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zorrasucia · 1 month ago

Text

13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon.

Maybe with brown sugar instead?

Oh, that's good.

What about blackberry jam?

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

#chocolat (2000) is such a banger of a movie - the catholic guilt of it all... AND juliette binoche? possible bisexual awakening...#ANYWAY this is probably the most ME thing i've written on here - i know the header of the blog says self indulgence but this is FOR me #hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless 💜😌#bearblrpromptober #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fanfiction

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fanfoolishness · 3 months ago

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a rain that sounds like home (7/8)

After the destruction of Tantiss, the Bad Batch is safe at last. As Crosshair begins to recover from his injuries, it becomes apparent that not all of his scars are physical, and that guilt and grief are wounds that cut deeper than any blade. His family is determined to be there for him -- if only he can let them in.

Canon-compliant, focusing on PTSD, amputation recovery, and sibling grief, with plenty of whump, hurt/comfort, and emotional catharsis. Set shortly after the return from Tantiss and my fic Breaching the Wall. 43,000 words total.

Chapter 7: Release.

Echo brings a gift for Crosshair, but things go wrong when Crosshair's trauma finally catches up to him. Crosshair and Omega POV. 7818 words. Art post here.

---

“So how’s it feel to take a break from saving the galaxy?” Crosshair asked. He sat perched on a rocky outcropping ringing a small natural pool, his feet submerged in the water, toes digging into the sand. Batcher waded placidly in the surf beyond the rocks before taking off to chase after Omega, who let out a whoop of delight before running over to where Hunter and Wrecker were building a citadel out of sand and stones.

Echo chuckled from where he sat beside Crosshair, reaching up with his left hand to shade his eyes. While there were clouds smudging the horizon, the sun was still fierce today. “You’ve got a high opinion of what we’ve been up to.”

”Tell me I’m wrong,” Crosshair challenged.

”We like to think we’re making a difference,” said Echo. “Time will tell. But we’ve been able to start cleaning up some of Tantiss’ messes. Hemlock had smaller operations elsewhere and we’ve been able to start shutting them down. We’ve gotten more clones out.”

Crosshair nodded. “Good.” His mouth quirked to one side. “Cody?”

”No. Sorry, Crosshair.”

Crosshair nodded. He knew Echo would have told him, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“So what do you think?” Crosshair asked. He gestured to Hunter and Wrecker, now being half-buried in the sand by Omega. Batcher rolled around in the sand, making funny little noises that carried on the breeze to where Crosshair and Echo sat.

“I think Pabu suits you all,” Echo said. He smiled. “The house is great. Never pictured you or Hunter being domestic, but it works. And Omega — she’s really happy here, isn’t she?”

”She is. She misses you, but she gets it.” Crosshair reached up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

We miss you, he thought but didn’t say.

They fell silent. Crosshair gazed into the pool, noting little fish with small tendrils around their mouths darting near his feet. A crab-like creature in fluorescent violet crept at the far end of the pool, waving two pairs of pincers and dancing back and forth. The tentacles of blue and green anemones drifted back and forth with every small movement of the water.

“Did you bring it?” Crosshair asked in a low voice.

”Yeah,” said Echo. “Just waiting on you. Did you tell the others?”

Crosshair rubbed his right arm. “No. Not yet. I wanted to make sure….” His voice trailed.

”That it would work?”

”Uh-huh.”

”We can have AZI come by anytime. After dinner or —“

Crosshair pictured Wrecker peering over his shoulder, Omega’s wide eyes, Hunter grimly watching. He couldn’t take that kind of pressure. “Maybe just you and me.”

“We could sneak off. But we’ll need a distraction…”

They watched as Wrecker erupted from the sand, chasing after Omega like some kind of crazed monster, clouds of sand flying everywhere with each leap he took after her. Hunter roused himself from his own sand prison, letting out a whoop as he ran after them.

Echo snorted. ”Yeah, that’ll work.”

---

They put in the call to AZI a few minutes later, once they got back to the house. The droid had set up a little medical clinic in Upper Pabu but also made house calls. Crosshair and Echo sat in the kitchen, waiting for the droid to arrive.

On the table before them sat a sleek chromium crate. Crosshair stared at it, his leg jittering under the table. He bit down on his toothpick, shredding it between his teeth. At last he reached out and flipped the lid of the crate open to look inside.

A metallic hand lay in the box, glinting beneath the lights. He picked it up gingerly, cradling it in his left hand, holding it near his stump. Its joints curled slightly with its own weight as he shifted it. It was colder than he’d thought it would be, but it matched the size of his real hand closely. He tried to picture it articulating, gripping, holding a blaster — or a razor. His face twisted and he set it back down within the crate.

”Synthskin is harder to get,” Echo said quietly. “I can keep looking —“

Crosshair shrugged. “A glove’s fine.”

“You ready for this?”

”Not exactly. But it’s not like I was ready to lose it, either.”

The door chimed, and Crosshair got up to key it open. The medical droid hovered there cheerfully, flying in with a twirl.

“CT-9904! CT-1409! It is a pleasure to see you both today. I understand you are in need of my services for attachment of a prosthetic. How are you feeling, CT-9904?”

