It's midafternoon when Wrecker makes it back to Cid's Parlor, though the perpetual smog blanketing the city makes it almost impossible to tell. Only the Batch know the access codes for the Marauder, so Wrecker isn't worried about Omega for that reason. It had been something in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way her voice wavered as she begged him not to tell Hunter. It's a plea so familiar, Wrecker almost feels sick.
It had been a bad few months. When Lama Su first pulled Wrecker out of his Core Worlds History class, he'd been thrilled. He didn't like the needles, but the Kaminoans said they would make him stronger, that he would be unstoppable. The serum was going to "stimulate his naturally enhanced growth," and karking hells, it did.
A lattice of red marks covered his back, arms, and legs, his skin desperately trying to accommodate the rapidly growing bone and muscle. He ached down to his marrow. It hurt to move, to lie still, to exist. The only comfort in those days were the lengths that his brothers went to ease his suffering, helping him stretch ungiving muscles and working at the knots under his skin. He felt like a burden to them. The thing that he was made for now kept him in bed, rigid and sick with pain. He had a duty to his squad, and he was failing them.
That wasn't true, of course. Wrecker knows now, but it had taken a long time to unlearn the ways he was taught to value himself. He can see the same misguided conviction in Omega's eyes. It breaks his kriffing heart, yet he's at a loss for how to show her – how to make her believe that she is valuable to them, valued by them, without having to try.
His mind keeps turning the issue over as he joins his brothers at the bar, Tech and Echo already well into their second round. Crosshair acknowledges his vod with a nod and pours him a glass. Wrecker accepts it, though his usual ardor for the sweet rum is gone. The sniper quirks an eyebrow, gaze darting around the room.
"Where's the shiny?" he asks, mouth turning up slightly at the nickname Omega loathes. Noticing her absence, both Tech and Echo turn, awaiting Wrecker's answer.
The heavy clone clenches his fists. Omega had asked him not to tell Hunter, but she hadn't mentioned the rest of the squad. They're not supposed to keep secrets from each other, but Wrecker remembers what it's like being a cadet, that need to prove you aren't the weak link.
"She, uh, wanted to head back to the ship. Mess with Gonky's power cell some more."
Tech loses interest immediately. "I've told her that is a fruitless venture. GNK models are growing more obsolete by the day, not to mention the droid's fraying circuitry."
He continues to rattle off reasons why getting a new power droid is a worthy investment while Echo plays Gonky's advocate. Crosshair keeps his attention on Wrecker, though, narrowing his keen eyes. The scrutiny makes Wrecker squirm, and he's almost glad when Cid comes barging out of her office.
"I thought you guys were supposed to be professionals." She gripes, snatching the half-empty bottle from the bar top and hiding it away. "Heroes of The Grand Army of the Republic." Her mocking tone makes Wrecker bristle.
Hunter comes in a moment later, holding a case filled with what Wrecker assumes is their cut. He looks like he's trying not to smirk, which feels like a good sign.
Well, except for Cid. "Honestly, you get attacked by a couple of pirates and now everybody's got their panties in a twist."
Hunter's voice is steady as he replies. "Well, if your mission briefings were a little more in-depth, maybe we'd be more prepared and wouldn't need extra credits to cover the damages." This is bantha shit. Wrecker knows Tech can work with a fraction of what they asked.
The Trandoshan sneers. "I'll show you depth when I shove my foot up that perky little ass of yours."
All the high ground Hunter seemed to have gained crumbles under him at the implication that his ass is not only little but perky. The Batch erupts with laughter. Even Wrecker can't help but chuckle at Hunter's dumbfounded expression. Cid barely revels in her victory, skulking off to harass Bolo and Ketch about something. When Hunter regains his composure, his eyes zero-in on the empty space beside Wrecker.
"Where's Omega?" he asks in a tone that is totally calm and not-at-all threatening. Wrecker tries not to flinch.
"She's at the ship. She… uh…" He lowers his head and his voice. "She said she was tired."
Hunter is completely still for a moment. He doesn't just take in his brother's words, but the set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He reads the silent signals that Wrecker has more to say but can't get it out.
"Okay." Hunter responds evenly. "You worried about her?"
Wrecker looks guilty. "I don't know. Something just seemed… off."
