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electrikworm · 1 month

Text

Internal Conflict

Relationships: Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker, Hunter & Cut Lawquane, Crosshair & Suu Lawquane, Tech & Cut Lawquane, Wrecker & Shaeeah Lawquane & Jek Lawquane, Wrecker & Suu Lawquane, Cut Lawquane/Suu Lawquane

Content Warnings: Mild Blood and Injury

Summary:

Damaged after a mission, the Marauder goes down on Saleucami. With the squad in rough shape, and their ship in dire need of repair, Clone Force 99 decide the nearby farm may be their best bet. However, meeting the deserter Cut Lawquane and his family brings up some uncomfortable questions regarding their lives as soldiers.

Written for the @swprequels-big-bang teamed up with the amazing @gayjedicoded and @squad-724 :) Thanks for working with me!

Word count: 8,020

Read on Ao3

Hunter's wrapping a gash on his arm when the Marauder jolts violently, leaning heavily to the side. Crosshair groans in frustration. The motion clearly disturbed his job of putting stitches in Wrecker's back. Wrecker doesn't complain if this hurt him, though pain is usually not the part of medical procedures he makes a fuss about.

“What the kark is he doing?” Crosshair hisses.

“I'll check.” Hunter says, already making his way to the cockpit. Tech, like the rest of them, is baring injuries from the last mission, though he assured them he was good to fly. It wouldn't be the first time he's lied about something like that. Hunter puts a hand on his hip as the door to the cockpit slides open. “All good here?”

“The engines are failing.” Tech states, tone calm. As if one cue, multiple warnings come from the ships' controls, furiously beeping. Tech slams his fist down on a side panel, somehow silencing some of the warnings. “An emergency landing is the only way we'll prevent being stranded in space.”

The Marauder drops out of hyperspace. “You didn't think to warn us?” Hunter groans.

“This is me warning you.” Tech stands up halfway to flip a switch above his head, then whips the ship right sharply. Hunter has to lean on the wall to not fall over. He can hear Crosshair cursing in the back of the ship. “Saleucami is our best option currently. Not the worst, all things considered.”

Hunter's about to leave when the Marauder's hull creaks, and he hears something snap in the ships' insides. The Marauder shudders.

“Tech?”

Humming contemplatively to himself, Tech tinkers with the ships controls before turning to look at Hunter. “It looks like this emergency landing just turned into a crash landing.” Tech says, pushing his goggles up. “You may want to hold on to something. And warn the others to do the same.”

Hunter's enhanced senses are the only reason he hears Tech muttering about Crosshair's inevitable complaints.

The urgency in Hunter's voice gets his vode to get into the crash seats swiftly. Of course not without some mild snark from Crosshair about having his work disturbed again. Wrecker struggles with closing the seat for a moment, until he gets a good hold of it to keep it down manually. The really have to fix that, Hunter thought, in the last moment of quiet before the ship hit the atmosphere.

The noise is deafening as the breach Saleucami's atmosphere, re-entry happening at a pace even above Tech's usual flight speed. The ship sways as Tech tries to slow it. Though Hunter is braced for it, the impact still catches him by surprise, slamming his head into the back of the seat. The Marauder skids across the planets surface, evidently hitting multiple objects as it slows down. The ship shakes violently. Hunter is sure they're not making it out without at least a few bruises.

Hunter's ears are ringing when they finally come to a halt. He shakes his head to clear his vision, standing up before he's certain he won't fall right back down again.

“Everyone alive?” Hunter says, cracking his neck. He lands his sights on two of his brothers, both groaning from impact. Crosshair's face is bruised, but no more than it was before the crash. He had a commando droid to thank for that injury. Wrecker's shaking out his arms, but looks healthy enough. “Tech?” Hunter shouts towards the front of the ship.

Their pilot comes limping out of the cockpit, one-handedly trying to readjust his goggles and fix his hair as he throws them a thumbs-up. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief – that limp was nothing new either.

“What's the state of the ship?” Hunter asks, looking around as he helps Wrecker up. The Marauder's lights are flickering.

“Ah.” Tech stands up straighter, pulling his datapad out. “There are of course many factors to consider in answering that question. However, my initial diagnosis would be,” Tech paused, “bad.”

Hunter sighs. “How fast can we fix it?”

Tech doesn't get to answer, interrupted by Wrecker. “Uh, Tech?” He's walked to the front of the ship, still shirtless, with the half-finished sutures a mess of blood from his wound. “The door's gone...”

Approaching what their brother is looking at, Hunter's first thought, that Wrecker is just being dramatic, is disproven. The door is very much gone, a fallen tree pressed up against the Marauder's hull in its place. Looking up, Hunter spots that it's also dented the ceiling above the door, leaving it with a large tear.

“I had not noticed that.” Tech says, slight bafflement in his tone as he stares at the damage. “That will need extensive repair before the Marauder is once again suited for space travel.”

Crosshair scoffs, “Really? I'd have never guessed.”

“Stow it, di'kut.” Tech elbows Crosshair as he passes him.

“How are we getting out?” Wrecker says, rubbing the back of his head as he considers the tree blocking their exit.

“Well obviously you're going to move that tree.” Tech doesn't bother to look up from his datapad.

Wrecker pulls a face, but cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. “Alright.” Hunter wagers the exhaustion from their mission has already gotten to him. They hadn't meant for it to get that out of hand.

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Let me finish your stitches first.”

“Don't bother,” Tech interjects, “He'll just pull them out again.”

“Hey!” Wrecker snaps, taking offence at Tech's words.

“Fight later,” Hunter says, stepping between his siblings. “Wrecker, clear the door.”

When Wrecker pushes his palms flat against the bark, nothing happens for a moment, then the whole ship creaks and shakes as the weight is shifted. Wrecker grunts as the tree is toppled, branches snapping as it settles. Light floods through the hole in the Marauder's side, painting everything it touches in a faint orange glow.

Hunter orders Crosshair and Wrecker to finish patching each other up, whilst he and Tech survey the damage.

