of your remote detonators, we'll need to work fast."
(-o-)
A short time later, Tech crouched opposite the ridge hidden among a small clump of ferns.
"Are you two in position?" He murmured, eyes scanning the area. Two of the men had begun attempts to override the ramp commands, though they had met with little success. Tech had carefully laid several detonators along the ridge, far enough apart that the amount of activity would hopefully draw a larger number of hostiles. As he had done this, Wrecker and Hunter had looped around the back of the ship with plans to sneak under the fuselage to avoid detection and access the ship through the gunner's hatch.
In the confusion of the ship starting and taking off, Tech would leave and begin his search for Crosshair.
"In position. Count us off, Tech. And remember, be careful. If we get caught in a dogfight, we may not be able to get to you if you're spotted."
"I won't be," Tech assured confidently. "Detonation in three, two, one, detonate."
As he spoke, his thumb pressed the trigger setting off a series of explosions at a staggered interval. Immediately shouts rose from the men, some drawing their guns and making their way cautiously forward, while Tech saw several run for the ship. A moment later, the forward turret swung to face the ridge.
Looking back to where the Havoc Marauder sat, Tech was immensely pleased that the two men who had been picking at the door controls had jogged a short distance away with their own weapons raised. Their armor blending perfectly with the shadow of the ship, Tech could just make out his brother's as they crept underneath, and after only a brief pause, Hunter disappeared up into the hatch, quickly followed by Wrecker.
The flare of the shuttle's engines a few moments later sent the area into utter chaos. Even as the ship began to lift off, the turret was spinning to point at the enemy ship, whose occupants had not yet managed to rotate their own.
Wrecker opened fire on the ship just as the triple engine cones of the larger ship lit, and it rocked unsteadily into the air, stuttering awkwardly to the side as the faster attack shuttle's blaster fire peppered its hull. But as Tech watched, he realized what was happening.
"The hull is reinforced. Aim for the gunner's pit on the top and their engines!" He commanded and saw Wrecker swing the turret to aim for the engines as instructed as Hunter carefully spun the ship to turn their more vulnerable flank away from the ship, creating a smaller target. But by now, the other ship had oriented itself enough to return fire. Being larger and clearly modified for combat also gave it the advantage of carrying heavier weaponry.
Tech flinched as the first booming shot struck the Havoc, knocking her backward in the air and threatening to send her into a rotation.
"Kark, that thing has some firepower!" Hunter grit out over the comm as Tech watches Wrecker's returning fire bounce harmlessly against the rear shield. All around them the men on the ground had added their own fire to the barrage, spattering the Havoc's underbelly.
"The Havoc can't match it in brute force, but you could certainly outrun it. Draw them away. I'm going to go find Crosshair," Tech commanded even as the shuttle rocked under another round of fire.
"You had better be careful you hear me! We'll comm as soon as we lose our new friends," came Hunter's gritted reply, and Tech only stuck around long enough to see the ship start to point its nose up before he was moving.
Behind him, the roar of engines echoed.
(-o-)
It had taken some time, but Crosshair had managed to pull himself out of the little pity party he'd allowed himself to throw and now was cursing himself for having wasted so much time.
He knew his only hope was to reach the ship and hope that the others had already arrived and that he didn't meet anyone along the way. Crosshair didn't need any special medical training to know he was in too bad a way to survive a combat scenario.
As planned, just before he'd dragged himself to his feet, he'd injected himself with the small stim shot. It had been truly telling of just how badly his body was faring that it barely seemed to touch the bones deep exhaustion that begged him to just sit back down. As it was not ten minutes later, and he had already felt as though he had never even taken the dose.
A quick assessment had him leaving his pack behind. After all, the only remaining things inside were ration packs, water, and some basic thermal material. Crosshair figured that by the time he reached the point of any of those becoming a concern, he would have either collapsed and died or found his way back to his squad. Either way, they were just extra weight he could not afford. He'd sipped the water and used it to briefly clean the blood from his hands and torn the thermal material to fashion a quick bandoleer for himself as to be able to keep his rifle but not lose the use of his one good hand. It was awkward and inefficient, but it was better than being completely defenseless.
He'd also taken the small vibroknife that came standard issue. Though if it came down to him betting his life on its use as a defense, he figured he was going to be in pretty poor shape.
In the end, he had burned precious energy retrieving the useless comm as well. It was broken, and Tech could surely make another, but some sad little sentimental part of him clung to the fact that broken or not, it was his only link to his squad. The only thing that reminded him he wasn't completely alone out here.
He hated himself for even giving in to such emotions, but feeling its now-familiar weight tucked in his belt soothed something deep in his chest. He tried to ignore it.
A brief contemplation had led him to make his way back to the river. Without being able to scale anything steeper than a small step up or climb, his options were limited to orient himself. He knew it was a risk. The sloping banks were slick and unsteady, and he would be completely exposed, but it was also his best shot of finding something recognizable that he could use as a point of reference for the ship. Then there was also always the threat of running across the men from before, though Crosshair was banking heavily upon the fact that they would never think him stupid enough to come right back to the same area. After all, it was an idiotic choice. Which he could only hope made it the best.