”Fine. Can we get on with it?” he asked, fighting back his nerves.

”Very well. Where would you like us to proceed?”

“Maybe the bedroom,” Crosshair said. “I don’t know about doing surgery in the kitchen.”

Echo laughed. “Might not be the most hygienic, depending on who’s cooking.”

They moved to the bedroom, and Crosshair had to admit the droid was efficient, scanning his arm as soon as he sat down. Echo sat beside him.

“Your healing has progressed well, CT-9904. Your amputation site should be able to support this prosthetic without complication.”

”All right.” That, at least, he hadn’t failed at.

“I will begin by installing the interface between the organic components of your arm and nervous system and the cybernetics of the prosthetic.” The droid hovered over to him, taking his arm, a flurry of needles pricking his skin and numbing it before the droid held up something that looked like a slender microchip. Crosshair looked away, feeling only a faint sense of pressure. “The installment is not permanent. You will be able to remove the prosthetic as desired, whether it is for cleaning, repairs or replacement. Simply twist and release to undo the locking mechanism.”

”All right so far, Crosshair?” Echo asked.

Crosshair nodded, his mouth a thin line. Until he remembered what the droid had just said. “What do you mean, there’s an interface?” Crosshair asked. “That’s just where it attaches, right?”

”That is what it looks like at the surface level, yes, but the interface interacts directly with the remnants of the radial and ulnar nerves, and from there to the brain. This allows for precision control of the prosthetic and a true cybernetic melding of organic and synthetic.”

Crosshair stiffened.

”So… it would be controlled like my real hand?”

”Yes. With practice, you should be able to achieve proficiency and dexterity equal to that of your natural hand.”

Echo’s eyes widened slightly, understanding his fear, but he didn’t say anything.

Are you saying it’s in my head?

Crosshair’s mouth went dry. “What if I — I don’t want it to interface? Couldn’t I turn that off?”

”That is the only way the prosthetic will function,” AZI said. “It is a feature of its design.” The droid tilted his head at Crosshair, blinking his huge yellow eyes. For a moment, they looked disturbingly like Tech’s goggles. “Do you prefer I not proceed?”

He was afraid. Shaking, jerking, uncontrolled, weak…

He was terribly afraid.

But Echo had done this for him. Omega would be proud of him for trying. Hunter and Wrecker would ease off his back if he could show them he was getting better, especially with something big like this.

”Just get on with it,” he said.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against his toothpick. Even though he wasn’t looking, and the skin had been temporarily numbed, he could still sense a pressure, hear the sounds of clicking and whirring. And then suddenly there was a new weight on the end of his right arm, slightly heavier than the weight of his left arm, dragging it downard unexpectedly.

One last click, and then he felt it.

He opened his eyes with a gasp. He stretched out his fingers, haltingly, one at a time. The metallic fingers whirred with a soft subtle sound. He reached out to touch the new hand with his left, and jerked backward, realizing that he could feel the sensation in both hands.

”I — I can feel it,” Crosshair said, his voice cracking. He looked at Echo with wild eyes. “It’s working!”

Echo gave him a smile. “Looks that way.”

“Your new prosthetic is fully installed,” AZI said. “There are multiple exercises I would recommend to help accustom you to using your new hand, as it will take your brain some time to readjust. I can review them with you now if you wish, or link them to a datapad —“

”Datapad,” said Crosshair. “I’ll look at them later.” He let out a long breath. “Let me just… get used to it for now.” He stood up, using both hands to push himself off the bed. It was a dizzying sensation, the palm and fingers of his right hand curling around the edge of the bed, pushing upward, slackening once he rose to his feet. “Thanks, AZI. Echo.”

”How’s it feel?” Echo asked as they walked the droid back to the front door.

“Strange. But… familiar.”

The droid left the exercises on the datapad on the dining table, then took his leave. Echo and Crosshair turned and looked at each other.

”Well, now what?” Crosshair asked. He clasped his hands together. He clasped his hands together. The sensation was strange — the asymmetry between the two hands was apparent, but there were two of them. He felt half-faint with hope, with something light and free.

Echo looked at him proudly. “Whatever you want, Crosshair. What do you feel like?”

He could stop having to rely on them. Show them he’d recovered. Show Omega everything was fine.

He tried reaching down to the pouch of toothpicks on his belt with his right hand. His fingers took a moment longer than usual to make the required movements, but still managed it, and he inserted the toothpick between his lips. He flashed Echo a tight grin, and Echo laughed, clapping him on the back.

It wasn’t long until Hunter, Wrecker and Omega tromped in, still half-soaked and shedding sand as they came through the front door. “Oh no you don’t,” said Crosshair, getting up from where he had been sitting with Echo. “You’ll make a mess. Let me get you a fresh towel.” He crossed the distance to where they stood, and held out a pile of towels in his right hand.

There was a beat. Then a soft gasp from Omega, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Crosshair!”

”You went for it!” Wrecker exclaimed.

Hunter smiled at him. “How’s it feel?”

