Benefits Earned
Chapter Summary: Crosshair does *not* want to cede custody of his wounded brothers. Echo does *not* do well waking up in strange medical bays. Followed by more proof that TBB has friends in high places resulting in Tech getting some intergalactic love. And finally, Echo and Tech get some much-needed treatment, rest, and a reunion.
Chapter Notes: Oh boy, I did something surprising in this one, lads... Crosshair narrates a section (GULP!). I love Crosshair but I never, ever thought I would hazard narrating through him. Maybe it's just the Tech in me that's just trying to understand him lol. Also, I got the HC about glass and Mandalore when I was watching CW 2.12. You know how Obi-Wan goes to Mandalore and Satine takes him around? There's tons of stained glass in the Throne Room and all kinds of ornate glass structures in the city. In my HC, Mandalorians are so so so good at forging beskar, glass, and all kinds of stuff. But since they took a peaceful turn, they do less beskar forging and more glassworking... eh?
Before the shuttle's gangway even lowers completely, Kix and two full squads of medics swarm up and into the main hold to treat the Batch's wounded. As the regs pour in and get to work, the tense, somber atmosphere aboard the Havoc Marauder quickly erupts into organized chaos.
Hunter stands tactfully at the foot of Echo's bunk, poised to do precisely as Kix instructs and to provide all the information and help he possibly can.
At Hunter's behest, Wrecker has retreated closer toward the cockpit. He's somehow squeezed his gigantic frame into a small recess, giving the medics more room to work while staying close to all the action.
Crosshair, however, is more reluctant to bestow such hospitality. The sullen sharpshooter remains rooted on the spot between Tech and Echo's bunks. He's hovering possessively like an angry acklay, looking ready to lash out and harpoon anyone who dares try to take his vode away from him.
To avoid the risk of Crosshair discouraging those who only mean to help, Hunter steps up behind the sniper and puts a calming hand on his shoulder.
"I know you want to stay close to them," Hunter tells him with as much tranquility he can muster. "But we gotta let Kix and his guys take over now."
Crosshair flinches violently when Hunter's hand makes contact. The sergeant's soothing words do nothing, at first, but cause the sniper's brow to furrow and thin lines of his mouth to sneer. The three Bad Batch commandos have continuously provided critical care to their brothers for over three hours now. They've all been looking forward to this very moment in which they can deliver Tech and Echo to the qualified experts. Yet Hunter knows that Crosshair still doesn't have it in him to relinquish them lightly.
"Come on, Cross," Hunter tries again when Crosshair doesn't cede any territory to the regs. "They're pros, and they have what Tech and Echo need. It's time to let them do what they do best."
Several rigidly strained milliseconds pass before the sharpshooter finally capitulates. Hunter watches his vod visibly relax just enough to back away from their brothers' bunks. This allows the medics to transfer Tech and Echo onto hover stretchers for transport, which they promptly do with swift, coordinated movements. For safe measure, Hunter steers Crosshair toward the bulkhead and posts up right beside him, effectively staging them both out of the way.
From where they stand, eagerly observing what the medics are doing with their wounded vode, Hunter listens fiercely for any indications of good news. He doesn't hear anything particularly promising, he just learns that Tech is to be taken away first. He also catches a few comments muttered between two of the more seasoned medics.
"A lot of trauma," gravely observes one of the medics to his squadmate. "But the field surgery's first-rate."
"Yeah, somebody loves these guys," agrees the other 501st medic. "They've got a fightin' chance because of it."
Hunter's chest swells with pride thinking about Crosshair's outstanding medical efforts. Hoping to find any indication that Crosshair also heard the exchange, he steals a glance at his brother's narrow face. But there's no trace of a cocky half-grin or even a suave grimace of pride. Instead, Crosshair's features reveal nothing but pure worry as his sharp eyes flit anxiously between the stretchers being prepared to carry Echo and Tech away from them.
More minutes of clamor and urgency ensue until, finally, the two teams of medics decide to move out. Both injured vode are secured for quick, safe transport and carted away for emergency treatment within the Resolute's ample infirmary. Amidst the flurry of activity, Hunter spots Kix giving urgent orders as Tech and Echo are disembarked. Just before the senior medic follows, he turns to Hunter and Crosshair and gives them both an assuring nod.