The smell of an impending thunderstorm hangs thick in the air as they step outside. Hunter warns his brother of the impending change in weather. Tech did the best he could under the circumstances, but the Marauder is still pretty banged up. The ship is lodged between trees, the massive hole in its side the most obvious of the damage. They find what's left of the door a few meters away.

“I require parts to get her flying again,” Tech says.

“Anything you can do now?”

“Not if you're correct about the weather.” Tech looks up at the sky, dark clouds gathering steadily. “It will also be dark soon, and Saleucami has its fair share of nocturnal predators.”

Hunter sighs. The Marauder isn't exactly a safe shelter against either of those issues right now.

“I can see smoke,” Crosshair says, suddenly standing next to them, pointing off in a direction. Wrecker's trailing behind him, back in his armor, but still moving gingerly. Hunter sniffs the air. If there were a large fire within the distance Crosshair can see, Hunter could smell it. But the air has no trace of fire to it.

“The storm will put it out,” Hunter says. “It's not big enough to be a danger to us.”

Crosshair sighs loudly, rolling his eyes. “Like smoke from a homestead, not a forest fire. Could be a town, we can find shelter there for the night.”

“Great idea!” Wrecker grabs Crosshair's shoulder, shaking him in celebration. Crosshair scowls, punching Wrecker in the arm as retribution.

Agreeing to look for a place to spend the night, they set off, taking the most necessary items with them. They can't move as fast as Hunter would have liked, darkness descending upon them before they reach the structure.

They'd hoped for a village, but Hunter identifies what they're heading towards as a lone farm soon enough. There's too little noise for it to be more than a single household, and when they come across fields, it's clear enough.

"We'll ask for directions." Tech says. "Perhaps there is a town near." The sun has almost entirely set when they've found the farm, consisting of a main building and a stable. Watchful of their surroundings, Hunter approaches the door of the house. There's light inside, and he can hear movement when he knocks. The door swings open, revealing a rifle pointed directly at Hunter's head. This close, his helmet would offer little protection. He hears his vode draw their weapons. "What do you want?" The Twi'lek asks. "Easy," Hunter says, displaying his palms to the woman holding the blaster. When she makes no motion to actually pull the trigger, Hunter slowly removes his helmet. "We may not look it, but we're clones. None of us have any intention to harm you, ma'am." She doesn't lower the rifle. Hunter can tell she's not the only lifeform in the house, and is proven right as a child barrels into the woman's legs, tugging on the hem of her shirt. "Who are they?" The kid whispers. "Can we help them?" "Go back inside," the older Twi'lek orders. The kid obeys. "If I may interrupt, we simply wish to know where we could find the nearest town." Tech lowers his blasters as he speaks, approaching slowly. "You will never make it there, not before the storm hits," she says, loosening her grip on the rifle. "Try us, we've worked with worse odds," Hunter answers, putting a hand on his hip. That's when another person appears just behind the Twi'lek woman, bearing a face Hunter's seen thousands of times. A clone? The man has long hair, tied back in a bun, and is wearing civilian clothes. He takes a step back, hand near his own blaster. He's not in armor, not been in it recently either by the looks of it. The answer hit him quickly. He's a deserter, and those are trouble. The last thing Hunter wants now is trouble.

The clone raises his hands, same as Hunter did moments ago.

“If you're here to bring me in, I'll ask you not to harm my family, and warn you that I won't go down without a fight,” he says, glancing at the Twi'lek as he passes her.

Hunter can smell the fear coursing through the reg's body as he stands to block his family from Hunter's view. Hunter sighs, moving his hand away from his blaster, and motions for his brothers to lower theirs.

“I don't care what your business is, and don't plan to get involved. Just tell us where we can find a town, and you'll never have to see us again.” Hunter takes another step back.

The clone glances at the Twi'lek before answering. “She's right, you won't make it. If you don't get lost in the storm, the wildlife will get you.”

Wrecker laughs. “You should see the missions we've got to deal with on the daily. Nothing this planet can throw at us could be a real challenge.”

“I don't get lost.” Hunter says, resting his helmet on his him. “And it's not like we have other options.” Wrecker's right, they survive worse all the time. Walking through a storm will be unpleasant, but better than sitting in the Marauder, waiting for something to find them and attack.

“You could stay here,” the clone says, sharing another look with the Twi'lek.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Hunter says. They try not to get involved with civilians all too much, and the clone is still a reg. Hunter isn't sure if it's dawned on him that he's inviting defective clones into their house.

“We can't leave you out here in good conscience,” the Twi'lek says, putting a hand on the clone's arm. He nods.

“The weather's bad enough on its own, and you don't like you're in top condition.”

The clone's words make Hunter look back at his brothers. He's right. They'd just come out of a mission that took a bad turn, and each of them is either hunched, limping or moving sluggishly.

The child is back, moving to the clone's side to take his hand. “We have to help people that need it,” she says matter-factly, looking up at the clone. He picks her up, smiling.

“If the fact I left the GAR disturbs you, you don't have to talk to me. I'd just rather not spend my time worrying if leaving you out here got you killed,” the clone says. “I'm Cut Lawquane, by the way. This is my wife Suu, our daughter Shaeeah, and our son Jek's running about the house somewhere.” He laughs as he speaks.

Sensing they're not getting out of this, Hunter holds his hand out to Cut, introducing himself. One after the other, his brothers do the same. Ending with Crosshair, who can't get through the pleasantries without a snide remark.

“We would have survived just fine in the storm, reg,” he hisses, making Hunter roll his eyes.

“You can keep your boots on if you want, but please, get out of your armor. Cut's complained enough about how uncomfortable it is,” Suu says with a laugh, squeezing her husband's arm as she passes him.

Hunter's not sure if they can trust Cut, but they're still four to one. He nods at his brothers, giving them the go-ahead to do as Suu says.

The house isn't large, but it's cozy, lived in. The home is worlds away from kamino's blank walls. A rich smell of wood and dried herbs lingers in the air, as well as the smell of food being cooked in an adjacent kitchen.