His foot caught on nothing for the third time, and he snarled and cursed as his stumbling jarred his shoulder, but he managed to keep his feet. He'd been staggering along for what felt like ages, however, he suspected that based on the fact that he'd only just passed the outcropping of rock that he'd noticed ahead before that, it hadn't been very long at all.
The stim would wear off sooner rather than later, and he knew he needed to make as much time as he could before that happened. As it was, his exhaustion and the haze of pain were making his vision wobble and fade.
Just a few minutes, just long enough to catch his breath, he reasoned as he carefully leaned his weight against a tree, doing his best to pull his shoulders back from his painful hunch to help his lungs expand. He might not have even heard if he hadn't been standing still as his breathing evened out. But he did.
An explosion, followed closely by blaster fire.
His eyes snapped open, and he turned to stare with numb terror in the direction of the sound until his sluggish thoughts caught up, and he realized the noise was too far away.
His team.
Nearly holding his breath, he listened frantically for...For what? He was too far to hear anything other than the rapid report of laser fire and something deeper a moment later.
Staggering away from the tree, he kept his eyes fixed on where the sounds came from, committing to memory the direction. He had a sign now. He could find them. If he could only find a way across this thrice-cursed river, he would know exactly where to go.
With a surge of something he refused to call hope, he started stumbling forward again, straining to hear. There was a new sound joining the faint whine of cannon fire, something low and rumbling.
His lack of attention cost him as his foot hit a slick patch of leaves, and this time he didn't catch himself in time. The impact of his knees seemed to set his very nerves alight as he gave a choked-off cry of pain, bracing his good hand on the ground as he blinked tears and blackness from his vision.
The low sound was suddenly deafening, and the soft breeze became a blasting gale.
Startled, Crosshair lifted his head just in time to watch the Havoc Maurader lift its nose towards the sky, engines at full burn as it shot towards the atmosphere. A moment later, the ship from the outpost flung itself after, once again buffeting Crosshair with warm air. He barely felt it, however, as his eyes remained fixed on the rapidly fading speck that had been his last chance.
His only hope.
He watched the sky until neither ship was visible any longer, and even then, he continued to stare.
They'd left him.
He'd fought, bled for them to have a chance, and they had left him without a second thought.
Helpless tears burned his eyes as he continued to stare at the now clear sky. He was going to die here, he realized. He'd had one chance of getting out of this alive, and they had abandoned him. On this backwater piece of shit planet that no one even knew they were on.
They'd left him to die.
Alone.
The tears were coming harder now, but his chest was fit to burst as the rage swelled in him.
He-how…Those bastards! How dare they! How karking dare they leave him! After everything they had said about being a team! About how they had bragged about being the best, about sticking together those first few missions.
Them against the world.
How fucking stupid was he for believing that garbage? Those lies! Had everything he'd been through not taught him anything? Had all those he beat, every test he'd endured, not proven the same thing?
Trust was a weakness! A foolish liability that simpleton regs banked their worthless little existences on. He knew better! He knew!
Yet he had trusted them. He'd allowed their optimistic ideas and false words of comradery to draw him in, and oh, how his pathetic heart had believed them.
And now, he would pay for his lapse in judgment.
It figures that he'd survive his entire life alone only to be killed by the very people meant to change that. Ironic? Or pitiful?
He laughed at that last thought, the laugh becoming a choked sob of pain as the motion tugged at his wounds, and he stared into the inevitability that in a few hours, he'd be dead.
He should get up, move back into the trees, go find his pack again. Anything.
But instead, he sat and allowed himself to fall apart to the small comfort that there would be no one to see him finally break.
Notes:
Poor Cross >:(
Chapter 4: Chap 4
Notes:
Hello, my lovelies! Apologies as always for the delays, real life not cooperating, and all that, but back with another chapter! If you are waiting patiently for the next chapter of Silence I promise it is in the works! That one is just fighting me more than usual.
Massive shout out to wwheeljack, The EasternEmpress, EternalQueenofThemyscira, WiseOwl18 and PolyphonicGarden who not only have taken on the challenge of beta reading my content but are also the absolute best and kindest creators I know and are a huge piece of my motivation to write and create! <3 Thank you all of you!
I hope everyone enjoys! We are almost to the end of this journey and it has been a doozy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tech managed to find the cliff where Crosshair had been watching over them, but there was no sign of the sniper, and the marks of blaster scoring on the rocks left him little hope that his brother had simply been sidetracked.
From here, he could see the outpost clearly, and after using his visor to magnify the area, the bodies that still lay around the old landing pad. No doubt his brother's work, he thought with grim satisfaction as he took in just how many the other man had managed to kill before he'd evidently been forced to flee.
Luckily the thick covering of wet, decaying leaves and foliage on the forest floor left him an easily followed path, at least for a little while.
After a short time, he was dismayed to find that he no longer needed the sparse trail as a clear path had been blasted through the forest, laser fire blackening trees and rocks nearby constantly. He thought grimly of the two speeders that had been with the ship. The sniper was intelligent and fast, but even he wouldn't have been able to outrun a speeder.
