Hunter spends most of the next few hours sitting at the base of the gunner's nest. He tries to stay away, tries to keep himself busy with menial tasks around the ship – sharpening his vibroblade, buffing out his armor, monitoring comms. It occupies his hands but not his mind as he strains to sense Omega's presence, even with his enhanced abilities. The silence, the stillness, and the darkness make the ship feel haunted, so eventually he gives up on trying to be productive and just parks himself at the base of the ladder, finding some comfort in being close should she need him.
He closes his eyes and carefully studies the pattern of her breathing, a sound he has more than committed to memory. Her breath is… weighted, somehow, like her lungs are working for each inhale, and her heart is beating faster than it should in such a deep sleep. The fear that envelops Hunter is potent and metallic, like the taste of blood on his tongue, but the clone swallows his unease and refuses to panic.
They've worked themselves to the bone for Cid, taking one high-risk job after another. It's no surprise that the pressure is finally getting to them, or that Omega is the one to really suffer because of it. Without thinking, Hunter clenches his fists, but after a few deep breaths, he wills them to relax. The team just needs to take a breather, get their strength back and then they'll be fine. His family is going to be fine.
It's not long before the rest of the Batch stumbles up the ramp into the cockpit. Tech and Echo lead the pack, the air of intoxication flowing around them, followed by Cross and Wrecker, grim shadows compared to their exuberant vode. Gonky welcomes them with a low honk, prompting Echo to nudge Tech lazily in the side.
"See, he missed you even though you wanna scrap him."
Tech glares as the ARC trooper collapses into the starboard-side seat. "I was not suggesting we scrap him, I was simply pointing out that having a non-defective power droid would be useful."
Crosshair pushes past the two, heading toward the fresher. He throws over his shoulder, "Not enough room for us in here, let alone another droid."
He hesitates at the stern of the ship, realizing there's no light coming from Omega's room and Hunter is seated on the floor. The sniper's eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but Hunter doesn't miss it. For a brief moment, he thinks his brother has more to say to him than a petty jibe or something strictly mission-related. The moment passes, though, and Cross makes it to the fresher in two strides. Hunter deflates just a little as the door hisses shut behind him.
Wrecker approaches warily as Hunter gets to his feet, the heavy clone rattling with nervous energy.
"What do you think?" He says in Wrecker's version of a whisper.
Hunter frowns, the pang of worry in his gut now a persistent ache. "I think you're right. I'm gonna have Tech check her out."
Wrecker nods and hovers awkwardly, not sure where to go. He settles for standing 'casually' next to the gunrack, though his eyes are locked on Omega's room. The obvious concern in his brother's face and body language does nothing to calm Hunter's gnawing anxiety, but he reminds himself to get the facts before letting feelings take over.
As Tech leaves the cockpit, he makes a beeline for his rack, probably hoping to re-immerse himself in the project he'd started just before the Torque job. Hunter cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder, making the polymath scowl beneath his goggles.
"How sauced are you?" Hunter asks flatly.
Tech shrugs. "Not as much as I'd like to be."
That earns an eyeroll. "Can you get the medscanner and take a look at Omega?"
The haughtiness in Tech's expression instantly vanishes. "Has she complained about feeling ill?"
It's a simple question, yet it makes Hunter pause. He thinks back to the mission on Torque, followed by their encounter with the pirates and the subsequent crash on Yavin IV. When, in that shitstorm of events, had Omega changed, and how in kriffing hells had Hunter missed it? What good are his heightened senses if he can't even tell when his squad needs him? When Omega needs him.
With no satisfying answer, Hunter puts those thoughts aside and refocuses on Tech. "She only said she was tired but we both think something's off." He inclines his head toward Wrecker, who is devolving into a bundle of nerves in the corner.
Tech hums and rubs his chin methodically. His eyes dance between Wrecker and Hunter, assessing the information and his brothers' responses. "Alright," he nods, "I'll be right back. No need to wake her."