”It feels fine. Take your towels, you’re dripping,” Crosshair said coolly. He shoved the towels at them, but couldn’t hide a smile.

”So that’s where you two went!” Omega said with a hint of accusation. She wrapped her towel around herself and kicked off her beach shoes. “Can I see?”

”Sure,” he said. He held out his right arm, opening and closing the hand. “I’ll have to find a glove. Might scare the kids.”

”I don’t think it’s scary. I think it’s interesting,” Omega said. She slipped her hands over his, peering up at his face. “Can you feel that?”

”Yes.” It wasn’t the same as his real hand, but he could feel the pressure of her grip, the sensation of her warm skin brushing against the metal of the constructed palm and fingers. He squeezed her hand, tentatively, making sure not to squeeze too hard and hurt her.

The effort of focusing made his head ache and his wrist prickle. He shook the sensations away. Maybe AZI’s exercises would help sort that out.

”Where did you find it, Echo?” Hunter asked, drying off.

“One of Phee’s contacts knew a seller,” said Echo. “Pulled a few strings. AZI got things set up.”

“You sure were sneaky about it,” Wrecker said, finishing with his towel and laying it around his shoulders.

“There’s nothing wrong with privacy,” Crosshair said loftily. Wrecker snorted. Crosshair knew Wrecker had never understood the concept.

“Well, looks good, Crosshair,” said Wrecker, giving him a wide smile.

Crosshair lifted his hand and raised his first two fingers to his temple, then shifted his hand out in a slightly sarcastic salute to his brother. The hand obeyed his thoughts, and though there was a slight delay from when he planned the movement to when it happened, it was still working. It scarcely felt real, yet it was. Somehow, it was.

He grinned. He couldn’t help it.

---

“So what am I supposed to be doing here?” Crosshair asked, looking down at the baskets of fresh produce Omega had set out. They stood together in the kitchen while Echo, Wrecker and Hunter caught up in the living room. Batcher sat patiently between Crosshair and Omega, watching hopefully in case any food was dropped.

“I’m trying soup tonight!” Omega said. She stood up on the kitchen stepstool and propped up her datapad against the wall with Lyana’s recipe displayed. “I had it over at Shep and Lyana’s. It’s really good, but it has a lot of steps, and I thought maybe you could help me with the chopping. You know, for practice!” she said.

He nodded. “Right.” He held out his cybernetic hand, curling the fingers into a fist and then releasing them, then hesitantly picking up the knife.

“You only have to chop these,” Omega said quickly.

“And how big is chop again?”

“Chop is big. Dice is small. Mince is insanely small. Just chopping.” She estimated the size with her thumb and forefinger, holding them up to Crosshair.

“I think I can do that.” He set to work with a large deeproot, bracing it with his left hand, cutting slow careful rows into it with his new hand. Each chop took him time to line up, followed by a moment to carefully sink the blade into the vegetable’s flesh. He was going slowly to avoid cutting himself. Omega watched him closely, even though she knew she had other parts of the meal to prepare for; it was just mesmerizing to see Crosshair focusing, to see him with both hands, to see him doing this with her.

There was a small ahem. She looked up to see him giving her an amused look. “I thought I was helping you with dinner, not doing it all myself.”

“I just got distracted,” Omega said, unable to keep from smiling. She turned back to the water she was starting to boil for the noodles. “It’s just… you look happier. And you’re doing a really good job. How does it feel?”

He considered. “It’s not the same as before. I have to think about how to use it. The droid said that should improve.”

“I’m sure it will never feel exactly the same, but hopefully it starts to feel like second nature! Like when you first started training with your rifle, or when I started with my bow,” Omega said, finishing washing the last of the produce. “I hope this turns out all right. I know Echo can be picky.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Crosshair said in a low voice, winking.

Omega giggled. “He can look so stern when he wants to.”

“Mm-hm.” Slow, careful chop, chop, chop.

“How much longer is he staying?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him,” said Crosshair. “He said he might be able to fit in a supply run for the island tomorrow before he gets back to it.” He finished with the deeproot and reached for a pile of mallow tubers. Omega added the chopped deeproot to the soup base, which already smelled lovely from the spices she’d added. Once the vegetables had sauteed, she’d add the broth, and hopefully it would all work together.

“It’s good he’s been out there fighting,” Omega said quietly. She’d been thinking since last week, when she’d had that horrible nightmare about Hemlock and the bridge again. Everything that man had touched needed to be stamped out, and if her brother Echo was the one who had to be out on the front lines, destroying any last traces of Hemlock’s work, she understood. Thinking of it that way had helped soothe some of the sense of missing him, and she’d felt lighter all week. “We’ll always have room for him here, but I know he’s not done yet.”

“No. You can never keep a good ARC trooper down,” Crosshair agreed. He added the chopped mallow tubers to the pot and Omega gave them a good stir. They sizzled, commingling with the spices. “What else do you have?”

“These are really good,” Omega said, passing him the sea onions. “They don’t take as long to cook, so they go in after the roots.”

“The cooking part is all you,” he said. “I’d probably burn it all.” He got to work on the sea onions, mouth thinning in concentration. They had a different texture than the roots and Omega knew from experience they were a little trickier to chop.