Tech followed the path until the flattened trail veered sharply off as he came across a dense patch of undergrowth.
He forced them to find a path. Smart. That will have bought him time. Tech thought with a spark of hope as he stared at the crushed brambles leading into the thicket and carefully began to pick his way through.
Not much later, he broke from the dense covering and found the remnants of a destroyed speeder.
Approaching cautiously, he found the two bloodied remains of its riders. The wreckage still smoldered, and as he slowly turned in a circle, he had to admire the damage. The speeder was too mangled to tell what had started the destruction, but pieces of metal lay as far as a few yards away, some embedded into nearby trees. The force of the explosion must have been spectacular. A blown fuel tank? Had this been Crosshair's work as well?
He felt a swell of pride for his brother as he surveyed the damage with a new appreciation. Perhaps Hunter had been correct in assuming that their newest addition could hold his own. It seemed fairly likely that he had managed to evade the last of his pursuers as the speeders had been present with the ship. Could it be that Crosshair had already been on his way back to the Havoc? Should he begin making his way back towards where the ships took off from in hopes of meeting up with the other? Frowning, he decided to check in on his brother's progress as he began wandering the area.
"Havoc?" He asked into his comm.
"Little busy, Tech!" Hunter's strained reply came as the echoing sound of laser fire and the rattle of the ship itself burst through Tech's helmet speakers.
"Everything going alright up there?" He asked innocently as he knelt near to where he could see the trampled signs of someone passing through a low clump of brambles. He squinted at something wet on the branches, frowning as his gloved fingers swiped through what he could not clearly identify as blood but strongly suspected. Perhaps Crosshair's fortune had not been so good as he'd thought.
"Oh, yeah, sure, things are going fantastic. How about you? Having a nice stroll?" Came the snarky reply, which would have made Tech grin if not for his concerning new discovery.
"I've found evidence of a speeder explosion. I strongly suspect it to be Crosshair's work, however, there are also traces of blood left by someone fleeing the scene. The riders are accounted for."
The cursing from the other end picked up in earnest.
"You think it was Cross?" Wrecker chimed in, his voice loud in the confines of his helmet, causing Tech to wince.
"I can't imagine any more likely conclusions. Unless there is someone else they are after out here. Do you have an estimate for when you will lose your tail?"
"Oh, of course, let me just do that right quick for you there, Tech. Sorry for dawdling, you know how it is," Hunter snarled though his voice went high towards the end, and the engineer could hear a yelp and a concerningly loud boom.
"I think it best I leave you to your fun then. Please comm me again when the other ship is gone, and you are making your return. I cannot tell how poor of a shape he may be in, and we may need to make a fast exit should he require more aid than I can provide with my limited supplies."
When Hunter's voice came back through the comm, it had taken on a more serious tone, "We'll be as fast as we can, be careful down there. We don't know if any stayed behind."
"I will, Tech out," he promised before closing the comm line and carefully wading into the brush, eyes scanning for more signs of their wayward brother.
(-o-)
It had been some time before Crosshair staggered to his feet again, but even as he did, he had little idea what to do. He wasn't naive to think that he stood much of a chance of surviving. He was injured, wet, exhausted, and bereft of supplies. Even if he managed to relocate his earlier abandoned pack, then what? He could head back to the facility. It was shelter, but what would be the use of a shelter whose owners could return and kill him once he was too weak to fight back?
The GAR had been very clear about what they should do if they faced capture in any form. His good hand curled around the stock on his rifle. It would be hard with only one arm. His eyes drifted slowly to the hollow chamber built into his vambrace, another near the butt of his rifle, the place where he knew there was a small scar in the meat of his bad hand.
Say one thing for the GAR, say they were good at disposing of liabilities.
He glanced blurrily around himself, missing the familiar tint of his helmet as his enhanced sight failed him, and he felt his body slowing down.
It would be less painful. What was he waiting for other than a slow death?
But even as he thought the words, something in him recoiled from that statement. At the idea of after everything he'd been through, just laying down and dying. It sent a wave of disgust through him, and with a low groan, he began to stagger on. Just keep moving, he would find the solution later, but he needed to keep moving.
(-o-)
By the time Tech had reached the surging, flood-bloated river, he was certain he would not find Crosshair in an acceptable condition. The longer he had followed the trail of his fleeing brother, the more signs had built a picture of just how desperate the other was becoming in his bid for escape.
He scanned the dark surging water with a critical eye, his mind running the other's chances of survival unprompted. He forced himself to stop before he could finish the calculations. The factors alone painted a picture he was unwilling to accept at this point. Instead, he focused his attention on finding any signs that Crosshair had instead fled along the banks, doubled back, anything other than gone in.
It took little time to run out of excuses or theories, and he found himself staring again at the choppy, mudstained rapids. A moment's flash of hopelessness hit him as he ran the facts through his mind again. Maybe if he hadn't already been injured, perhaps if he had been fresh in the fight, then maybe his chances wouldn't have been so low. But the sniper had been injured. He had been fleeing his pursuers.