They're invited to eat with the Lawquane's, a far better meal than the tasteless rations they're carrying with them. Roasted meat and vegetables, followed by a selection of fruits, some of which Hunter doesn't recognize. He hesitantly picks one he'd never tried before, small and round, with smooth purple skin. He's pleasantly surprised by the taste, overtly sweet flavour cut by the hint of acidity the fruits firm flesh holds.

Wrecker's delighted by the food, bombarding the Lawquane's with question after question on the preparation of the meal. Tech naturally, is also fascinated, though more with the agricultural side of the individual components of their dinner. Hunter has to kick both of them under the table multiple times when they're rambling on too long.

“You all look a bit like daddy, but not as much as the other man,” Shaeeah says after a while.

“Other man?” Tech asks.

“We had a clone captain come through here a few weeks ago,” Cut says, “If we'd known this would be a clone hotspot, we'd have moved.” He laughs as Suu punches him on the arm lightly, smiling as well.

“We're enhanced clones,” Hunter says, “That's why we look different.”

Shaeeah just looks more confused.

“Why's your hair gray?” Jek asks Crosshair, squinting at him across the table. “Is it because you're old?”

Wrecker bursts out laughing, several decibels above an appropriate volume. Both Cut and Suu hurriedly tell their son not to ask question like that.

“I'm not old,” Crosshair snaps, glaring at the boy.

“He's actually the youngest,” Wrecker interrupts.

“Barely.” Crosshair spits in Wrecker's direction before turning back to Jek. “My hair is part of my enhancement.”

“You're special because you have gray hair?” Shaeeah asks.

“Shaeeah,” Suu says warningly, releasing a tired sigh.

“No.” Crosshair clearly intends to say more, so Hunter opts to kick him under the table too. He doubts Cut and Suu want him telling Crosshair to shut up in front of their kids. Crosshair keeps his mouth closed, but glares at Hunter now.

“What happened to your face?” Jek says, pointing at Wrecker.

Cut stands up abruptly. “Okay, I think you two have asked quite enough questions. Why don't you go and play?”

“Okay!” Shaeeah exclaims, quickly gathering her plate and cutlery, presumably running off in the direction of the kitchen.

Before Jek can sprint after his sister, Cut crouches down to his level, taking the child's small hand in his. He speaks quietly, Hunter's enhanced hearing is the only reason he can understand it. “Remember, we don't point at people, okay?” When Jek nods, Cut plants a kiss on his son's forehead. The boy is off as soon as his father lets him. Cut shakes his head as he rises, smiling to himself.

“I'm sorry about them, they're too curious for their own good.” Suu says.

“We're used to worse,” Hunter responds. When Suu and Cut get up, so does Clone Force 99, mirroring the couple's actions as they clear the table. When that is done, Hunter's vode spread out to either do their own thing, or pester one of the Lawquanes. Hunter lingers near Cut, watching him closely.

“Do you play Dejarik?” Cut asks.

“What?”

“Dejarik? It's a game,” Cut clarifies.

“No, I know what it is.” Hunter hesitates for a moment. “Yes, I know how to play.” He hasn't played in a while, because playing against his brothers often irritating. Crosshair's a terrible loser, and tries to cheat, and Tech is too good and a terrible winner. Wrecker's a rather pleasant opponent, but if the game goes on too long, he gets restless.

Cut is good at the game, nowhere near Tech's level, but he and Hunter are rather evenly matched. They play in focused silence for a long while, neither having a clear upper hand.

“It doesn't bother you?” Cut asks. Hunter's fairly certain he can guess what the reg is getting at.

“That you're a deserter?” He asks, and Cut nods. Hunter shrugged. “As I said, it's none of my business, and I won't get involved.” It's not hard to see why the man would leave, especially seeing what he left the war for. It's not Hunter's place to judge. Not when they break rules every day.

“Thank you.” Waving off the reg's gratitude, Hunter plays his next move.

“I heard a lot about you defective clones growing up.” Cut continues. “You're Clone Force 99, right?”

“How'd you know that?” Hunter looks away from the game in favour of eying Cut suspiciously. Cut just laughs.

“All the 99's you've got painted on your armor clued me in. And I haven't heard of many more squads consisting entirely of defective clones.” Cut's amusement is evident in his words.

Hunter nods in response, feeling a bit silly.

“I heard quite a lot about you,” Cut says, playing his next move. He doesn't take out any of Hunter's pieces, but he recognizes the strategy – one he's used before. He counters with one of Tech's signature manuevers. “All bad, I'm afraid.”

Hunter scoffs. “I thought as much.”

“I'm ashamed to say I bought into the osik they told us about defective clones for a long time. But since I left, I've been rethinking everything they taught us.” He stays silent for a while. “Everyone always called you the Bad Batch.”

Hunter can't help the grin that spreads on his face. “We call ourselves that too.” He keeps the fact that it hurts less that way to himself. “We're proud of our defective nature.”

They play quietly for a while, having to focus on strategizing.

“Have you ever thought of it?” Cut asked after Hunter played a move that put the reg precariously close to losing.

“What?”

“Leaving the GAR.”

The statement hits Hunter like a fist to the gut.

“I haven't– ” Hunter trips over his words, but Cut jumps in before he could get them out.

“You and me both know that's a lie. I'm confident most clones consider it, and I doubt your enhancements change that.”

Hunter sighs. Cut's right. Of course he'd thought about it.

“I can't speak for how life is as a 99, but you can't tell me there wasn't ever a time you felt like your life was utterly meaningless. That's why I left. I wasn't going to wait around until it was my turn to be slaughtered.”

Hunter runs a hand across his face. There were many times he'd felt that way, dangerous missions to complete goals that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, pointless injuries his brothers sustained because the odds were stacked so highly against them.

There's a thrill to it, a thrill they all live for. Living on the edge, completing mission after mission, despite the chances of survival being so low.