He dashes toward the middle of the ship where they stow the medical equipment. That's when Crosshair comes out of the fresher and Echo joins them from the cockpit, likely noticing how the energy in the Marauder has shifted. Hunter gets them both up to speed as Tech returns with the medkit in hand.
In a few fluid movements, Tech leaps onto the middle rung of the ladder, pulls back the curtain, then hoists himself up onto the edge of the nest. Seeing Omega curled in on herself and shrouded in darkness is a startling image and Tech makes a mental note.
PHOTOPHOBIA, OR SENSITIVITY TO LIGHT.
OFTEN ACCOMPANIED BY HEADACHES AND NAUSEA.
SYMPOTMATIC OF MANY HUMAN-BASED ILLNESSES SUCH AS MIGRAINES . . . ALLERGIC CONJUNCTIVITIS . . . DAMAGE TO THE RETINA OR CORNEAS . . . SUPRANUCLEAR PALSY . . . PITUITARY TUMOR . . .
Tech shakes his head. Focuses. Upon activating the fairy lights, he is met with a muffled groan of protest. There is the slightest shift as Omega attempts to snuff out what little light is penetrating her cocoon. Given the immediacy of her reaction, Tech figures their return to the ship must have pulled her from a deeper sleep. He reaches out, gently thwarting her efforts to disappear.
"I am sorry, Omega." He says in the soft, 'parental' voice he has been practicing since she joined the squad. "I just need to take your temperature."
Very, very slowly, Omega turns her upper body so that her forehead is no longer pressed against the wall. Her face is twisted up, eyes squeezed shut. "Did m' miss the supply run?" She grumbles.
It takes Tech a second to understand what she's talking about. They'd planned on splitting up tomorrow: Tech, Wrecker, and Echo staying behind to work on the ship while Hunter, Crosshair, and Omega went downtown to get some supplies. He is not surprised by her confusion. Estimating from the time Wrecker returned to the bar and now, Omega has been in bed for the last five hours. It's reasonable for her to think it is already the next day.
"No, you have not missed it." Tech assures her. "It is still the same day as when we landed." Though given her fatigue, the red flush of her skin, and the sensitivity to light, Tech doubts that his vod'ika will be able to join them at all.
She croaks in acknowledgement. " 'mkay. Don't leave 'thout me."
The request makes his chest tighten, though he can't articulate why. Getting a grip, he opens the kit and pulls out the medscanner, switching it on. Pushing her hair back , Tech holds the scanner up to her temple. It beeps once, twice, three times before flashing the results.
"Wrecker, can you grab a clean canteen?" His brother nods and takes off, excited to be helpful. Tech addresses the rest of his aliit. "100.8, low grade."
He slowly works a hand beneath Omega's shoulders. "Omega, can you sit up for me?"
The young clone is clearly not happy about this but doesn't complain as she heaves herself into a sitting position. Feeling her struggle, Tech almost moves so that she can lean against him, but Omega shoves her back against the wall before he can think about it.
Clearing his throat, Tech pulls out his datapad and opens one of the files in his medical folder. "Omega, how is your head?"
" 's great."
Hunter inches forward, voice simmering. "Omega."
She flinches. " 's not great. Hurts, 'n the lights make it worse."
Tech processes this information as Wrecker returns, handing him the canteen. "Here," he holds it out to Omega, "drink this."
The girl sluggishly wriggles her arms free of the blanket, Lula and Trooper falling to the sides as she does so. As she takes the canteen, Tech continues. "Any nausea?"
The silence that follows is answer enough. Omega's whole face is tinged with discomfort, so it's difficult for Tech to read her, though he's fairly sure there's a spark of something like shame in her eyes.
Wrecker puts two and two together. "Aw, kid, is that why you didn't want any Mantell Mix?"
Hunter's head snaps toward him, then Omega, then back. "You two didn't get any while you were out?"