Tech dragged his eyes up, scanning the opposite bank again before he took a steadying breath and allowed himself a moment to come to terms with the facts before he set off downstream.
Even if Crosshair had…, he deserved to be brought home. Tech refused to leave his brother behind.
(-o-)
His knees finally buckled, sending him down in a graceless sprawl. He couldn't even bring himself to shift his legs under him, to fully roll to his side as to take his face away from the muddy soil. As it was, he used what was left of his strength to twist his head, dragging his cheek until he could stare out over the nearby water.
His bad arm was trapped partially under his bulk, but the limb had gone numb some time ago, and some part of him urged him to lift it to his mouth, to bite that little scar and finish the last objective he'd been given. Let the little capsule ensure anyone who found him couldn't use his mind. But his arm remained trapped, his cheek pressed to the dirt, his eyes staring at the water.
Until they slipped closed.
(-o-)
The others had been forced to make a short, in-system jump to lose their assailants in the end and had relayed that to Tech some time ago before leaving comm range. As it was, he hoped the other ship would return to the facility to collect their dead or whatever they had initially come here for. Who knew their actual purposes.
He expected his brothers would return sooner rather than later. With the planet's night cycle approaching, Tech was moving faster in an attempt to cover more ground before the light faded enough to decrease his chances of finding his lost brother even further.
His fingers tensed and untensed around the strap of his pack, which held his medical supplies, as he made another sweep of the debris-riddled edge alongside him and then repeated it with the far side-.
A dark shape caught his eyes, and he squinted hard. The shoreline was littered with rocks, branches, and general debris, and more than once, his poor vision had caused him to tense in hope for what turned out to be some large bough washed up or a cluster of oblong stones. But the more he squinted at the shape, the more he was certain, the cold feeling entering his chest expanding with each moment.
"Crosshair!" Tech called, yelling over the noise of the river, hoping that there would be some sign as he flipped his visor down and activated his targeting.
It confirmed the damning truth.
"Crosshair, can you hear me?" He yelled again even as his eyes darted around frantically for some way he could cross the water safely. There was no thinner portion or piled debris, and the strength of the current certainly showed no sign of slowing.
"Crosshair, I am going to attempt to cross the river. Please respond, but do not try to rise!"
The trees! He had a standard issue grapple. He wouldn't be able to clear the water. The cable range wasn't large enough for him to snag any of the taller flora, which would give him the leverage to swing over. Even then, none were close enough to the bank to serve that purpose either. No, his best chance was to use it as a way to drag himself across and hope that nothing snagged the cable or he became detached.
Taking a moment, he ensured that his supplies, external electronics, and other pistol were stowed and properly sealed away in his pack before putting it back on backward. He wasn't sure how deep the water was, even near the edges, and any extra protection he could afford himself would be well worth it. It also allowed him to use his free arm to wrap around it. He took one last glance at the sniper's still form before narrowing his attention to the trees.
Nothing too close to the water where the roots may be unstable, nothing too young or spindly. Despite the urgency, Tech took his time to finally pick his target and maintained that caution when aiming his shot. It was worth it when he felt it catch and pull taut under his testing.
"Alright, I suppose there's nothing to do," he muttered, hooking the cable to his belt, stowing his weapon in the rigged holster, and with a bracing breath, launched himself forward as he hit the retraction.
The water rose to meet him, and he felt the air forced from him at the initial impact and the freezing temperatures, his helmet offering little barrier between him and the dirty water. As it was, he gagged and managed to catch a small gulp of air before he went completely under. Despite his goggles maintaining their airtight seal around his eyes, he couldn't help but squeeze them closed in a moment of fear as he felt himself ripped at by the current. His body was pelted with debris in the darkness of the riverbed even as the cable dragged him relentlessly forward.
He hadn't considered the amount of drag his armor and the fighting current would cause, and so he had underestimated how long he would be under. A dangerous miscalculation, he realized as his lungs burned, and he felt battered about by the furious surge.
Tech didn't know how much longer he had when he was forced to gasp for air, only to be met by silty water as he took a mouthful. But it was then that he felt himself break the surface. The oppressive dark was gone and replaced by dim light as he shot free of the river, the cable having lost much of its resistance, dragged him roughly across the dirt as he coughed and gagged, his gloved fingers uncharacteristically clumsy as he fumbled for the clip to release himself.
He caught the clip, and his momentum tumbled him one more time as he immediately rolled up onto his hands and knees, ripping his helmet free as he continued to choke on the water in his lungs. Finally managing to heave weakly, he brought some up and took a moment to hang his head and try to catch his breath.
He barely allowed himself the time, however, still trembling from the shock to his system when he forced himself up onto unsteady legs and staggered the few feet to his brother. Hitting the ground hard with his knees, he immediately worked his pack free as he began to assess the other man.