“Thanks again,” Omega said.

“For helping with dinner? We all have chores.”

“Well, that too, but the other night,” Omega said shyly. She cast a glance back at her brothers in the living room, still talking amongst themselves. “I’ve been meditating again before going to sleep, and I haven’t had any more bad dreams. I’m glad you didn’t listen when I told you to get out of my room.”

He glanced at her, his expression soft. “Just wanted to help.”

“You did,” she said, reaching out and patting his arm. Her nightmares of Tantiss, Hemlock, the bridge, they all felt so far away now with Crosshair here and safe beside her, the rest of her family in the next room, everyone safe and healthy. She sighed contentedly, taking a big whiff of the vegetables, which were starting to smell delicious. “It’s like… I still had this weight I was holding onto. Like Tantiss was something that I couldn’t ever leave. But now —“

Crosshair’s knife clattered to the counter. She looked over hurriedly. “Did you cut yourself?”

He looked pale, tense, every line of him rigid and angular as he stared down at his new hand. He shook his head just slightly. “No.”

”Are you okay?”

Batcher whined, nudging Crosshair’s leg.

He picked up the knife again in his right hand, taking a deep breath. “Here’s the onions.” He scooped them towards her and she added them to the soup.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He set down his knife and reached for a toothpick, coming up with it and setting it in his mouth with his new hand. His eyes darted back and forth, but his face was impassive, back to a cool mask. “The onions sting.”

She squinted, feeling their fumes rise up from the pot. “Yeah, they do.” She fiddled with the spoon, stirring clockwise, then counterclockwise. “But anyway. Thank you. For helping me with dinner. And the other night. And… taking care of yourself.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

He looked faintly exasperated, but his eyes were fond. “You don’t have to look after me.”

”Don’t have to, but I want to.”

“Hm.”

She glanced up at him again, hoping to see him smiling. But his face tensed again, the lines between his brows tighter than usual, and she turned back to the soup, disquieted.

---

Crosshair stood in the refresher, holding his right wrist and staring at his new hand. He examined every facet of the hand, every joint, every hinge, every turn and twist. Everything was perfect. It was metal, cool where flesh was warm, different… but perfect.

But he’d dropped the knife while chopping vegetables. Had his hand shaken? Or had it been a momentary lapse, a disconnect between the new technology and his body?

AZI had said it could take time to get used to. That’s all it was. It had to be.

You should achieve dexterity equal to your natural hand….

He bit his lower lip, remembering just how useless his natural hand had become.

He stared at his hand, almost daring it to tremble, but it rested still and calm on the edge of the sink. He shook his head.

It’d be fine. There was no alternative. He was fine.

He left the ‘fresher, joining the others around the table. Omega had finished making her soup and was just finishing setting out a bowl at his seat. Batcher was curled under the table, ready for tidbits.

“What’s up, Crosshair? Upset tummy?” Wrecker asked.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Crosshair said in a withering tone. He looked down at the soup, somewhat impressed to see his chopped vegetables didn’t look too uneven.

“Well, let’s give this a try,” Omega said, plunging her spoon into her bowl. She blew on her spoonful first to cool it, then hesitantly put it into her mouth. Her eyebrows rose. “Hey, it’s pretty good!”

Crosshair followed her lead, holding the spoon in his right hand. The movements to get the spoon into the bowl were a little jerky, a little stiff, but he was able to take a spoonful of soup only slightly slower than the others. It was good, a rich and filling broth with fish and vegetables. He focused on taking another spoonful, and another, his hand obeying him slightly more smoothly with each attempt. He’d eaten half the bowl this way before he looked up and saw the others deep in conversation. He’d been focusing so sharply he’d completely blocked them out.

“Emerie sends her regards,” Echo said to Omega. “She’s back at base, working on analyzing some of the data we lifted from the secondary lab on Arvela-4.”

Omega nodded. “I’m proud of her. I’m so glad she changed her mind, in the end. I always hoped she would, but I couldn’t ever reach her all the way.” She frowned, as if she wished things had been different, but the disappointment lasted only a moment. “I just never thought it would be you who changed her mind!”

Echo chuckled. “The way she tells it, it was a perfect storm. You started her thinking about it. Then the kids. Then I showed up.”

“It must have been some lecture you hit her with,” Crosshair said slyly. His own interactions with Emerie had been less brutal than those with Hemlock, of course, but they hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy, and the best he could muster up for her was neutrality. He was glad she was being useful, though.

“Yeah, no one can stand up to Echo for long when he gives you that look,” Wrecker agreed, finishing off his soup and setting his bowl down. “Going for seconds, anyone else want more?” He got to his feet.

“I’m good,” said Hunter. “But this was delicious, Omega. We should keep this recipe around. Maybe I could figure it out, too.”

“It really wasn’t that hard,” Omega said, beaming. “And Crosshair helped.”

“Hardly. It was all you.” He took another spoonful of soup, which had started to cool off, but his hand continued to obey him. Maybe it’s going to be fine. “You’re getting good at this cooking thing.”

