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A mechanical clicking and whirring noise, followed by some creative curses and a clang, had Echo springing off the sofa to see what was amiss. In the kitchen he found Crosshair hunched over the table, fiddling with his prosthetic arm.
Although he was sympathetic to his brother’s plight, as Echo stepped into the room he couldn’t help but say, “Need a hand?”
Crosshair’s scowl deepened, and the glare he leveled Echo with would have ended a lesser man.
“Hilarious,” Crosshair replied, his voice as scathing as his glare. Echo chuckled at his own joke, but quickly schooled his features. He strode across the room and sat down beside Crosshair.
“Seriously though, Crosshair. Can I help?”
Crosshair shrugged, but the magnitude of his glare lessened somewhat. “I’m having trouble calibrating it,” Crosshair admitted. “My dexterity is bantha shit.”
“May I?"
Though visibly reluctant, Crosshair acquiesced with a nod and no further grumblings, which worried Echo. Usually Crosshair was far more taciturn, especially when someone was asking him to be vulnerable, and the matter of Crosshair’s hand was as vulnerable as it gets.
Echo tinkered with the panel on the limb but frowned. “Everything looks fine. I don’t-“
Crosshair scoffed and yanked his hand back. “Then explain this.”
He wiggled his fingers through the air. Or more accurately, he tried to wiggle his fingers, but the movements were slow and halting. Echo smiled sadly. He knew how frustrating that could be. But unfortunately for Crosshair, the solution was not straightforward.
“It’s not the prosthetic, Crosshair. Your body and your mind need time to adapt,” Echo counseled.
“And I’m supposed to do nothing? This is… it’s…” Crosshair hesitated now, uncertainty infiltrating his customary frown.
“It’s frustrating,” Echo sympathized, his smile melancholic. “I know the feeling.”
Crosshair’s eyes darted away, looking rather discouraged. Attempting to offer support, Echo suggested, “Look, using it will help.”
In an instant, Crosshair’s scowl was back, and he fixed Echo with another icy glare. “That’s the problem. I can’t do anything with it."
“Get a hobby,” Echo said, only somewhat jokingly. Spying a half-eaten plate of sushi rolls on the table, he pointed to it. “I don’t know, maybe you can start making sushi.”
Echo patted Crosshair’s shoulder as he stood, leaving his brother in peace.
Echo was sifting through files on his datapad when Omega bolted into the kitchen, empty plate in hand. Thrusting it into his face she exclaimed, “Did you make these?”
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “What was it?”
“Sushi! It looked a little messy but stars, was it tasty.”
Echo’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. “No, I… it wasn’t me.”
Omega shrugged, quickly washing the plate and putting it away. “Well, whoever it was, I hope they keep it up.”
His frown deepened. Could it have been Crosshair? Echo had suggested crafting sushi in jest, but perhaps his friend had taken it more seriously than Echo presumed.
“Anyways,” Omega continued as she bounced out of the kitchen. “I’m going to meet Lyana.”
Rising from the table, he followed her into the living area. Crosshair was sitting on the sofa, silently tapping away on his datapad. Echo narrowed his eyes and asked, “You know anything about that?”
“Of course not. I can’t even work a datapad with this hand,” Crosshair replied, fluttering the discoordinated fingers on his prosthetic limb as if to prove his point.
Echo held Crosshair’s stubborn glare for a moment longer before giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“So, it was probably Hunter, then.”
Crosshair shrugged. “Probably.”
Unconvinced, Echo hummed before returning to his data files. He’d let Crosshair keep his secrets, for now.
“Whoa! Look at this!” Wrecker exclaimed, pulling something from the tackle box. Echo craned his neck, wondering what spurred his brother’s excitement.
“Hand rolls!” Omega gasped, accepting one as Wrecker passed them around.
Echo frowned. Various types of sushi mysteriously appearing when one of the squad might need some was becoming a trend. He’d tried to convince himself that Hunter was behind it, but he had his doubts.
Especially now, as he watched Omega elbow Crosshair in the ribs with a secretive smile. “There are pickled radishes in mine. My favorite!”
The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Crosshair’s lips and he winked at Omega. “Hmm. Lucky you.”
Omega grinned and made a happy noise as she took a huge bite of her roll.
Seeming to feel Echo’s gaze, Crosshair looked up, raising an eyebrow.
“What?” Crosshair growled, his smile quickly replaced by a scowl.
“My compliments to Hunter,” Echo drawled, holding Crosshair’s gaze. Crosshair smirked and shrugged, before Wrecker’s indignant scoff drew their attention.
“Hunter? There’s no way he made these. He’s good with a knife, I’ll give ‘em that. But he can’t cook.”
“Definitely can’t,” Omega muttered under her breath, making a face.
Echo frowned again. “Who then?”
“Dunno,” Wrecker said, chomping on his own roll contentedly. “But it sure wasn’t Hunter.”
Echo sighed and narrowed his eyes, resuming his suspicious glare at Crosshair. It had to be him. Right?
When Echo and Hunter returned from a scouting mission a week later, Echo could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the spread of sushi that awaited them. A variety of rolls with different cuts of fish and a vibrant assortment of vegetables had been freshly prepared for their arrival.
Hunter sat down without hesitation and dug in, but Echo held back.
“Who keeps doing this?” he exclaimed. He had suspected Crosshair was the culprit after the fishing trip, but this skillful presentation doused Echo with fresh uncertainty.
“You know who,” Hunter said with a knowing smile. “But he wouldn’t want us to make a big deal about it. Best to leave it be.”
A half-smile graced Echo’s lips. Hunter had more or less confirmed his suspicions, and Echo knew he was right. Pointing it out would only make Crosshair uncomfortable; he preferred to care for his family in a quiet, yet consistent way. Echo was content to leave it alone, for Crosshair’s sake.
Echo sighed loudly as he shut off the holo-call, attempting to rub the ache out of his forehead. Rex had a new mission for him; he’d like to say he was ready to return to the fight, but he’d miss Pabu.
Slowly, he gathered the datapads and flimsi he’d been using to finalize plans for this new operation. Absorbed in his own thoughts, Echo jumped when Crosshair slapped his hand down on the table and drawled, “Need a hand?”
Echo chuckled and shook his head. “Jokes like that don’t suit you, Crosshair.”
With his prosthetic hand, Crosshair placed a plate of freshly rolled sushi before Echo. “And how does this suit you?”
A knowing smile spread across Echo’s face, and he snagged a piece of sushi from the plate.
“So, it was you all along,” Echo accused, popping the piece in his mouth. It was delicious as always.
Crosshair scoffed and scowled, his voice derisive when he spoke. “Certainly not.”
But the way he drummed the fingers of his prosthetic hand in a smooth, intricate pattern on the table told Echo otherwise. Meeting Echo’s eyes, Crosshair nodded graciously before leaving Echo to eat his sushi in peace.