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PART 1: Hunter
Crosshair looked up as Hunter grimaced from across the small table in their bunkroom. They’d been studying and doing homework for the last hour, and Hunter’s face had gradually taken on a sickly green hue.
“Migraine aura?” Crosshair asked, setting down his datapad and preparing to take Hunter’s away. His older brother nodded, reaching up to rub his eyes. Crosshair took the opportunity to grab Hunter’s datapad and help him up from his seat.
“Bed, now. I’ll finish your assignment for you,” Crosshair said firmly, steering the shorter cadet toward the bunks. He kept Hunter steady as he stumbled, an arm around his shoulders.
“It’s not even that bad,” Hunter whined as Crosshair shoved him onto the nearest bunk. The sniper scoffed.
“You said that last time, and ended up spending the night with your head in a toilet bowl.”
He snagged his pillow from his bunk and fluffed it, placing it on top of Hunter’s and gently pushing him to lie down before rummaging under the bed for the little bottle of painkillers.
“Cross, I don’t need it,” Hunter said, even as he winced at the sound of Wrecker laughing uproariously at something across the room.
Crosshair raised an eyebrow and held the pill to his brother’s lips, a glass of water ready in his other hand. He stared down Hunter, who wilted under Crosshair’s piercing gaze as he opened his mouth to take the pill.
“Good,” Crosshair said, “Drink all of that water, too. I’ll be right back.”
He got up from where he knelt beside Hunter’s bunk and marched over to Wrecker, who was still laughing at a holo vid Tech had sent him.
“Wrecker,” the young sniper hissed, “keep it down, for kriff’s sake.” He jerked his head irritably over at Hunter’s bunk. Wrecker sobered upon seeing Hunter curled up in a ball, face scrunched in pain.
“Oh,” he dropped his voice to an approximation of a whisper, “sorry.”
“Go be loud and obnoxious in the gym or the mess. I’ll let you know when he’s feeling better.”
After ushering Wrecker out the door, Crosshair dimmed the barrack lights and fetched some soft foam earplugs for Hunter, who sighed in relief as the stimuli assaulting his senses dulled.
“Any nausea?” Crosshair signed, in deference to his brother’s sensitivity to sound. Hunter shook his head no.
“Did you finish your water?”
“Mmhm.”
“I’ll get you some food when you feel up to it. Are you comfortable?”
Hunter glared at him tiredly. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Liar. Close your eyes and get some rest. I have the watch.”
Hunter snorted a laugh, closing his eyes and snuggling under the covers.
“Thanks, Crosshair,” he mumbled.
The sniper said nothing, only sitting beside Hunter on the bed, gently rubbing his temples and smoothing his dark, tangled hair. He sat there until Hunter fell asleep, sending Tech a message to pick up some food and keep quiet upon entering their barracks. Then he settled beside the bunk with Hunter’s datapad, finishing up his brother’s assignments, and kept watch over him for the rest of the day.
PART 2: Wrecker
“I hate Felucia,” Wrecker grumbled, dragging his feet as he loaded another crate of ammunition into the Havoc Marauder’s cargo hold.
“We will only be planet-side for seven standard rotations,” Tech said, not looking up from his datapad as he brushed past.
“That’s a whole week! It’s gonna be hot and muggy,” Wrecker complained, shoving the crate into its place, “And there’s probably huge monsters that’ll chase us.”
“Oh, please. Grow a pair,” Crosshair hissed, shouldering past his bigger brother. Wrecker sputtered indignantly at the sniper’s jibe, and Hunter stepped in to placate him.
“It’ll be fine, Wrecker,” the sergeant reassured him, clapping his shoulder.
Wrecker was decidedly not fine. It wasn’t the heat or humidity that got to him, nor was it the large reptilian creature that they had encountered within the first hour of landing on Felucia.
It was the hunger. Due to his enhanced strength and size, Wrecker needed to eat more than the average clone. He usually packed a couple of extra rations and snacks, but he hadn’t accounted for replenishing his energy stores after the surprising amount of hiking this mission had required so far. Hunter had said this was a stealth op – Wrecker’s least favorite kind of op – which meant they had to land the Marauder eighty whole klicks away from the Separatist base they were infiltrating to avoid appearing on radar scans. His stomach was rumbling, even after he’d eaten his ration bar at midday.
“Only about 10 more klicks to go for today, boys,” Hunter said, “we’d better get moving.” He hopped up from his seat on a fallen log and stretched, Tech and Crosshair following suit. His three smaller brothers resumed their march toward the base, leaving Wrecker to bring up the rear. Wrecker huffed, his stomach still grumbling, and shouldered his heavy pack before following.