She gave him one of those dazzling smiles, and went back to eating her soup, her cheeks pink.

“You said Emerie’s working on data from Arvela-4. Anything useful?” Hunter asked as Wrecker sat down with another bowl.

Echo raised his eyebrow. “I thought you were staying out of things.”

“I am. We are,” Hunter protested. “Doesn’t mean I can’t stay informed.” He gave Echo a rueful smile. “Besides, old habits die hard.”

“Fair enough,” said Echo. “Emerie’s given us more information on some of the side projects Hemlock had cooking -- you should have seen what his plans were for the zillo beast! Good job getting her out, Omega -- but there’s still layers of encryption on some of the other data we don’t have a hope of getting through. Maybe Tech would have been able to make sense of some of it--”

Crosshair’s hand jerked, his spoon clattering violently in his bowl as his fingers trembled.

He stared down into the bowl, struggling to keep his breath calm, his eyes burning as his hand slowly quieted. He could feel his siblings staring at him. He let out a long breath through his nostrils, blinking rapidly.

“Crosshair?” Echo said quietly.

“It’s nothing,” Crosshair hissed. “I’m just getting used to it.” He dropped the spoon into his bowl, then quickly tried to hide his hand under the table, willing it to stop shaking.

Stop it. Stop it!

Batcher licked his hand under the table. He recoiled. He knew she was only trying to help. But the touch was an electric frisson boiling up his arm and back to his brain. He balled up his hand into a fist, pulling it away from the hound.

Hunter, sitting beside him, reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but Crosshair pulled back and dodged the attempt. “It’s fine. You don’t have to --”

“I said it’s nothing,” he snarled. But under the table he could still feel it, shaking and twisting against his thigh.

His heart rattled in his chest, his breath coming too fast. They were all staring at him, Omega’s face full of pity, Hunter and Wrecker concerned, Echo looking saddened --

“Stop staring at me.” He practically spat the words out. Nothing was wrong. He’d imagined it, he’d just been clumsy, it wasn’t the tremor coming back, it couldn’t be -- He whipped his arm out from under the table and grabbed his spoon, determined to get back to eating, and his hand trembled so badly the spoon fell to the table, bounced, and rolled off onto the ground.

“Crosshair,” said Echo in a low voice. He held out his hand. “Take a moment. It’s okay.”

“How is this okay?” Crosshair fired back, raising his voice. He could feel it, he was losing control, but he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t fight the anger, the disappointment, the shame --

Omega stared at him with huge eyes, and Wrecker put his arm around her, drawing her close. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We can help --”

“Remember, AZI said this might happen,” Echo said slowly. “That it might function like your real hand. But this is just the first day. It can get better.”

“Does this look better to you?” He slammed his fist down on the table, spilling the rest of his soup over the edge of the bowl, the silverware jumping. His fist shivered. He stared at Echo, panting.

“The droid said there’s exercises. It’ll take time,” Echo said, keeping his voice as soothing as possible. It grated in Crosshair’s ears, winding him up further. “It took time for me, remember? I had to adjust to going back into action, the Kaminoans had to do a lot of work, Tech helped me--”

Tech’s name shattered the last remnant of his composure. A sick fury roiled up within him, blurring the edges of his awareness, tainting everything with a burning, agonized rage. He leapt to his feet and Echo stood up with him, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. It didn’t matter, too little, too late.

He thrust out his hand where they could see it. The metal hand’s fingers trembled faintly at first, then more aggressively into a twisting flutter, the fingers jerking spasmodically against the palm.

He’d never leave Tantiss, not really.

“Look at it!” Crosshair raged, waving his quaking hand in Echo’s face. “It will never be better! I’ll never be —” He clawed at it with his left hand, gripping the metal hand as hard as he could and twisting until he felt a click. He shuddered at the sensation of feeling his left hand twist his right hand off, the sudden return to feeling only his stump, prickling with its new attachment point. The hand was a hunk of metal again, disconnected once more from his brain, and he shoved it into Echo’s chest hard enough for the other clone to stumble where he stood.

“Crosshair, stop it --”

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” he choked. “It’s useless. I’m --”

He had to get out of here. He elbowed Echo out of the way as the others rose to their feet. He rushed past them. He couldn’t be around them like this. He couldn’t be around himself like this. He stumbled to the front door, smacking the wall panel with his left fist until the door opened, and bolting out into the open air.

He couldn’t breathe. He took great gulping breaths, trying to bring in air, but it didn’t work, it didn’t work, every breath seared. He looked wildly around the path on the side of the house, stormed around the corner to the patio and sank to his knees. He cradled his right arm against his chest, gripping his wrist so hard his fingernails bit and tore into the skin. The pinpoints of pain felt distant and muted. They were happening to someone else.

He bowed over himself, gasping for air.

There was no point in trying. There was no better he would get. He was ruined. Doomed to his right hand being gone or useless, doomed to always needing help, doomed to make things harder for everyone else, doomed to fall apart when the others were moving on.

He’d lost the only thing he was ever good at, and no matter what they did, that would always be true. What good was he now?