The death glare Omega sends Wrecker could take out a Star Destroyer. The older clone shrugs by way of apology, though Hunter is having none of it. Hoisting himself up so that his arms rest on the edge of the bunk, Hunter levels Omega with a look so heated it practically sparks.
"Omega," he seethes, "have you eaten anything since we left Yavin IV?"
The pained look on Omega's face morphs into something truly disquieting as she tucks her chin into her chest and shakes her head. The sergeant blows a sharp breath through his nose and falls back from the ladder, marching off to get some rations. Echo rolls his eyes and goes after him. Omega bites down hard on her lower lip, bringing her knees up to her chest.
"Alright, just a few more tests." Tech says with as much kindness as he can manage. He uses a torch to check inside her mouth for any discoloration or swelling. Finding none, he flashes the light in each eye, testing pupillary response. Omega winces.
"Sorry." Tech murmurs, and he really, truly is.
Echo stomps into the hold, intercepting Hunter before he can open the ration box. "Can you cut the shit?" He hisses. The clone sergeant balks at him, but Echo doesn't stop. "Omega is sick and you can't berate her into getting better."
This seems to catch Hunter off guard. He abandons the rations and steps back, like Echo has physically hit him and he needs space to get his bearings. "I… I'm not mad she's sick. I'm mad she didn't tell us she needed food. I'm mad she didn't tell us she was feeling off."
And I'm mad that I didn't see it. Echo knows. He feels the same way.
"Sarge, when do any of us admit we need help?"
Their gazes lock, Hunter searching for some way to parry Echo's challenge, but they both know he can't. Clones weren't taught how to ask for help outside of the battlefield. It's something each cadet has to learn on their own, how to trust their squad-mates not only as allies, but as brothers. Hunter eventually drops his eyes to the floor, the closest thing Echo will ever get to a concession.
The ARC trooper sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Hunter, Omega isn't used to having a support system – unless you count the kriffing long-necks who probably put her under quarantine if she so much as sneezed."
Hunter visibly bristles at the thought. He shakes his head. "I thought she understood we're her support system."
Echo frowns at the implicit sadness in his brother's voice. He extends his hand, giving Hunter a good shake. "Hey, she does, okay? She just needs a reminder. So please, get your shit together." Hunter sneers and Echo can't help but laugh. He turns back to the nearly-forgotten ration box and pulls out one of the protein-heavy bars they usually save for Wrecker. "Come on, utreekov." He says, walking backwards toward the stern. "Meg's gonna need all her ori'vode."
Hunter still looks unhappy when they return, but more like his usual brand of grumpiness than truly pissed off. Everyone seems relieved, especially Omega. Echo hands her the ration bar. She thanks him, though looks at the food disparagingly before breaking off a piece and taking the tiniest bite possible. Hyperaware of the five adults staring at her, Omega tries to remain composed, though swallowing takes conscious effort.
Tech waits for her to take another bite. When she doesn't, he clears his throat and turns back to his datapad. "Omega, do you know what sort of vaccinations you received on Kamino?"
Omega racks her brain, wanting to give Tech accurate data, but feels herself begin to slip, mental images of syringes and tubes and vials totally blindsiding her.
Omega had counted 135 hexagonal tiles covering the ceiling of her private medical suite. 810 points of intersection. If someone turned her head, she could have counted the wall tiles, but no one did, and she could not open her mouth to make such a silly request. She could not do anything but lay there, distantly aware of the needles penetrating her skin.
Nala Se hovered in her peripheral vision, voice muted like she was underwater. "You have done well, little one."
But Omega didn't know what she had done, only that she was somehow both aching and numb, unable to move her limbs yet weightless. She wished someone would put her in a sitting position so she could at least tell up from down. There was a sharp pressure on the side of her neck, another needle, and suddenly Omega's chest was burning with a caged scream.
She wanted to flail and kick and demand that someone tell her what was happening, what they were doing to her, but she couldn't. Even if she could form the words, she knew they would go unanswered.
"Omega?"