That doesn't tell him anything, yet Hunter feels a shiver run down his spine. Wrecker knows Omega better than anyone, and if he feels that something isn't right…
"I'll head back and check on her." Hunter declares.
Relief flares in Wrecker's eyes, though it's dimmed by a dismissive noise from Crosshair. The sniper runs his finger idly over the rim of his drinking glass, his glare fixed on the bar top.
"Better hurry." He says in a low voice before taking a swig. "She might have stubbed a toe without daddy there to kiss it better."
"Cross." Wrecker growls and shoves him, not hard enough to trigger him but enough to get his attention.
He stares Hunter down, daring him to fight back, but his ori'vod never does. Hunter knows that Crosshair's hostility isn't toward Omega, not really. He's watched the marksman – in his own way – take the young clone under his wing, helping her train with her energy bow, a standard blaster pistol, even his Firepuncher on one rare occasion.
No, this isn't an attack on their youngest batcher. This is Hunter's penance for not seeing the change in Crosshair, for not acting sooner, for leaving him behind and staying away. It doesn't begin to make up for what he's done, but Hunter will bare it until he figures out what can.
"I need a break, anyway." He says, knowing his brothers will understand what that means. He gives them both a nod and leaves without another word.
The bustling streets of Ord Mantell could not be more different from the lush jungles of Yavin IV, yet both environments have been hell on Hunter's senses. The cityscape seems obvious, with its dizzying lights and colors, millions of different sounds and smells fighting for his attention, though the forest hadn't been better. So much of Hunter's energy had been spent drowning out the sounds of insects, rustling trees, and running water to focus on identifying possible threats. Right now, there is nothing he wants more than to simply close his eyes and let the familiar cadence of the Marauder wash over him.
Though Wrecker had said she was tired, Hunter doesn't expect to find Omega actually in bed. Normally she won't attempt to sleep unless Echo or himself makes it a direct order, and even then, Hunter knows she is up well into the night-cycle reading or conspiring with Lula and Trooper. The utter stillness coming from her room is disconcerting, and if Hunter could not physically hear her heart beating, he thinks his might have stopped.
Gingerly pulling back the curtain, Hunter is surprised that he must rely on his enhanced eyesight to make out anything in the room. Omega has closed the viewport of the gunner's nest, shutting out any natural light, and her ever-twinkling fairy lights are off. Unease continues to take root in Hunter's stomach as he watches Omega's sleeping form.
On the rare occasions that Omega isn't up before them, the Batch usually finds her sprawled out across all available space, her blanket kicked halfway down the ladder and poor Trooper hanging on for dear life. Now, though, Omega has all but disappeared. The young clone lays curled in on herself, head and knees pressed up against the wall like she's trying to become a part of the ship. Hunter can't make out her face beneath the blanket, though a stray felt ear shows that Lula and Trooper are somewhere in there with her.
The clone sergeant's heartrate begins to climb, though he forces himself to breathe slowly and evenly. As quietly as he can in plastoid armor, Hunter sits on the edge of the gunner's nest.
"Omega," he whispers, "are you awake?"
There's no answer other than the continued beat of her heart and soft sound of her breathing. It should calm Hunter, but it doesn't. His skin prickles with the certainty that something is wrong, yet he doesn't move. Every instinct is telling him to bare his teeth, to fight, but there is nothing to fight against, just an unnerved feeling he can't shake.
Is it warranted? Does he have anything to go on other than Wrecker's suspicions? In the chaos of their last mission, Hunter had failed to really pay attention to Omega, outside of confirming that she was staying close and that she was safe. Had he missed something? The young clone had perhaps been more reserved than usual, but everyone had been tense the last few days.
Maybe she truly is just tired. Tech had revealed to them during the Cad Bane fiasco that Omega is only nine years old. How is it possible that Hunter keeps forgetting she's just a kid? Biting back a sigh, Hunter crawls off the bunk and fixes the curtain back to give her some privacy. He'll check on her again in the morning, but right now she deserves to get some sleep.
The panic gripping his chest is unrelenting, but Hunter sets his jaw and ignores it. His infallible instincts have done nothing but lead them in circles ever since… since Kaller. Since the Order. Maybe his squad – his family – is better off without them.