Rubbing at the water still clinging to his goggles, he tore his other glove off and pressed his fingers carefully into the crook between Crosshair's shoulder and neck, making a breathy sound of triumphant relief as he found a stuttering pulse. He could see the clear entry marks of two blaster shots on the upper back of the other man's shoulder, though he was relieved to find them far enough from anything vital as to have not proved fatal. He checked the best he could then for any signs of spinal damage with the other's cuirass still on, finding nothing obvious before he finally decided to risk rolling the other enough to check his chest. Carefully he used his other hand to support the sniper's bare head. It appeared he'd lost his helmet at some point, but Tech couldn't be bothered now as he gently rested the other flat.
The lack of any response only worried him more as he inspected the sniper, squinting for a moment before exclaiming in frustration and stumbling back over to his helmet and jamming its soggy frame back over his head while flicking on the small light on the side.
This allowed him to finally see the damage and receive the insistent comms ping from the Havoc.
"Hunter-!"
"Tech, we shook the ship and are tracing your signal now. Did you-," Hunter's voice came over his headset as Tech began to work the clasps of the cuirass.
"Yes, yes, I found him, but he is injured and non-responsive. I am assessing and administering aid now. We are near the river, and the ground is unstable. You will need to land further away and make your way here on foot."
"Okay, we're almost there."
"Good," Tech said before cutting the comm completely, needing to focus as he finally pulled the front of the armor up and away from the wounds, using the straps to hinge it back over the sniper's head and allow himself full access to the other's chest.
It looked as if bacta patches and a wrap of gauze had been applied to the blaster wounds, as well as a patch on his lower abdomen and leg at some point. However, the work was rough and something coiled in his still-roiling stomach at the thought of Crosshair, alone, attempting to patch his own injuries while likely in excruciating pain.
The engineer swallowed and carefully peeled back the sodden, soiled fabric and bit his tongue at the red puckered nature of the skin. Glancing back at the river, Tech shuddered at the idea of what harmful bacteria would have been in the murky water. Though, while red and inflamed, the wounds had clearly seen at least some disinfectant before the patches were applied, and he felt a small swell of pride at the other man's clear determination.
Working as quickly as he dared for fear of tearing at any clotting, he removed the rest of the bandages. That done, he grabbed the man's wrist. Forcing himself not to flinch at the cold, clammy feel of that limp hand in his, he only allowed himself to pause long enough to check that his pulse, while fast, remained steady enough before releasing it.
Tearing open his pack and removing the medic's kit, he immediately set about sanitizing his own hands, more than aware of how hard he was beginning to shake as his own sodden blacks chilled against his skin in the cooling evening air. He could only imagine how cold the other must be. The thought hastened his action more.
Tech had just begun carefully sanitizing the wounds when he heard the familiar purr of engines. Throwing his head back, he watched the Marauder buzz the river, low with her landing lights on. He had no doubt that his white armor would stand out starkly against the damp riverside. Craning his head around, he watched her dip low and land somewhere off his left shoulder. His brothers would be here soon. He needed to focus and ensure their brother was stable enough to be moved back to the ship.
Turning back, he finished sanitizing the wounds on the other's chest and abdomen and carefully assessed each. The shoulder wounds could avoid a stitch if he immobilized the arm for now, and he could glue the shallow puncture on his lower abdomen. Plan in his mind, he carefully began doing just that, shaking his head furiously as water dripped from his helmet and hair down his brow and goggles, pooling in the crease of where his skin and helmet met.
Just enough to get him to the ship. Once you get him to the ship, you can do more. Just get him stable. He repeated in his mind as he carefully laid the last patch on his front before carefully rolling the other up onto his side to rest against Tech as he repeated the process on his back, sanitizing his hands between each as he went.
"Tech!"
He couldn't stop himself from startling at the sudden shout, having been too focused on his careful ministrations. But then Hunter and Wrecker were there, knelt on the other side of Crosshair where Tech still held him rolled forward.
"He is suffering from hypothermia, shock, severe blood loss, and exhaustion. Some of his wounds will need to be treated for infection. We need to get him to the Havoc," Tech rattled off, his voice firm and urgent, and Hunter was watching him with a look he didn't have the time to focus on as Wrecker suddenly stood and moved around to kneel beside him.
"Where do I need to avoid?" He asked, his large hands hovering just above touching the other, and Tech took a moment to register the question.
"His shoulder needs to be immobile and his abdomen," he rushed out, but Wrecker only gave him a calm, steady nod, and after adjusting himself a little more, he carefully slid his arms under and around the limp form.
"Get his head for me. I don't wanna rattle 'im", the larger clone mumbled, and Tech jumped to do just that. The pair carefully stood as Tech eased the sniper's head forward to rest against the brawler's cuirass. The giant nodded as he began a steady, even pace back towards where Tech had seen the ship land, but Tech suddenly found it impossible to follow.
All through treating the other, he had seen Crosshair's face, of course, he had. But it wasn't until that exact moment, with Cross gently resting against his ori'vod's chest, that Tech had really looked at the other man. Suddenly, seeing those dark, bruised eyes and greying skin, everything became horribly, terribly real.
They had almost lost him. Crosshair had almost died, and it had been for them. Because of them.
"Hey, hey, hey, Tech?" Hunter was beside him, his warm glove on Tech's shoulder, so burningly warm even through his armor.