Tech's hand on her arm pulls her from the memories. She blinks, surroundings slowly coming back into focus. Tech still sits before her, though his expression is creased with worry. The rest of the Batch seems to have inched closer, similar lines marring their faces. Hunter has one hand clutching the ladder like he's a breath away from yanking himself onto the platform.
Omega shakes her head, willing her voice not to tremble. "No, I don't know." She adds in a whisper. "Sorry."
"That's alright." Tech assures her immediately. "Try to eat a little bit more." Omega eyes the ration bar reproachfully as Tech produces a chalky white capsule from of the medkit. "Here."
"Can't." she says, "Took one when I got back."
"That was over five hours ago." Tech informs her. "You can have another one, we'll just make sure you don't have more than five in the next twenty-four hours."
Omega nods. She feels like she should have known that, but her thoughts are all jumbled right now. Tech hands her the pill and she takes it with a sip of water. He closes the medkit and shimmies to the edge of her bunk.
"I'll scan you again in the morning. Just try to eat some more and get some sleep."
As soon as Tech jumps down, Wrecker takes his place. He scoots close and Omega reflexively lifts her legs so that she can drape them over his, though it takes some extra coordination due to the blankets.
Grabbing Lula, Wrecker says in a nasally voice, "Oi there, Meg. Someone told me you're feeling a bit under the weather."
Despite how miserable she looks, Omega manages a breathy laugh. The rest of the Batch leaves them to their devices while they regroup in the cockpit, everyone looking to Tech.
"Well?" Hunter says, keeping his voice low.
Tech clears his throat. "It may just be a standard cold, but…" He adjusts his goggles, more to stall than because he needs to. "We don't know what vaccinations Omega received on Kamino, if any."
The others process this in weighted silence. Echo is the first to speak. "Why the hell wouldn't they vaccinate her?" He growls. "I thought that was standard for cadets."
"Generally, yes, but I doubt Lama Su ever intended for Omega to set foot outside of Tipoca City." Despite already knowing this to be true, Tech can't help the flare of anger that ignites in his stomach. Though it had taken some getting used to, fostering Omega's curiosity has become one of Tech's greatest joys – sharing his vast knowledge and experience while Omega, in turn, shares her boundless wonder. The idea of that spirit wasting away under the starless skies of Kamino is enough to make Tech shake with rage.
Crosshair is next to break the silence, taking out the toothpick he'd been chewing and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "So what's it mean for the kid if she is unvaccinated?"
Before Tech can speak, Hunter answers with a snarl. "It means we've been carting her around the galaxy totally unprotected." He's starring out the viewport hard enough to shatter it.
Tech wants to reassure his vod, but comes up empty. "Essentially, yes. I will research the most common diseases found on the planets we've visited in the last week and see if she is displaying any of the same symptoms."
Echo nods and straightens his shoulders like this is a mission briefing. "I'll add some children's medicine to the supply list for tomorrow: cold meds, fever reducer, painkillers." We should have thought of it before, he almost says, but the look on Hunter's face shows he's already thinking it.
Tech parks himself in the pilot's seat, already lost to the medical databases of the holotnet. Crosshair turns to follow Echo back toward the racks, droning to no one in particular. "Guess Tech's volunteering for first watch."
Hunter remains frozen, gaze locked straight ahead of him, arms folded. Cross stops in the doorway, like if Hunter feels his eyes on him, he'll move. He doesn't. Crosshair sighs, fingers flexing against the edge of the doorway.
"Hey," he murmurs, and somehow that gets his brother's attention. Hunter doesn't face him, not fully, but he turns his head so that Cross can see the rigid set of his jaw. There is a twisted, hateful part of him that is glad to see his brother like this. A part of him wants this to hurt. That part is all scar tissue, though, still fresh and red and sore. It'll fade with time, and besides, there's no satisfaction when all of this is at the kid's expense.
"It's probably just a cold." He says, and disappears to the back of the ship.