But Hunter would be lying if there weren't times he doubted everything. Late at night, crammed into the small amount of sleeping space the Marauder offered, listening to one of his brother's laboured breaths, hoping that they'd survive their injuries. Those nights, Hunter would think about leaving, far away from the war, from Kamino. They could disappear, his brothers would never have to be hurt again. They could be safe. No more suicide missions, no more rationing out medical supplies and food because they weren't given enough to cover the squad's needs, no more living in uncertainty.

But then morning comes, and his vode are bickering and laughing with each other like any day, and the thought vanished.

Hunter knows his brothers would follow him if he asked them to run. But he also knows they'd only do so because Hunter's the oldest and their Sergeant. They're happy where they are, Hunter won't rip them from that life just because he wants to.

Where would they even go? What would they do? None of them have real life skills. Without the Republic supplying everything for them, the Bad Batch would fall to pieces. Hunter can't imagine a life where they could survive without the GAR. There are a lot of things Hunter is prepared to do, but he won't be his brothers downfall.

He won't put them in danger because he has a few doubts.

“It's... complicated,” Hunter sighs, “It's not for me, for us, the life you live.”

“You sure? Never once thought about living a quiet life?”

Hunter swallows thickly. When he sees Cut with his family, living without war and violence soaking every inch of his life, something deep in Hunter's chest aches, yearning for something he doesn't and won't ever have. Hunter isn't made for peace, for the quiet life, for raising kids, and neither are his brothers.

Hunter shakes his head. “No, it wouldn't suit me.”

They're made for for the battlefield, for suicide missions and surviving by the skins of their teeth. Clone Force 99 is made for war, and would fall apart if they tried to do anything else.

The next time Cut makes a move Hunter could counter, he doesn't. He thanks Cut for the game and moves to a corner to sit in silence, pushing the emotions the talk brought up deep down, so come morning, they'll hopefully vanish once more.

Crosshair's eyes open when a foot pokes into his side. Despite the early hour, he hadn't been sleeping. Suu is looking down at him, smiling softly.

“What do you want?” Crosshair hisses, keeping his tone hushed as to not bother his still sleeping brothers. He can hear Tech snoring, and Wrecker's still got his arm slung over Crosshair.

“I head you're a good marksman. I'd like to see proof of this.”

Crosshair groans. Really? Suu wants to do this now ? What time is it even? “You're seriously waking me up to watch me shoot?”

“You weren't asleep.”

Crosshair studies her for a moment. When it doesn't look like she'll leave any time soon, he groans again. “Fine.” He could do with some target practice.

Careful not to disturb Wrecker, Crosshair worms out from under his arm. He cracks his back as he stands up, not feeling as bad as he thought he would after a night on the Lawquane's hard floor, save of course the bruises left from yesterday's mission. It was surprisingly comfortable with the blankets they lent them. He follows Suu quietly, grabbing his Firepuncher on the way out.

Suu begins to lead him down the path away from the farm. Crosshair eyes her suspiciously, especially the rifle she's got a steady grip on.

“If you try anything, you'll be dead before you hit the ground,” Crosshair threatens.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in your sleep.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes, but doesn't push further. After all, it would be a terrible strategy to wake someone you're trying to kill. Suu doesn't seem the type to want to kill someone slowly, but first impressions can be deceiving, so Crosshair remains vigilant.

It's early, so the air is fresh, the ground beneath his boots soft from the nights storm. Crosshair enjoys the near silence of the morning, grateful Suu doesn't insist on talking whilst he's still shaking off the remnants of sleep.

Crosshair's fully awake by the time they come upon targets, set up at various distances to form a shooting range. Nothing like the high-tech ones Crosshair's used to from his cadet years, but it makes no difference.

“So, you like to shoot?” Crosshair asks, aiming to be at least a little bit irritating.

“Yes,” Suu says, checking her rifle over before taking aim. “It helps clear the mind, and it never hurts to hone my skills.” The shot she fires hits the first target effortlessly, just shy of the centre.

Crosshair scoffs, outdoing her by hitting the same target dead centre three times in a row.

“Why do you need to shoot? You're a farmer.” He makes sure to make it sound like he's trying to annoy her, using that tone to cover the genuine curiosity behind the question. They don't speak with civilians often, life outside of the GAR being a bit of a mystery to the sniper.

“Protection. Now and then we need to put an animal down, but that can be done close range. The strongest drive to improve my shooting has always been to protect my family.” Suu fires at a target farther away, aim still shockingly accurate for a civilian. “What do you need to shoot for?” She asks with a laugh. Crosshair doesn't dignify that with an answer.

“Don't get me wrong,” Crosshair says, taking another shot, “but aren't you married to a soldier? Why bother practising your aim if he's already got the training?”

Suu snorts with laughter, making Crosshair lower his Firepuncher to stare at her. He didn't think his question was that stupid.

“I was not always married to Cut. For a long time, it was just me, Shaeeah and Jek.”

Crosshair hums in response, shooting at the next target after she has. They do so silently for a while. The further the targets get, the more it shows that Suu both has no military training or enhancements.

“What's the furthest thing you could hit?” Suu ask after Crosshair hits the last target perfectly.

“Further than you could see.” It's not arrogance, it's just the truth.

“Okay.” She looks at him expectantly. Sighing, Crosshair takes aim.

Crosshair takes a moment to scan the horizon for a fitting target. The forest thickening does bock his view somewhat, so he decides to go for a pine cone hanging off the furthest tree he can see clearly. There's but a split second between Crosshair pulling the trigger, and the cone falling from the branch.

Suu squints in the direction Crosshair shot, before shaking her head. “You were right. I didn't see that.” Crosshair rolls his eyes. “How long have you been training to do that?”

“Since I could hold the training rifle.” Crosshair remembers the first time he was handed one. It annoyed him to no end that they didn't let him use a real blaster until he was almost fully grown. “The enhancements play a big part in it too. A reg could never achieve this accuracy.”

She either doesn't notice the backhanded insult to her husband, or choses to ignore it. “How did they enhance you?”