A mile later, his stomach had still not stopped grumbling, and Wrecker was getting increasingly cranky. He knew he was being childish, but he was getting tired of marching all day in the heat, and being hungry wasn’t helping. He was lagging further behind the others, despite being the tallest and having the longest strides, distracted by his growling stomach. He was so hungry it was starting to hurt.
Then Wrecker’s private comm beeped. He answered it, careful to keep his voice low.
“Hungry?” came Crosshair’s soft hiss. Wrecker grunted in affirmation. Ahead of him on the trail, he saw Crosshair pause, waving the others ahead, pretending to see something on the horizon behind them.
“I have some extra ration bars in my pack,” Crosshair said as Wrecker caught up to him. He unzipped a pocket and pulled out the high-calorie meiloorun and chocolate-flavored bars – Wrecker’s favorite.
“AW YEAH!” Wrecker whooped, accepting one and tearing open the wrapping. He hesitated. “Wait. Uh, ya sure you don’t want ‘em?”
Crosshair shook his head, and Wrecker could hear his smug smirk behind his helmet.
“I may have threatened the kitchen staff on the last Venator we were on,” he said breezily, turning back to the trail, “So…” he opened his pack a bit more to let Wrecker peek inside. It was stuffed to the brim with food – not just ration bars, but real snacks and other treats.
“I know you hate Felucia. Hopefully, these will shut you up,” Crosshair said, but his voice lacked its usual acid. Wrecker laughed heartily and pulled his lanky brother into a bone-crushing hug.
“Aw, thanks Crosshair!”
“Yes, well, make yourself useful and eat these. They’re weighing my pack down.”
A few nights later when setting up camp, Crosshair saw Wrecker re-checking the explosives supply.
Crosshair had been scouring the jungle for anything edible for the demolitions expert, who wouldn’t dare admit it but was growing tired of ration bars. He’d found a brilliant pink and orange melon and ran it by Tech, confirming that it was safe to eat. Crosshair smirked to himself around his ever-present toothpick, taking the opportunity to steal over to Wrecker’s bedroll and leave him a bowl of the sliced fruit.
When Wrecker found it, he delightedly ate the sweet melon and shot a grin over to a sniper trying his very best to look nonchalant.
PART 3: Tech
Tech yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes, reaching up to adjust his goggles.
“Hm. Where did I put that spool of solder?” he mused aloud, looking down at his workbench. He began sifting through the mess he’d created, setting aside a box of screws and rearranging his coils of copper wire. He paused in his search as his eyes watered with another jaw-cracking yawn.
“Tech, go to sleep,” Crosshair’s voice ordered from the cockpit. Tech ignored him, still sorting through the many bits and bobs spread out before him.
Crosshair materialized beside him, holding the solder aloft. “It was right in front of you, di’kut,” he sneered, “Go to sleep. You’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours.”
Tech peered at him through heavy eyelids and found himself nodding. “That is a good suggestion,” he said through yet another yawn. Crosshair dragged him up from his seat and pushed him over to the nearest bunk, where the sleep-deprived engineer fell asleep within seconds.
A few days later, Crosshair walked by Tech’s workbench to see his brother hunched over some new project.
“Don’t slouch,” Crosshair reprimanded, rolling Tech’s hunched shoulders back. Tech groaned as his spine cracked, rolling his neck a bit before returning to the same terrible posture. Crosshair sighed. For all his knowledge about…well, everything, Tech was surprisingly lacking in wisdom when it came to taking care of himself.
“Get up,” Crosshair said, grabbing Tech under the armpit and dragging him upright. The engineer looked bewilderedly at him, his eyes huge and confused behind yellow-tinted lenses.
“But I am not yet finished with my work.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Crosshair shoved Tech onto his bunk. “Lie on your stomach. Your posture’s so bad it’s making my back hurt.”
Tech opened his mouth to reply but got his face smushed into the mattress when Crosshair’s hands pressed into his back, kneading at the stiff muscles.
“Kriff, you have a big knot there,” Crosshair muttered, digging his bony elbow into Tech’s lower back. Tech couldn’t help but groan in relief as some of the tension in his body melted away.
“How are your eyes? Are you taking breaks to rest them?” Crosshair asked as he worked at the knots in his brother’s muscles.
Tech didn’t reply, but the back of his neck turned a faint shade of red.
“So that’s a no,” Crosshair muttered, flicking the back of Tech’s head, “You need to take eye breaks. Your eyes are weaker, and your eye muscles have to work harder even with your goggles. If you don’t rest them, you’ll get eye aches and headaches.”
“Yes, I know this, you do not need to remind me of what I experience daily,” Tech sighed, glaring over his shoulder at Crosshair. He hesitated before admitting quietly, “My eyes do ache a little bit at the moment.”