"We need to go. He still needs more treatment," Tech blurted, his tone sounding off even in his own ears as he went to pull away from the other, to follow Wrecker and Crosshair even as the reality that they had caused this spun through his mind growing louder and louder.
But no sooner had he pulled free from his brother's touch that he found his knees giving out, sending him into a staggering fall until Hunter lunged and grabbed his arm.
"Easy there, Tech, I've got you. Just take it easy," he murmured in Tech's ear as the engineer realized how hard he was shaking. How his entire frame was trembling now that Crosshair was in safe hands. Now the end of all this was in sight.
"You did good, Tech. He's going to be okay. We're all okay."
And Tech could only nod as the pair staggered back towards the ship.
(-o-)
In the end, Hunter had forced Tech to change into a fresh pair of blacks as he and Wrecker worked at removing the temporary bacta patches and stripping Crosshair of his own sopping blacks. By the time he'd returned, they had pulled several thermals around the other, leaving his upper body exposed, and the temperature of the Havoc was already rising.
Under the harsh lighting of their makeshift medcot, Crosshair looked even worse, but Tech didn't allow himself to be overtaken by the fear and panic that had driven him before. Instead, he grabbed a pair of gloves and set to work.
He immediately set a small IV in place and, at Hunter's prompting, acknowledged that the other should start prepping to give blood for a transfusion. Wrecker hovered nearby, stepping in easily to shift Crosshair upwards to allow Tech access to the other's back.
Crosshair woke only once during the process, though Tech doubted that the other would remember the fact later as it seemed more a response to his shifting positions as Wrecker eased him down, fresh wrappings and bacta padding his shoulder now. Tech met his eyes as he finished strapping the other man's arm to his chest.
He waited until those sharp eyes had drifted closed again before proceeding. With the last of the wounds taken care of and the saline solution half complete, Tech left Wrecker to bundle the sniper more securely in the thermals as he turned to Hunter.
After some minor protests from Wrecker, they settled on Hunter to be the donor, as while they all had the same blood type, Hunter was more baseline clone than any of them and, therefore, the safest choice.
"You did good. Tech, he's going to be fine," Hunter repeated the words he had spoken to Tech earlier, meeting his eyes as Tech secured a tourniquet and felt for the vein. Only this time, Tech was more inclined to believe him with the steady beeping of equipment as proof of that fact and the knowledge that his wounds had been treated and antibiotics injected.
"He should have never been alone," was what he said instead, and a guilty look crossed Hunter's face as he glanced past Tech to where Crosshair lay.
"No, he shouldn't have been. And he won't be ever again."
The conviction in the other's tone finally uncoiled the last of the tension that had coiled around Tech's chest. No, Tech agreed silently. They wouldn't let something like this happen again. None of them would be left behind or alone like this ever again. Not as long as he had any say in it.
Notes:
As always I love to hear what you thought! I have fallen far behind on comment replies these days, but please know that I read all of them and appreciate them more than you will ever know! Until next chapter!
Chapter 5: Chap 5
Notes:
Ahhh it's done! Welcome my lovelies to the final chapter!! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story and taken the time to read, kudos and comment! You all fuel my creativity!! I've had a lot of fun playing with Crosshair's perspective and a rougher, more blackops take on the boys! I'm actually excited to announce I have some other bigger projects set in this AU that you'll likely see in the near future start to pop up! ;)
In the meanwhile please enjoy the last chapter!! Thank you all again!!
Special thanks to wwheeljack for beta reading this bad boy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Crosshair ached, his mind latching onto that fact as he roused. His chest and shoulder, more than anything, seemed to pulse with each shallow, even breath he hissed through his dry lips as he tugged his awareness to focus.
The humming and vibrations of engines. Ship. The rough material of a standard kit blanket on his skin. Stripped, but covered, cot or bunk. No extra weight on his body, no hidden straps. Armor and weapons are gone, but he's not restrained. The sound of breathing. Not alone.
He kept himself lax and still as he slit an eye to gain his surroundings but untensed slightly when he immediately recognized his location. He was on the Havoc it seemed.
They'd come back for him?
"You in any pain?"
Crosshair didn't startle at the voice, only allowed his other eye to open as his gaze slid to meet the one reflecting back at him in the dim cabin. He didn't answer. The other man had to know how stupid a question that was to ask.
"Fair enough," came the Sergeant's huffed reply. "Tech said if you woke up before him, I was supposed to ask you a list."
Crosshair blinked silently back.
"Figured that's how you would feel about that. He has you on the standard wound recovery cocktail, antibiotics, painkillers, low-dose sedatives, and saline. We had to do a transfusion, but everything looks like it's healing right. You've been out almost fifteen standard hours since we found you, and we're currently drifting just off the edge of the nearest hyperspace lane. We're waiting to receive our next communication about drop locations for the information we pulled from the base. If you're not in any pain, I suppose I can let you be, though Tech will probably want to-."
"You came back."
Hunter paused at the interruption as Crosshair's strained, raspy voice filled the space. Even the sniper could hear the accusation in the statement, the anger.
"We never left," Hunter countered, a bit of caution in his tone as he eyed Crosshair, who sneered at the blatant lie.
