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“But… how did you escape?” Hunter asks the kid, and Crosshair figures that’s his cue, even if he’s not sure he’s quite ready for whatever awaits him out there.
“I had help,” the kid answers. Briefly, Crosshair considers just sending the hound out there, but he knows he won’t get away with that for long. He breathes calmly as he steps down the ramp, and readies himself for anything.
What he gets is the previously warm and happy atmosphere chilling by several degrees as soon as Hunter and Wrecker spot him. Hunter’s hand flickers briefly over his blaster, but doesn’t touch it, doesn’t draw. Wrecker looks to both Hunter and Omega before fixing his eyes back on Crosshair. Maybe he’s less sure in his reaction than Hunter is, but it makes no difference in the end. Crosshair deliberately didn’t expect anything, but he’s not surprised by their reaction. He supposes he should be glad he’s met with just glares, and not blaster-muzzles.
The kid does not see it the same way. She looks from Crosshair to Hunter to Wrecker to Crosshair again. She looks distraught. She doesn’t, Crosshair thinks, look surprised. Maybe she’s learned something in the last months after all; maybe she’s a little more jaded than she was. Crosshair finds himself strangely disappointed.
The lack of surprise doesn’t equal a lack of sympathy or care, though, and Omega turns once again to Hunter and Wrecker. “Why are you still so angry with him?” she demands, “He’s been a prisoner even longer than I have, remember? And I would’ve barely made it out of the facility without him, let alone off the planet and all the way here!”
“Omega…” Hunter starts, looking at her but never taking his attention off of Crosshair.
“No! You—”
“Omega,” Crosshair interrupts her before she can launch into a full tirade. “Save it. We need to get out of here before the Empire shows up. Get your mutt and your things from the ship.”
“But—”
“Save it.”
“Ugh, fine!” She looks back to Hunter and Wrecker, and Crosshair’s not sure if she’s assuring herself that they’re there, or that they’ll behave while she’s gone. He decides not to care. She scowls at him a little as she pushes past him into the ship, but he doesn’t care about that either.
Wrecker’s confused “Mutt?” goes ignored by all of them.
“Did you?” Hunter asks once he must deem her out of earshot, “Help her escape?”
Crosshair doesn’t know how to feel about that question, so he settles for the annoyance that’s served him well so far. “She didn’t exactly give me a choice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it soon enough.”
“Crosshair—” Whatever Hunter was about to say, he’s derailed by Batcher bounding down the ramp, Omega close behind.
“Oh!” Wrecker laughs, “Look at that!”
The hound, apparently with some sort of affinity for pet-friendly people, bounds right up to Wrecker who’s all too happy to provide her with copious belly-scratches. Hunter is… less enthused.
“Omega…” he starts, but Omega cuts him off again.
“I’m not leaving her,” she says, in a tone that brokers no argument.
Hunter tries anyway: “We really don’t have space for her onboard.”
As entertaining as the following discussion could’ve been, they really do need to get going. “Don’t bother,” Crosshair interjects, “she’s grown attached. Besides, we all know you’ll cave to her in the end, so let’s just get it over with.”
“Hah, he’s got you there!” Wrecker laughs. He’s crouched down to let Batcher put her front paws up on his shoulders; rubbing roughly at her flanks as she pants, tongue lolling out. Crosshair’s not sure who of the two are enjoying it more.
Hunter looks at them too for a moment, and something in him seems to soften, even before he looks back at Omega and sighs in resigned but not unhappy defeat. “Alright,” he says with a small smile at the kid and her determined little face, “Let’s go.”
The warm softness in Hunter’s eyes disappears once they land on Crosshair again, but he lets him onboard the Marauder, so all in all, Crosshair figures this whole reunion has gone about as well as could have been expected.
As predicted, once they’re in Hyperspace, headed towards who-knows-where, and she’s been assured that Echo is fine even though he’s not there, Omega launches into a dramatic retelling of their escape, and everything that came before and after; Hunter, Wrecker, and Batcher as her rapt audience. Though, Hunter in particular keeps looking to Crosshair every time Omega mentions him.
Crosshair’s not sure what those looks mean but decides not to worry about it. If Hunter has a problem with him, or anything he’s done, he can say so.
Crosshair gets up from his seat when Omega’s reached somewhere around their actual escape and plan 72. Omega and Wrecker barely notice, while Hunter and Batcher both look to him with near-identical movements, though one is from distrust while the other is simply curious. Crosshair gestures for both of them to stay. Batcher readily accepts this, while Hunter’s eyes only narrow further, and Crosshair rolls his own in response. Fresher, he signs, which seems to mollify Hunter slightly, though Crosshair doesn’t doubt he’ll be tracking his progress through the ship closely.