Crosshair motioned for Tech to turn on his back, and removed his goggles. The goggles had left deep, red impressions on the soft brown skin of his cheeks. Crosshair smoothed his fingertips over Tech’s brow and cheekbones. He found the pressure points just on the inner eyebrow and gently pressed them, rubbing them in small circles. Tech sighed, relaxing more deeply into the bunk. Crosshair smirked as his breaths deepened into soft snores, and he tucked himself in beside the engineer and closed his eyes.
PART 4: Echo
“Get up, reg. You have a checkup in ten minutes,” Crosshair said to the lump under the blanket. Rain hammered against the windows, muffling Echo’s reply. “I’m not dragging your metal ass there. Hurry up,” Crosshair said, poking the clone-shaped lump and yanking away the covers. Echo flinched at the sudden cold, curling into a fetal position on the thin mattress. He was trembling violently, his remaining hand clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. There were tears on his face, and his face was somehow even paler than usual. Crosshair’s gaze sharpened upon seeing Echo’s leg stumps, rubbed raw and bloody from continual contact with his unyielding metal prosthetics. His skinny, frail body convulsed with muscle spasms, and a tiny whine escaped his mouth.
“Stars, reg, why didn’t you say you were hurting?” Crosshair sighed.
Echo coughed, his lungs rattling. “…’m fine.”
“Like hell you are. Let me see,” Crosshair said, squatting down and placing a gentle hand on Echo’s arm. Echo flinched at the contact but allowed Crosshair to examine his legs.
“You need bacta,” Crosshair said, wiping Echo’s flushed cheeks with his thumb, “and a medic. You’re running a fever. I’m taking you to med bay.”
“But — w-wait,” Echo stuttered as Crosshair easily picked him up — he was so small without his legs — bridal style.
“No buts, reg. Relax,” Crosshair ordered, marching out the door. “Hm. You eating enough?”
Echo raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually, Hunter was the one to make a fuss over his diet.
“Um. Yeah,” he coughed.
“You’re still too thin and weak,” Crosshair said, but it didn’t sound insulting. Was that…concern in his voice? “I’ll get you some bone broth. It’ll be gentle on your system but nutritious. And you haven’t been sleeping well either — don’t think you can hide those awful eye bags. The medics said your immune system is compromised, and lack of sleep only makes you more susceptible to getting sick. Tech has a stash of chamomile tea, and Hunter even has melatonin gummies. I’ll snag some for you so you can kriffing sleep. And lean your head on me, dumbass, I can tell you’re dizzy.”
Echo was stunned into silence, his feverish brain still trying to formulate a response. He tucked his head under Crosshair’s chin, sighing tiredly and closing his eyes as the gentle swaying motion of being carried lulled him into a daze.
He blinked when Crosshair stepped into med bay a few minutes later.
“Kriffing hell, is that Echo?” said a voice. Kix, Echo’s fuzzy mind supplied.
“Do you know any other clones with metal ports in their skull?” Crosshair bit out, irritation barely masking the worry in his voice. “He’s burning up, his leg stumps are bleeding, and he’s been having muscle spasms. Probably dehydrated and hypoglycemic too.”
“Put him down,” Kix ordered, and Crosshair gently set Echo down on a bed.
A med droid hovered overhead and began attaching leads to the sick man’s chest.
“No! Nonono, get away from me!” Echo cried hoarsely, swinging his scomp arm defensively and scrambling back from the droid. He collapsed back on his pillows, hyperventilating.
“Echo! Look at me,” Crosshair snapped, grabbing his brother’s trembling arm. Echo cried out again, golden eyes hazy and unseeing. “Udesii, vod. You are with your brothers. You’re safe. Breathe.”
A few moments later, Echo blinked at him, exhausted but lucid once more.
“Echo, you’re sick and I need to scan you,” Kix said gently, “Are you gonna be okay with that?” Echo’s eyes widened in fear until Crosshair squeezed his bony shoulder.
A moment later, Crosshair was seated on the bed with him. Echo was wrapped in the sniper’s arms, pointedly looking away from the scanner while Kix checked his vital signs. He remained pressed against Crosshair’s cuirass until his legs were wrapped in bacta and he had an IV of fluids and medicine in his arm. At long last, when Kix had administered a strong dose of painkillers, Echo fell asleep, still curled into Crosshair’s chest.
“He relaxes around you,” Kix remarked, after wrapping a heated blanket around Echo’s thin frame. Crosshair shifted on the bed, careful not to jostle his sleeping vod.
“Probably because he knows I’ll shoot anyone who tries to hurt him,” came the snarky reply.
Kix snorted. “Did you want to take off? We can call you when he’s well enough to go back to your barracks.”
Crosshair considered it for a moment — but Echo shivered in his arms and drew impossibly closer for warmth. He looked back at Kix.
“I’ll stay.”