Through the maelstrom, he sensed something. Something familiar. Eyes — eyes on me —

His head snapped up, and he looked around wildly. Hunter stood beside the house several feet away, one hand resting on the wall.

“Get out of here.”

”Crosshair. Please. Let us help.” Hunter looked infuriatingly calm.

”Let you help —“ Crosshair closed his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do.”

”Sure there is,” Hunter said, edging closer to him, crouching down closer to Crosshair’s level. “We can get AZI back to look at it. Echo said there’s exercises. There’s Omega’s meditation. We weren’t born soldiers, we had to train, remember? So train for this.”

He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

”You can. I know you can,” Hunter said, shifting a little closer. “And if it’s not perfect? It’s okay. We don’t have to have a hundred percent success rate anymore.”

He didn’t care that Hunter’s words made sense. They made sense for the others, not for him. ”It isn’t good enough! I can’t keep being useless like this, Hunter!” he burst out.

Hunter sat down cautiously beside him, and Crosshair let him, too worn down to push him away. He glared at him instead.

“You’re not useless, Crosshair. Hand or no hand. Believe me.” Hunter sighed. “You’re one of us, whether you like it or not. And you don’t need a hand for that.”

Crosshair tried to catch his breath. Tried to think things through. But it was all a painful, disorienting blur. At last he said, “I thought — if I could make this work, that it’d fix everything. But it won’t work.”

”Why not? Let’s just call AZI —” Hunter tried.

”The droid will say the problem’s organic. My nerves. My head. I’m the fucking problem,” Crosshair growled.

“Damn it. You’re not a problem!” Hunter snapped, glaring back at him. “Why can’t you understand that?”

“If you think that, you don’t understand me at all.”

“So help me understand,” Hunter said. “We’re not soldiers anymore. You can let it go. All of it.”

“How can I let go -- when --” He couldn’t even get the words out. There was something clawing inside him, a wound he’d been burying under his missing hand, Tantiss, Mayday, Kamino, everything he’d done, something he couldn’t dare examine. But a face in his mind’s eye blotted out everything. “When I never got to —” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it.

He stared down at his stump. Specks of blood dotted his arm where his fingernails had torn into the skin. Before he could stop himself he whispered, “He could have fixed it.”

”Cross?” Hunter asked, his face softening.

“Tech could have fixed it!” he shouted, and suddenly the weight of what he had just said crashed over him, sucking out the air in his lungs, crumbling the last of the walls he’d built up after Kaller, Kamino, Tantiss. It was too much, too much, too much.

Tech was gone, and he wouldn’t fix anything ever again.

He froze, staring at Hunter, who looked stricken. Hunter reached out cautiously. He laid his hand on Crosshair’s arm.

It was such a small touch. Just the simple weight of Hunter’s hand, warm and sturdy. He’d carried burdens far heavier a thousand times. He took a shaky breath. He was fine —

The sobs exploded out of him with a violence that nearly made him sick. His eyes screwed shut, tears forcing their way out to streak his face. Crosshair sank against Hunter, sobbing in a way he’d never let himself before, shoulders heaving, silent in one breath, his voice a hoarse and wordless cry the next. He couldn’t stop it; it was a wave churning him under, drowning him in grief, a force far bigger than himself. All he could do was take breath after raw, ragged breath. It poured out of him, Tech, Tantiss, Mayday, his hand, his mistakes, his failures, a corrosive guilt he’d been carrying for years now.

And Hunter put his arm around him, saying nothing, but saying everything.

He didn’t know how long he cried, or what made him stop. The sobs slowed to slow, shuddering breaths, then faded into quiet, hitching exhales. He felt as drained and boneless as he had after Kamino, after Barton IV, after CX training. At last he managed to open his swollen eyelids, realizing that the sun had fallen and the sky was deep in blues and grays and blacks. He let go of his right arm, noting how his fingernails had left bloodied half-moons in the skin of his wrist.

He lifted his head and pulled away from Hunter, slowly, stiffly. Hunter let him go, looking at him quietly, without judgment.

Hunter, who had stayed with him instead of leaving, stayed and held him through the storm.

“I should’ve been there, Hunter,” he whispered. Hunter let him speak, and he kept searching for the words, dropping his gaze so that he didn’t have to look his brother in the eye. “If I’d gone with you on Kamino… he’d still be alive.”

“You can’t live on ifs, Crosshair,” said Hunter, his voice rough. “You can’t die by them, either.”

“But Tech will never know,” he managed, his voice shaking, tears threatening again. He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, hiccuping. “I’ve been trying to make up for it, but I -- I can’t. No matter what I do… it won’t ever be enough. He’ll still be gone.”

“I know,” said Hunter, and Crosshair managed to look at him, realizing that Hunter had tears in his eyes too. “You think you’re the only one who blames himself? Join the club. But you can’t dwell on that.”

“But you were with him. You never left him. It’s not the same.”

Hunter met his eyes, then nodded. “Maybe it’s not. But he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. He’d have been proud of you, you know.”

Crosshair let out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Tech? Proud of me? He must have hated me for everything I did. I turned my back on him. On all of you! And for what?” He slumped. “I deserve what I got. That’s why the hand will never work for me.”