It's fine. Crosshair doesn’t really need the fresher, but it’s a small ship and he needs to stretch his legs, so he might as well. He supposes it’s nice to remind himself that he can go to the fresher whenever he wants now.
It’s on the way back towards the cockpit that Crosshair sees the goggles. They’re by the navi-computer, broken but carefully cleaned, and suddenly Crosshair can’t move.
He knew. Of course, he knew, both Hemlock and Omega told him, but he hadn’t really been in a place to process it at the time, but now—
Tech. Kriffing Tech, his brother, his twin, gone, and Crosshair wasn’t even there to—to try to save him, or say goodbye in some way, or—but of course, if he’d been there, that situation wouldn’t have happened at all, because they’d been looking for him, the kid said, and—
There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he belatedly registers that Hunter called his name. He can’t take his eyes off of the goggles, though his view of them is blurred. He blinks, and feels tears run down his face. His vision doesn’t clear.
“Crosshair…” Hunter says again, quietly, and there’ grief in his voice too, but Crosshair can’t look away. “I thought you knew.” There’s an apology in there too, maybe, though Crosshair’s not sure what for.
“I did,” Crosshair says. “I knew. They told me. I just—I guess—”
“It didn’t feel real ‘til now,” Hunter suggests. His hand is still on Crosshair’s shoulder.
“That,” Crosshair confirms, though he’s not sure if that’s actually it. He’s not sure of anything right now. He supposes he thought maybe Hemlock was lying, and the kid was just wrong, even though he knew they weren’t.
Hunter doesn’t say anything more. The hand on his shoulder moves across his back to the other shoulder and tugs, and then Crosshair finally looks away from the goggles because his face is pulled gently down into Hunter’s scarf-clad shoulder, and he lets his eyes close against the pain.
He’s not sure how long they stand there, with Hunter simply holding him, but eventually he’s drawn out of his fugue-like state by Wrecker’s warm hand on his back and Batcher’s whining at his hip. Omega’s certain to be there too, but she’s not touching him or making a sound, and Crosshair’s still got his face buried in Hunter’s scarf.
Hunter must sense the change in him, because he pulls back, enough that he can move his hands to hold Crosshair’s face and gently wipe the tears away with his thumbs. Crosshair lets him.
When he opens his eyes again, he finds Hunter looking at him, all the chilly distrust melted away and replaced by a soft kind of understanding born of shared grief. Hunter uses his hold on Crosshair’s face to pull him close again until their foreheads press together and keeps him there for a moment.
“C’mon,” Hunter says then, voice low and rough, and guides Crosshair towards a seat. “Wrecker, get the rations?”
Crosshair doesn’t hear if Wrecker answers, but then he’s sitting down, and Hunter is on one side of him, Wrecker on the other. Batcher is pressed up against his legs, still whining softly, and Omega is on the floor beside her, leaning against Hunter’s legs. A water flask is held out to him. He takes it with his left hand, because he’s not sure his right hand will hold it without spilling. When he’s drunk his fill, the flask is taken from him again, and he’s offered a ration bar instead. He doesn’t take it.
“Please, Cross, you gotta eat,” Wrecker says, and Crosshair’s never really been able to deny him anything when he sounds like that. He takes the ration bar. The wrapper is already opened. He can’t stomach more than small bites, with what at least feels like long pauses in between, but it’s good enough for Wrecker.
Batcher’s head is warm and heavy in his lap, and his brothers are warm against his sides. The lack of tapping on a datapad has never been so loud.
“Feeling better?” Hunter asks when Crosshair's halfway through the ration bar, and Crosshair takes a moment to check. He’s not feeling great, no, and at the moment, it’s hard to imagine that he ever will again.
But they’re soldiers, and now fugitives. They all knew the risks. It’s some kind of miracle that it took this long for one of them to be lost for good.
None of that makes it hurt any less that Tech is gone, but at least they have each other now. They’re together and safe for now, and headed towards some place the others call home. No more fighting, Hunter said. No more loss, no more risk. Except for Echo, but Crosshair has to believe he’s being careful, or at least around people who will watch out for him and make him be careful.
“Mm,” Crosshair hums. Not great, but better. “Thank you.”
Hunter’s arm around him tightens a little in response.
“‘m glad you’re back,” Wrecker mumbles into the side of his head.
Me too, Crosshair thinks, me too. He hadn’t been sure he would be, but he is. He is.