"Saw the ship leave," he threw back, the anger more apparent even as Hunter visibly winced at the dry rasp and reached for a canteen on the nearby hook.
"Yeah, they had us in a firefight we couldn't hope to win. We had to put some distance before their heavier PDCs tore the Havoc apart."
The Sergeant kept his voice low and steady, clearly wary of the other's anger, but that only served to piss Crosshair off more. He snatched the canteen, refusing to acknowledge the stab of agony it caused his shoulder, and gulped the cool liquid.
"So what? You come back because you felt guilty? Or did you just want to tie up any loose ends? Grab the body before someone else did?" Crosshair snarled even as he saw the other man's brow furrow.
"We never left. We only went up to shake the other ship. We always intended to come back once we'd taken the heat off. Tech was still-"
"Don't karking lie to me," he cut the other off, fury rising as the other man spoke, pretending that having returned for Crosshair was some standard decision.
Crosshair survived. He always survived, and he did so because he knew better than to rely on others. Soldiers like them didn't care, and that's why they were chosen. These men didn't care about him, and he refused to allow them the other to feed the idea of such a clear lie to him so blatantly and expect him to thank them.
The calm mask the other was wearing cracked a fraction, and frustration twisted Hunter's lip. Crosshair crowed quietly in triumph at the glimpse of the other's failing composure. He wouldn't be fooled by this version of his 'squadmate.' He wouldn't be lulled by their platitudes and careful words.
"There's no shame in admitting the truth," Crosshair placated the other, false understanding and venom mixing with the words. "In the end, we all know where we stand, why you came back. You don't expect a massiff to disobey the command of its master after all."
A flash of anger in the other's eyes. There he was, the soldier, the Sergeant. No more hiding behind this calm, trained charade.
"We are a team, Crosshair," came the stiff words, but Crosshair only scoffed.
"We are tools. Used and thrown away at the whims of the Republic! Don't fucking patronize me. We just happen to have been the ones not to break yet."
The other was visibly holding his tongue now, and something in Crosshair burned with the anticipation of finally meeting the real Hunter. Meeting the man that had outlived the rest to be chosen as their leader. The monster who had taken every hit the Kaminoans and trainers had thrown and kept moving. Not this false charade the other had put on during his time in the field thus far.
"No, that's what they wanted us to be, but we're more than that. We came back because you are our squadmate, and it was the right thing to do. We can be more than their fodder, and we are, whether you deny it or not," Hunter gritted out, his tone challenging in a way that made Crosshair's hackles rise.
"This free will mentality of yours doesn't suit you, sir. What would command think if they heard you talking like that? If they knew you risked the mission for something as flimsy as the 'right thing to do-"
"You're awake."
Crosshair's eyes snapped to where the voice had come from, finding Tech silhouetted in the door, Wrecker's bulk just visible where the brawler was attempting to peer over the other clone's shoulder.
"Hunter, I believe I made it clear you should inform me if he woke up," Tech commented, and Hunter turned away from Crosshair to shrug.
"Heard you wake up, figured you'd be on your way anyways."
"I see, and was he able to answer the questions I told you to ask him?"
"He didn't ask me the karking questions because my head's fine," Crosshair snapped, ignoring that his head actually had started to throb in rhythm with his chest but unwilling to sit there and allow them to talk about him like he wasn't there.
"Considering the condition in which we found you, that remains to be seen, but it seems you are awake and coherent, so I will allow that to slide for now."
"Oh, you'll allow it?" Crosshair bit out.
Tech, for his part, merely stared at Cross with a puzzled and unimpressed look on his face before turning his attention to Hunter.
"I believe I also explained that until he was more recovered, you should avoid antagonizing him," the tone was mild enough, but the accusation was clear, and Hunter scowled.
"I didn't. He did that all on his own. Thinks we left him and came back to pick up his corpse or something."
The engineer's sharp eyes pinned Crosshair again as he tilted his head in confusion.
"Is he aware that is false?"
Crosshair had had enough, "I saw the karking ship take off," he snapped, anger flaring again at the realization they were really going to sit there and lie to his face. "Don't try and say you came back for any reason other than to make sure they didn't get anything off my body."
Tech was giving him a considering look now, his eyes seeming to stare right through the sniper in a way that made his skin crawl.
"I see. Allow me to correct you, then. It's true. After realizing how heavily armed the enemy ship was, we decided our best course of action would be to try to lead the ship into open space above the planet and use the Havoc Marauder's superior maneuverability and speed to escape their attack," Crosshair opened his mouth to point out that the other had just outed their own lie, but Tech powered on, "However! This was also to allow me the time to search for you on the planet's surface unimpeded."
Crosshair's mouth snapped shut.
"After we lost comms due to the field surrounding the facility and your triggering of alarms to warn us, we did not wish to risk drawing more attention to your position. Because of that, we had planned to return to the ship and hope that you had taken that course of action as well. When we arrived and found that you had not returned and that our ship had been discovered by the attackers, we devised a plan to draw their attention and fire, causing them to think we had fled the planet to allow me time to find you and the others to safely return to pick us up," Tech stated primely, a dangerous edge to his voice that Crosshair had never heard before.