Crosshair shrugs. “How should I know? They don't tell us this stuff. If you want to know details, you'll need to ask someone else.” He shoots at multiple targets in succession, hopefully stopping the Twi'lek from asking further questions. “The enhancements were just done on us, knowing the research behind them was never up to us.”

“Despite you thinking there's a big difference between you and... regs, it seems that not having a choice is an issue you have in common.”

Crosshair nearly drops his rifle in his haste to glare at Suu.

“There isn't a choice because there's only one that makes sense. I have a purpose I'm made for, and I quite enjoy it.”

Crosshair's about to turn away and walk off when Suu pulls a thermos from her him and extends it in his direction. “I have caff. Truce?”

Crosshair hesitates. He would quite like some caff.

“Fine, but only if you don't ask any more questions.”

“Promise.” Suu sits down on a rock, placing two travel cups beside her and filling the contents of the thermos into them. With only slight reluctance, Crosshair sits down next to her, mumbling his gratitude as he accepts the cup.

It's not her place to poke about Crosshair's life choices, after all, they aren't doing the same with Cut, but the caff really is rather good, so he'll just stay mildly annoyed by her.

There's no point in debating how life would be different if Crosshair had a choice, because all it does is hurt. He used to think about it all the time when they were cadets, when they were all huddled together feeling miserable after days of experiments and tests. When they were young, they'd fantasize about running away and living their life like the characters in the holovids Tech downloaded for them, making up stories about a life off Kamino to tell eachother.

All stupid, childish osik of course. Wrecker only wanted to be a baker half the time because he was always hungry, proven by the fact that the rest of the time he wanted to be a tooka. They stopped making up stories as they grew up, though Crosshair still recalls them sometimes. Only to amuse himself by how dumb the things they thought up were of course.

They never talked about leaving after they stopped the stupid stories.

Crosshair still thought about leaving, though only in passing, or when they've had a bad day. His brothers clearly have no intention of doing so, so what's the point in bringing it up? They're happy enough, missions are fun most of the time, and they've got what they need to live.

They're safer like this, as part of the GAR. As long as they keep being better than the regs, as long as they keep up their perfect mission success rate, their existence is guaranteed.

Downing the last of the caff, Crosshair places his cup back down on the rock. Suu gets up first, gathering the cups and thermos before setting off back towards the farm. Crosshair follows, a few paces behind her this time. There's an uncomfortable knot of emotions in his stomach.

It's a good thing Crosshair's vode are more sensible than he is, because if any of them would want to leave, Crosshair would follow.

When Tech wakes to find Crosshair gone, he almost panics. He would have, if Cut hadn't walked in.

“Crosshair's out shooting with Suu, don't worry.” He offers Tech a cup of tea as he gets up, which Tech accepts gratefully. “Sleep alright? Sorry we don't have better options than the floor.”

Tech waves him off. Both he and Suu have apologized multiple times, pointlessly so in Tech's eyes. They've slept in far worse places. “I slept well.”

“Good to hear.” Cut smiles, sipping his tea. Tech mirrors him. It's some herbal blend with a citrus note to it. Far better than the cheap stuff they have stocked on the Marauder, that ends up tasting like how Kamino smells half the time, sterile and chemical. “You said you need parts for your ship, right?”

Tech nods, he'd said as much at the dinner table yesterday.

“We can look for them in the nearby town later if you like.” Cut continues.

“That would be beneficial.”

Once Hunter and Wrecker have woken, and Crosshair and Suu have returned, they eat breakfast. Cut had evidently got up early to bake bread.

Once they've eaten, Tech and Cut prepare for their trip to the nearby town. Tech has already made a list of parts, so in theory, he should be done fast. That is until Cut informs him that wearing civilian clothes would be necessary.

“I'd rather not have people asking questions about why I'm walking about with a soldier of the Republic.”

They have simple clothes on the Marauder, though those are mostly used to sleep in when injuries make wearing the tight blacks uncomfortable. Cut is kind enough to let Tech borrow some of his.

Shaeeah and Jek have evidently gotten Wrecker to play a game with them, as all three of them are outside, laughing together when Tech and Cut set off. The kids pause to wave as the two clones depart, and for some reason Wrecker does so too, wide grin plastered on his face.

It's a decent walk to the town, so Tech has to concede that heading for it during a storm would have been ill-advised. His knee still throbs, but as long as Tech can put weight on it, he won't let it stop him.

Cut takes notice of the limp eventually. “You good walking on that leg?” he asks.

“I've had far worse. I will manage.”

Cut hums, thinking for a moment. “You're all pretty scuffed up. What happened?”

“Our last mission is the cause. We're good with bad odds, so despite being heavily outnumbered, we should have succeeded with ease. However, things took a bad turn when some commando droids were added to the equation.”

“Sure-fire way to ruin anyone's day,” Cut laughs, “We had a run-in with a group of them recently, same time the clone captain came through here.”

Tech considers asking for the clone's name, but decides against it.

“Just tell me if you need a break,” Cut says.

“I will,” Tech says, certain he won't have to do so.

They walk a good fifteen minutes is comfortable silence until Tech breaks it.

“If I may ask, why did you leave?”

Cut sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not long after Geonosis, our transport crashed after getting caught between two separatist gunships. With most of us dead or injured, we didn't stand a chance. They were killing us off one by one, so I ran. It haunts me to this day.”

“Ah, apologies. I shouldn't have asked,” Tech says, feeling like he crossed a line.

“No, it's alright. I don't mind talking about it,” Cut says, smiling somewhat weakly, “I lost everyone I cared about that day, the only family I'd known. It dawned on me how little our lives meant. Even if I'd survived that day, how long until it was my turn to die pointlessly? The war made no sense to me, so I left.”

Tech nods. “I can understand that.”

“So, you've thought of it before too?”

“Naturally. My mind functions several times faster than the average clones,” Tech states, “I can't speak for regs, but a majority of Kamino's staff treated us like objects and we were told of our expendability since the day we were decanted. We get sent on missions that seem of minor importance, whilst putting all our lives at grave risk. We often operate with too few supplies, none of which are adjusted for our group's needs. Not to mention the issues the prolonged experimentation and enhancements have left us with. And, we don't get paid. The only thing keeping this from being slavery, is that by law, clones aren't classified as living beings, all under the Republics ownership.”