“Stop it,” Hunter growled, shaking him by the shoulder. Crosshair froze again. “Don’t you dare say he hated you. Tech’s the one who found you were a prisoner. He’s the one who got your message. And instead of running from the Empire, he’s the one who pushed to save you because you were still our brother. I’m ashamed to say he had to convince me. I’d… given up. But Tech didn’t. He was better than that.”

Hunter’s words didn’t make sense. Tech had to have hated him. To have blamed him. “You had the right idea,” he muttered.

“No,” Hunter said. He let go of Crosshair and leaned back against the house, his shoulder brushing against Crosshair’s. “I didn’t. I missed you, for some reason --” He cracked a loose, awkward smile, and Crosshair chuckled, ducking his head. “But I just pretended nothing happened. Like you’d never been one of us.”

“Reasonable of you.”

“No, it wasn’t. Tech still talked about you. He missed you,” said Hunter.

Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut, feeling fresh tears leak down his cheeks. He let out a shivery breath. “If he did, then that makes it worse. That he… died… before I could -- before I could --” His words failed again, and he shook his head. Before I could apologize.

“I know,” Hunter said softly.

Crosshair nodded, swallowing. Somehow having Hunter acknowledge his darkest thoughts softened them. “I wish I could tell him.”

“I think he knew,” Hunter said, gazing out at the darkened sea in the distance. “But you can’t ask him, and maybe that’ll never go away. Not really. It’s unfair. And it hurts, it fucking hurts.”

“It does,” he whispered.

There was a faint noise; the sound of the front door opening, footsteps. Batcher rounded the corner of the house first, running to both of them, licking Crosshair’s face, then Hunter’s. She parked herself at Crosshair’s feet, her bulk crushing his toes.

“Go on,” he said with a faint smile, patting her. He knew she was just trying to help, but he also knew his feet weren’t exactly a comfortable pillow. She looked at him for reassurance, and when he nodded, she reluctantly got to her feet to go explore the patio, looking back at him after every sniff. Eventually she settled into a scrape of sandy soil and made herself comfortable, but situated herself so she could still keep an eye on him.

“Batcher, come on, leave them alone,” Omega called, her voice strained. She came around the corner, Wrecker and Echo behind her. She looked at them hopefully. Probably relieved he hadn’t socked Hunter in the face. “Crosshair… how are you feeling?”

“We can leave ya alone, if you want,” Wrecker said.

Crosshair sighed, leaning back against the wall of the house, staring up at the cloudy night sky. “Stay, if you want. It’s fine. I’ve already made an ass of myself tonight. Can’t get much worse.”

“No more of an ass than normal,” said Echo warmly. Crosshair snickered through the clotted mucus and tears in the back of his throat.

The others joined them, sitting down on the patio, just quietly being with them. Omega sat down on Crosshair’s other side, weaving her arm around his. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Crosshair said haltingly, “Sorry.”

“You’d better be,” said Echo. Crosshair opened one eye, looking at him skeptically. “If you were trying to knock me down, that was pathetic.” Crosshair chuckled again. How Echo put up with him, he’d never know.

“Is there anything we can do, Crosshair?” Omega asked gently. She patted his knee with her free hand, and he smiled apologetically at her.

“No idea,” he said honestly. “Clearly, I’m not the best one to ask.”

Wrecker propped up his chin on his hands, wearing a sad smile. “It ain’t just your hand, is it? And it ain’t just tonight.”

”No. It’s… everything. My hand. Tantiss. My… mistakes. And… Tech.” He closed his eyes. “Especially Tech.” There was a faint, guilty sense of relief, finally saying it aloud.

“Oh, Crosshair,” said Omega, leaning against him. He relaxed slightly, her small hands grounding him. “Why didn’t you talk to us? You know we all miss him too. All the time.”

”How do you talk about him? Without —“ He put his hand over his face, squeezing his eyes closed. “How?”

”It gets easier,” Wrecker said. “But it’s scary at first. Not gonna pretend different. But… sometimes it’s nice to talk about him. He’s our brother, y’know? Always will be.”

“Tech isn’t the first brother I’ve lost,” offered Echo. “Fives and I… we were as close as we could be. He thought he saw me die, and he never knew I was still out there. Rex told me how we lost him, and… it’s hard. I won’t say it’s not.”

Wrecker reached out, patting Echo on the shoulder.

Echo smiled at him. “But I started to realize, their deaths aren’t who they are. I won’t let that be what defines them. Fives was one of the finest ARC troopers there ever was, and that’s how I’ll remember him. Same goes for Tech. Tech was a genius. He was selfless. And he flew like a damn maniac.” He grinned fondly. “That’s how I think of the brothers I’ve lost. Who they were, and what of them I carry with me.”

“I like that,” Omega said softly. She thought for a moment. “Once Tech told me that he processed the world differently, but that it didn’t mean he didn’t care. I used to think nothing ever bothered him, that he just didn’t care about things like I did. But he cared about things like he did. And he cared about you, Crosshair. He told me he respected that you’d chosen a different path. I never thought about it like that. But Tech was always thinking. I loved that about him.”