"Not to retrieve your corpse as you seem to believe," Tech snapped the last bit, a note of anger audible. "As if we would believe you to be of so little value to us as a person as to be denoted to how much damage your body should cause if discovered."
That last statement pulled Crosshair out of the confused frustration he had allowed to take him during the other man's words.
"Oh, please! As I was saying to our illustrious leader, that's exactly what you should have been thinking! We aren’t ’brothers’ or ’individuals.’ We’re whatever the Republic needs us for when they need us. We are expendable, and you're lying to yourself claiming anything else!"
"Maybe to them, but not to each other," Crosshair faltered at Wrecker's low rumble, and he glanced up to see the brawler regarding him with something that looked dangerously close to pity. "If we actually thought like that, we might as well be droids, right?"
"You're even stupider than I thought then. And don't you dare pretend to pity me! I'm right! You may all be weak fools who think that you're worth anything more than the value placed on us as weapons, but I know better! And I won't allow myself to become disillusioned enough to allow that idea to stop me from doing what I was made to do. What we all were!”
Crosshair spits the last words, his heart racing as he glared at the faces around him, something panicky and small in his chest rising as all he saw was sadness in the eyes of the other men.
"Crosshair, I want you to understand something, and I won't repeat myself on this again."
Crosshair snapped his attention to Hunter, who looked far graver than the sniper had ever seen in their short time together. His eyes seemed to flash with their own light, and he forced Crosshair to meet his gaze as he continued.
"What the Kaminoans did to us? Our ‘training’ all these years. Fighting to survive at the cost of those around us? That may have defined us in there. But out here? With each other, as a squad? That isn't how we handle things. You aren't your CT number in this squad, you're not an asset, you're Crosshair, and like it or not, we are in this together. We don't leave a man behind, period. Is that clear? We have your back, whether you believe it right now or not, and I hope that one day I can know you have mine as well, because you want to, not because we're told to by them."
Crosshair wanted to retort and call their bluff again because that wasn't how it worked! Their training had made him better, smarter, faster, stronger. You fought to survive because if you didn't, then you were left behind! That was how the world worked, and pretty words wouldn't change that fact.
But they had come back for him.
They had searched for him.
Could that mean something?
Crosshair didn't say anything else after that, his mind too busy trying to turn the words in a way that made sense. He felt more than he saw the others leave, ignored the disappointed glances until it was just him and Tech left. The engineer silently bustling around, checking over some readings on the little scanner in his hand as he ran it over Crosshair.
"It still doesn't always sound right to me either. The idea of being a team."
The words were spoken softly, the other clone not pausing in his work or even looking at Crosshair as he spoke them, but they still grabbed his attention as if the other had yelled.
"They spent so many years teaching us to obey, to put the mission, the Republic, above everything else, including ourselves. It made sense like that. There was a goal, and that was all that mattered. I think I almost miss that level of clarity."
"We're not brothers. We're weapons," Crosshair repeated the words, but for some reason, they didn't come out as confident as before. Tech hummed thoughtfully as he disconnected the pad and straightened, staring at the nearby terminal, though his gaze was distant.
"No, we're not. We can't be yet. But, I think maybe, we might be one day," Tech mused, and Crosshair found his entire being caught by the other's words. Tech roused himself as he looked down to finally meet Crosshair's eyes.
"Things are different out here, outside of Kamino. The rules are all wrong, and everything is bigger and more than it ever was in the training rooms. But maybe that means we can be too? Maybe we can be more than weapons now, and the mission doesn't always need to be first?" Tech said as his eyes bore into Crosshair's own. "If so many things change out here, then doesn't that mean, logically, so should we?
"Maybe."
Crosshair flinched as soon as the word left his mouth, not knowing where the soft admission even came from, but after listening to the others talk, after Tech had put into words exactly what he had barely dared to think since leaving Kamino, the idea didn't seem so huge.
Maybe it was just that simple. Maybe out here, it was okay.
"Your readings look stable, and we are already routed to stop at a medical station after we transfer this data. I'll leave you to rest."
Crosshair watched the other leave, not saying a word, but as he lay there alone afterward, hearing the ship hum around him and the low voices of the others from near the cockpit, he allowed his mind to contemplate the idea that maybe, they were right.
Maybe, when he had made the decision to draw the attackers away, to protect them it hadn't been CT-9903 who had done that because he was trained to ensure the mission was a success.
Maybe it had been Crosshair because it was the right thing to do, to protect your team.
Notes:
And that's a wrap!! Whoo! Little more open-ended than I usually leave my works but it felt right for this since Cross has a lot of healing and time reflecting on his trauma ahead of him before he can be okay. Thank you all again so much for reading!!
Note: With the posting of this chap I'll be adding this story to a series called BlackOps AU which I will use to house all my stories set in this specific AU, though they won't be connected timeline-wise unless specified. So if you're interested in seeing more of a darker, realistic take on the boys as Spec/Black Ops you may consider subscribing. If not I'll catch you all around or in the comments!
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