Cut nods along for the duration of Tech's rant. “Exactly,” he says once Tech is done, still nodding.

“However,” Tech says before Cut can continue, “I see no reason for us to change our ways. We were raised for specific circumstances, removing us from those could be catastrophic. Our lives are far from perfect, but I have no reason to believe we'd fare any better elsewhere. I doubt we could make a living. On top of that, we don't know the full extent of the issues our enhancements come with, nor would we have the resources to deal with them. Our survival is far more certain where we are now.”

“Even with the suicide missions?” Cut asks.

“Yes.” Tech pushes his goggles up. “As stated, we are trained to be good at those. I'd wager most combat situations are of less risk to us than civilian life.”

“You seem to have thought about this a lot.”

“I have to do something with my mind when we aren't on missions.”

Cut laughs. “But don't you long for a bit more freedom? Don't you want to be free to choose for yourself?”

“You'd be surprised by the amount of freedom we have.” Tech says. “And what I want has little to do with what's best for the squad.”

If Tech considered what he wanted in this debate he'd had with himself countless times, he'd likely come to an entirely different conclusion. Wants aren't logical or rational. They have no place is a decision as important as this.

Cut clearly knows his way around town. With his help, Tech quickly acquires all the parts he needs, even with a discount from people Cut is acquainted with. Clone Force 99 don't get paid, but they've always found ways to make credits between missions and during shore leave, so thankfully Tech doesn't have to rely on the Lawquanes for this too. Cut insists on carrying most of it to keep unnecessary strain off Tech's leg. Any attempt to protest is ignored, so Tech has to live with that arrangement.

Tech isn't a good conversationalist on the way back, thoughts still preoccupied with the conversation they had on the way there. While Tech has no life experience outside of the GAR, he could potentially make a living off his vast knowledge of ships and how to repair them. He wouldn't mind a life like that, potentially even wants to live like that.

But his brothers don't. They're happy where they are, and Tech would never do anything to jeopardize that. And even if they wanted to leave, there's still no guarantee they could ever provide for themselves. They could end up living in poverty, doing menial jobs or manual labour that destroys their bodies. The increased calorie intake clones have is already a problem, and Wrecker requires even more to not be pained by hunger constantly. Even if they don't get injured, the squad needs more medical supplies in day-to-day life than others do.

There is no logic to back desertion. So once again, Tech pushes any thought of it out of his mind.

Shaeeah giggles as Wrecker lifts her above his head. He was worried about hurting them at first, but they quickly proved to be highly amused by him lifting them.

“Me next!” Jek announces loudly, as if there's someone else who might butt in and take his place. Putting Shaeeah down carefully, Wrecker lifts the small boy with ease, laughing himself as Jek exclaims in joy.

When Jek is release, Shaeeah tugs on Wrecker's sleeve. Instead of asking to be picked up again, she looks up at him, seeming to think very hard. “Could you lift our daddy?”

“That would be easy.” Wrecker grins. “I lift my brothers all the time, and they wear armor.”

“Woah!” Jek shouts, bouncing up and down on the spot. “What- What about an eopie? Can you lift an eopie?”

He leans to the side to look at one of the eopies grazing not too far from the farm. There's no way he couldn't lift one, but he pretends to size it up for dramatic effect. “Probably.”

“Show us!” Shaeeah starts pulling Wrecker in the animal's direction.

“I don't think they'd like me lifting them too much,” Wrecker says, not wanting to disturb the peaceful animal's day by hauling it about. Shaeeah and Jek's disappointed little faces almost make him cave. “I can lift you at the same time though!”

That gets them to cheer up instantly. Crouching down, Wrecker scoops one of the kids up in each arm. He can't lift them above his head this way. Just then Crosshair exits the house scowling.

“If you tear your stitches, you can just bleed out,” he shouts in Wreckers direction. With a sigh, Wrecker puts Shaeeah and Jek down. Crosshair is probably right.

“You're no fun,” Wrecker says anyway.

Jek quickly makes it known that he's tired and needs a break, so they end up sitting on the floor, rolling a ball between each other. Wrecker is content to simply listen to the kids chatter away. They tell him all about the animals on the farm, games they've played in the past and ways they've proven how “grown up” they are by helping their parents.

“Can I ask you something?” Shaeeah rolls the ball to Wrecker as she asks. “Mummy says you might not want to answer the question I have...”

“You can ask, and I'll say if it's something I can't answer.” There are few questions Wrecker wouldn't be willing to answer, the real issue lies with what he's willing to tell a child. He passes the ball to Jek.

“Where did you get your scar? And what's wrong with your eye?”

Wrecker pauses. He has no problems talking about his scar, but he doesn't want to go into detail all too much. “It was an explosion,” he explains, keeping his answer simple. “And I can't see out of this of this eye,” Wrecker says, pointing to it.

“What?” Jek exclaims, “not at all?”

“Yeah, can't hear on that side either.” he answers. The kids' eyes are wide, so Wrecker tries to reassure them with a smile. “It happened a while ago, I'm used to it now.”

When Jek passes the ball, he throws it so Shaeeah has to dodge to not get hit.

“Hey!” She leaps up, chasing after her brother.

When Wrecker rises, they start running around him. Suu comes out of the house amid the frenzy.

“Don't pester out guest, children,” Suu says, sighing and shaking her head.

“It's no bother, ma'am.” Wrecker smiles.

“Call me Suu.” She's about to walk away when she turns back. “Oh, could you help me with something Wrecker?” Shaeeah and Jek groan in disappointment.

“Sure, no problem.” Wrecker runs a hand over both the kids' heads. “I'll see you later!”

He follows Suu to the barn. Wrecker's able to guess what she might need help with. Some of the planks forming the wall of the barn have come lose, probably thanks to the storm.

Wrecker ends up holding them in place as Suu reattaches them.