Crosshair tried to picture Tech saying those things. He couldn’t quite imagine it. But there was something warm stirring within him at the idea, at Omega’s words. He turned to her and nodded with a lump in his throat.

“Didja know he was a racer?” Wrecker asked. “One of the best the Outer Rim’s ever seen?”

“What’s this?” Hunter asked, giving Wrecker a suspicious look.

Omega wore a secretive, gleeful smile. “We might have kept it a secret because we knew you’d get mad.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter asked warningly.

“Cid needed backup and took us to a riot race,” Omega said, shrugging innocently. “Her racer broke down and, well, Tech said he’d do it.”

“I thought humans didn’t riot race,” Crosshair said.

“He was crazy!” Wrecker roared, laughing full-throatedly. “Humans don’t do it. But he jettisoned his weapons! Took the abandoned racing tunnel! Led the other drivers into a trap! He was cutthroat.”

“And then when he won, the whole stadium went nuts!” Omega said. She pulled her hands away from Crosshair, shaking her fists in the air. “‘Tech, Tech, Tech…’” She laughed, sinking back to her sitting position, shaking her head. “We, um, all made a pact not to tell you and Echo.”

“It wasn’t exactly laying low,” Wrecker admitted, looking sheepish.

Hunter sighed. “Probably for the best you didn’t tell me then.” He cracked a grin. “Only Tech would’ve been that crazy.”

“Tech wasn’t one for laying low in general,” Echo mused. “You know he fought on a broken leg on Serenno?”

“That sounds like him,” Crosshair conceded. He hadn’t been the only one of the group with a habit of telling them he was fine when he absolutely wasn’t.

“By the time we got to him for a pickup, he’d passed out, but not before taking out multiple stormtroopers. That was a nasty break. I was mad at you for not keeping him off it,” he said, shaking his head at Echo. “I knew Tech wouldn’t have any sense when it came to taking it easy, but I thought you at least would be responsible.”

“Tech was a force unto himself, and you know it,” Echo said defensively. Hunter smirked.

Crosshair looked back and forth between them. Something in his chest was loosening, breaking up, easing the awful ache he’d been carrying. He took a deep breath, and his lungs seemed to fully expand for the first time in months, maybe years.

“Did I ever tell you about the time we accidentally got obliterated?” Crosshair asked.

The others stared at him in surprise, then leaned in to hear his tale. He turned to Omega. “Don’t get any ideas. Like I said, this was accidental.” He smiled slightly. “Remember that mission on Hassaria?”

“I remember you and Tech got separated from us,” Wrecker said. “Had to pick you up the next day, and you both looked like crap. Sweaty… puking your guts out… Tech said you guys got poisoned by some local bug or something --”

“Actually, a local Republic sympathizer took us in after we wiped out the clankers,” Crosshair said. “They offered us dinner and something to drink, and we didn’t realize that whatever it was, it was strong. Not until it was too late.”

He lowered his head, trying not to laugh. “The Hassarian started trying to teach us a local fighting song. We, uh, might have joined in.” Joined in was an understated way to describe Tech bellowing the words out in a fine tenor, Crosshair singing the women’s parts in a wailing falsetto, and the Hassarian declaring them their new best friends forever. “We might’ve also started singing every dirty song Wrecker ever taught us.” He reached down, taking a toothpick from his belt. “Not that you heard it from me.”

Omega stared at him, open-mouthed, eyes wide. “Crosshair!”

Hunter laughed, shaking his head. “Actually, when we rendezvoused with you I could smell the alcohol from twenty paces. But I thought it was funnier if I didn’t let on and made you nurse your hangovers in secret, so…”

“You knew?” Wrecker yelped. “Oh come on, I woulda loved to make fun of ‘em!”

Omega giggled, nudging Crosshair in the side. “I’ve never heard any of you sing. Maybe we should start a band. Lyana’s been getting me into Trandoshan funk, maybe that’s your true calling…”

Hunter held out a hand. “We might want to take this indoors,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Just a hunch, but --”

A bolt of lightning flashed distant across the horizon, followed by a clap of thunder and the first few drops of rain. Batcher let out a howl from where she’d been dozing in the sand, and scampered to the door. Hunter got to his feet, offering Crosshair a hand up. Crosshair clasped it with his left hand, allowing his brother to lift him to his feet.

For a moment, they looked at each other.

Crosshair saw Hunter. Really saw him: the weight of all that had happened since Kaller was etched in the lines on his face, the bags beneath his eyes. The years had been hard on him, too. He knew his brother could have turned away from him, and had, many times.

But he was here now, his strong hand gripping Crosshair’s, his support real and true. He was loyal. And that meant everything.

Crosshair nodded at him, and Hunter nodded back, and they went inside with the others to get out of the evening rain.

#the bad batch #the bad batch echo #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch tech #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch omega #LET. CROSSHAIR. BREAK. DOWN >:)#this one's a doozy i hope you all enjoy him finally getting here!!!#my batcher fic #a rain that sounds like home #I’ve been working toward this moment for months and I just really hope it works #please let me know if you liked it 💜

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