“You're good with Shaeeah and Jek.” Suu's statement surprises Wrecker. Apart from his brothers, people don't usually tell him he does anything good, especially not something like this.

“Aw, thank you.” Wrecker feels the urge to run his hand along his neck, but they're both currently occupied holding a plank up. “No need to mention it.”

“I can see that they like you.” Suu smiles. “No all adults would take the time to humor them.”

Wrecker shrugs, moving to pick up the next plank. He feels his stitches tug at the edge of the cut as he moves. As much as Crosshair loves to complain about Wrecker ruining his work, Wrecker actually knows quite well how far he can push himself before tearing the thread holding the injury closed.

“Have you ever considered having children of your own, Wrecker?” Suu asks. The absurdity of the question makes Wrecker laugh.

“Me? Never,” he answers, having to force the words past his lips as he struggles to stop laughing. “I'm in an active war zone most of the time...”

“You would obviously leave that life behind in this hypothetical situation.” Suu adds.

“Then it's even less likely.” Wrecker shakes his head.

Suu stops her work to look at him. “You never considered the possibility of leaving the war behind?”

Shrugging again, Wrecker shakes his head. “Not really.”

It's not technically a lie. He'd thought of the possibility, sure, but it wasn't worth really considering – the answer was no. It always sounds good at first – never going back to Kamino and the battlefield. No more experiments, no more tasteless rations, no more pushing himself beyond his limit as they're forced to go on mission after mission with barely any break.

None of his brothers have talked about leaving the GAR, not since they were all cadets. He doubts any of them have even had the thought since they were kids.

So, Wrecker would be alone if he left, and he's never been alone before. What's worse, he'd be abandoning his brothers, and his duty to them. Wrecker's the biggest and strongest of the squad; their shield. His expertise in demolitions is useful enough, but Wrecker's most important ability has always been his strength. Sure, he could be replaced, far easier than his vode, but he couldn't live with the guilt of leaving them.

When Wrecker lets go of the plank slowly, making sure the nails hold, he can't help but laugh again. “Could you imagine me raising kids?”

“I can,” Suu retorts, “that's why I brought it up.” Wrecker had expected her to laugh along. He laughs a bit harder to push the bitterness threatening to rise into his throat down.

Wrecker likes the idea of having a big family, like the one's they'd see in holovids. But he has a family, and couldn't abandon them for his dumb idea. Not to mention, he'd be terrible raising kids. Sure, he can entertain Shaeeah and Jek well enough, but sooner or later, he'd mess it up. Wrecker's engineered for destruction, for breaking things. Those aren't qualities you want in someone bringing up a child.

“I don't think that kind of life's for me,” Wrecker says. “I already have a family. Besides, combat's what I'm best at. I'm happier sticking to my talents.”

“If you say so.”

They work in silence from then on, though Wrecker wishes they didn't. He'd love to distract from the uncomfortable thoughts brought up by the conversation.

As soon as Suu thanks him for his help, Wrecker sets off in search of Shaeeah and Jek. They rope him and Crosshair into a game of hide-and-seek. Trying to find what tiny corner his vod'ika managed to cram himself into was a great distracion from those difficult thoughts.

Suu grew to like the weird bunch of clones a lot in the week they stayed with them, long enough to fix their ship and heal.

The house was crowded, and it couldn't have been comfortable to sleep on the floor, but Suu has to admit she wouldn't mind them coming back. It's nice to have more hands helping out, and they were good company.

Putting a hand around Cut's waist, Suu waves at the batch of defective clones as they get onto their ship. Shaeeah and Jek are sure to miss them, having grown quite attached. They'd even taken to seeing them as uncles, calling them ba'vodu, a Mando'a word Cut taught them.

“If you ever decide to start living a quieter life, you know where to find us.” Cut calls after them.

“We'll gladly help you out,” Suu adds.

With various versions of “stay safe” and “see you around” from both the Lawquanes and Clone Force 99, the door to their ship slots into place. Shaeeah and Jek wave far long after the Marauder disappears from view.

Pulling her husband closer with one arm, and he kids with her other, Suu watches their new friends leave. She does hope to see them again, and even more, she hopes they find the kind of peace they deserve.

#tbb #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tcw #tcw cut lawquane #suu lawquane #shaeeah lawquane #jek lawquane #cw blood #tbb fanfiction #tcw fanfic

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sashketter · 5 months

Text

Preparing for Tantiss

Summary: While the Bad Batch acquire the coordinates to Tantiss, Rex prepares a ragtag team of familiar faces to follow him to the Imperial base.

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: A hint of Rexiyo; a smidge, a sampling, an infinitesimal iota, if you will 😊

Notes: I’ve been saying for awhile that the "cavalry" in The Bad Batch finale might not just be clones, but it occurred to me only today to write it tf down, the last two episodes be damned lol This takes place during season 3 episode 13 of The Bad Batch, "Into the Breach." Look to the tags for the “familiar faces” - the cast is too long to list here. I wrote this in a rush, but it builds off some ideas I'm using for a series about Riyo Chuchi and the Clone Underground, specifically using Orto Plutonia as a base and the working relationship between Rex and Riyo.

“Careful with those proton torpedoes!”

“Don’t scratch my ship! I don’t care how well the Republic—"

“Father! Can I show Jek ze fighters?”

The small airbase on Orto Plutonia had proven more useful than Rex could have imagined. Clearing an area large enough to host more than half a dozen starships was a challenge, but the clones and the Talz braved extreme snowstorms in record time. Fortune seemed to smile on them today as the sky cleared and the wind calmed to a whisper. Ready the fleet, the breeze seemed to say. All the ships had spilled out of the hangar and into the open air, everyone enjoying the rare bout of good weather. Rex watches the fruits of his quick and dangerous labor from the edge of the field.

“Transmission from Pantora, sir.” A clone hands Rex a holoprojector, and Riyo Chuchi flickers in his palm.

“How are preparations coming along, captain?” Riyo learned to dispense with pleasantries when it came to Rex and his missions.

“Very well, senator.” Rex learned to keep his reports short when it came to Riyo and her transmissions. “It’s a tight fit with all the aircraft, but we’ll be ready in half a rotation. Hopefully by then, Echo will have transmitted the coordinates.”

Riyo nods, but can’t hide her concern. “Be careful, Rex. I can hold off the Senate for awhile, but not long. If Tantiss is as secretive and well-guarded as you say, people will want to know everything if something,” she searches for the right word, “explosive happens.”

“Understood.” Rex nods. “You be careful yourself.” It’s an earnest warning, but he looks around and finds no one within earshot. He smirks and tries his luck. “Try not to attract any more bombs while I’m busy.”

She huffs, looks around, and counters, “Try not to blow up any more bases.”

Rex returns her smile. She nods, and in an instant, she’s gone. Rex tucks the holoprojector in his belt.

“Uncle Rex!” Shaeeh calls and tugs at his arm. Rex’s heart thumps hard in his chest, taken off-guard by the surprise attack. “Can I come?”

Suu tiptoes from behind and grabs her daughter by the waist and off the ground. “Ay, no, we need someone to watch ze base while we are gone.” She nuzzles Shaeeh on the cheek before putting the child down.

“They’re ready for inspection,” Howzer announces, gesturing towards the noisy airfield. The captains fall into step.

First up are two Y wings parked across from each other. Cham Syndulla climbs down from the cockpit of one while Cut Lawquane stands up from the wheels of the other. Their kids play in the space between.

“Ready and operational, Rex,” Cut reports, wiping his hands with an oil-ridden rag.

“As iz ours,” Cham adds. “Eleni iz ‘aving some trouble with ze turret, but—”

“All fixed!” The men look up in time to see a wrench fly in the air and land with a loud clink on the ground. Eleni appears from the turret, smiling and wiping her forehead. Hera laughs as Chopper rolls loudly, arms flailing, to pick up the wrench.

“Good work.” Rex nods at the men before moving on.

Several meters away is a Nebula-class freighter. An astromech speeds from under its chassis towards Rex, stopping too late and bumping into his shins. He grunts in pain but otherwise ignores the collision. He rubs the droid’s dome.

“Hey, R7. Where’s Rafa?”

“You can’t bank at that speed, Trace!” Rafa’s voice turns the captains’ attention to the left. “The motivators will—”

“You watch! The Silver Angel can handle anything I throw at her.” Trace sees the captains watching her and her sister argue for the umpteenth time. “Oh, hey, captains.” She gives a short salute.

Howzer crosses his arms and shakes his head, but Rex is amused. It reminds him of the first time they met, right after Padmé’s--

“Whoa, Wookiee alert!” Rafa stops Rex’s train of thought. He turns to see three adult Wookiees approach from the right.

Howzer still can’t contain his shock at their ship. “How did they get their hands on a gunship?”

Rex sometimes forgets Howzer had been stationed far from most of the action of the Clone Wars. “General Tarfful fought in the Battle of Kashyyyk,” he gestures towards the heavily-armored Wookiee, “with Master Yoda. And lucky for us, he’s no friend of the Empire.”

A protocol droid ambles from behind the Wookiee general and ahead to the clone captains. “Hello, I am C3-LT, protocol droid for General Tarfful.”

Rex nods. “Please thank the general for his help. We’re well aware of the trouble on Kashyyyk and know that the Wookiees can’t spare much in the way of arms and soldiers.”

The droid turns to the Wookiee retinue and belts out a mountain of Shyriiwook. Tarfful answers in turn, and the droid translates.

“The general says that he is happy to help the clones liberate their people. He says the clones are brave warriors who will always have the Wookiees’ help whenever they ask.”

Howzer continues to be surprised, his eyes wide at the show of loyalty. Rex nods, and Tarfful drops a heavy hand on his shoulder, shaking the captain and roaring in what the clone assumes is a battle cry. The Wookiees turn around and return to their ship.

Rex starts towards the clones’ fighters at the far end of the field when a freighter lands just outside the perimeter. Everyone stops to watch. The snow settles before the ship’s pilot descends from its platform.

“Afternoon, boys,” Phee greets the approaching clones. She stops at the end of the ramp when she sees blasters aimed in her direction. “Hey now, is that any way to welcome Tech’s—”

Rex sighs and lowers a clone’s blaster with his hand, signaling everyone to stand down. “Easy, men. Echo comm’d us about this.”

Phee walks up to Rex. “Name’s Genoa. Phee Genoa.” They shake hands cautiously. “You must be the one in charge.”

“The name’s Rex. Howzer here will catch you up.” He peers behind her and up into her ship. “Where are the cadets?”

Phee smiles and calls out, “It’s alright, boys. Time to play.”

Three clone cadets appear from the belly of Phee’s ship, running in a line down the platform and stopping in a line next to Phee. “Reporting for duty, sir,” one of them announces before saluting.

Rex kneels down on one knee and addresses the boys. “Alright, troopers.” The cadets snap to attention. “Can I count on you to make sure each ship is supplied with its maximum amount of fuel before sunset?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” They chant and salute in unison before running towards the hangar.

Phee chuckles as Rex stands back up. “Is that what you did when you were a cadet? Fill up fuel tanks and clean starships?”

Rex smirks but holds off on telling her stories of caustic chemicals and hazing rituals on Kamino. Instead, he offers, “You’d be surprised what a clone cadet can do at that age.”

Phee puts a hand on his arm and presses, “Are you sure this will work?” Her concern is genuine.

Rex seems to consider her question seriously for a moment before he shrugs. “It has to.” He gestures for her to follow Howzer.

Rex turns around and gazes into the distance. The sun is beginning to hide behind a line of mountain peaks to the west. The air starts to chill. Gregor will have dinner ready soon, and Rex knows that for some, it will be their last meal. But when he turns back to the airfield, all he can see and hear are smiles and laughter, determined faces turning into friendly ones and idle conversations turning into detailed ones. Rex smiles. For now, hope is still on the horizon.

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