Hunter gratefully returns the gesture then watches Kix turn on his heel to continue directing the convoy.
Once Tech and Echo have been whisked away and the commotion surrounding them has all moved on, the noisy, urgent mood onboard Marauder is instantly replaced with a bleak, empty stillness. Hunter feels the weight of the silence crushing him. He senses the void within each of the two now-vacant bottom bunks yawning out before him, transforming the Marauder's main cabin into a dismal abyss.
He's so unsettled and distracted by the sudden feeling of desolation, that he barely notices that one of the rookie medics has lagged behind the medical cavalcade to collect more information regarding Tech and Echo.
"-argent? ... Sarge?" the rookie is saying to the OIC of Clone Force 99.
"Err forgive me, kid, I was lost in thought," says Hunter, forcing himself to focus on the shiny standing before him. "What was that?"
"Sorry, I know you already went through this with Kix. But I just need to confirm," says the rookie, poised to enter information into the datapad he's holding. "Is there any pertinent info about either trooper that isn't already recorded in their medical files?"
"Ahh, no," Hunter tells the young medic. "Nothing comes to mind."
"Copy. And neither have any allergies to medication nor have had any adverse reactions to drugs in the past. Correct?"
"Right. But Echo hasn't been with us that long," Hunter says. "Make sure you guys pull up all his information from before… From when he served with Rex in the 501st."
"We've been briefed on his medical history, Sarge, but we'll verify everything we have on him," the medic assures. "That's all we need for now. Kix, or one of the other senior medics, will contact you shortly to give you updates."
"Roger," Hunter replies, still feeling uneasy.
"They're in good hands, Sarge," the rookie tells him. "I promise. We'll do everything we can."
The rookie medic finishes his notes and turns to leave. But, before he gets more than one pace away, Hunter reaches out and seizes him by the elbow.
"Hang on," he tells the medic. "Do me a favor."
"Yessarge?" says the medic dutifully, ready to record more information to share with his team.
"Tell your OIC, from me, that our ARC Trooper's cybernetic neural system is off-limits for treatment right now. No one messes with his cybernetic interface or neural net until he's fully aware and gives his consent, hear me? He's been through too much… well, especially when it comes to that."
"You got it, Sarge," the shiny assures him. "Kix already announced something similar, but I'll report to him exactly what you just told me. Anything else?"
"No," Hunter says before he remembers one last important detail. "Wait, yes—one more thing. Our Echo tends to get a little cagey in medical. Just… be ready."
"Be ready?" asks the medic tentatively.
"For him to wake up swinging. He's got a fierce left hook," Hunter advises, wistfully rubbing his jaw. "Devastating, actually."
"Oh, ok...," says the medic, staring pensively into his datapad. "I'm just working out how to word it. So you're saying, when he comes out of anesthesia, we should take extra precautions to ensure he doesn't harm himself?"
"Wrong," drawls Crosshair in a husky, sinister tone that visibly rattles the rookie. "He's saying that Echo's likely to harm you. He'll kick that shiny, empty head clean off your shoulders if you don't mind him properly."
Hunter watches as Crosshair squares up to his full height and closes the small distance between himself and the rookie. They'd be chest-to-chest if Crosshair didn't have a few inches on the medic, and the lean, looming frame of the sniper is only made more menacing by this fact.
The sharpshooter extends a long, single index finger— his trigger finger, and prods it dangerously into the center of the rookie's recently-minted cuirass.
"So," Crosshair warns. "Mind. Him. Properly."
The medic gulps nervously, and Hunter steps in, wordlessly forming a comfortable space between Crosshair and the rookie, who looks ready to turn tail and run for dear life. Although he'd have been less aggressive, Hunter couldn't really have said it better, so he's not going to criticize his sniper's conduct, and he's certainly not going to do it in front of this shiny from another company. He tries to alleviate the tension and remind the medic that, above all, they're grateful for the Resolute's assistance and just want their boys to be ok.
"Uhh...Please," Hunter says, trying to finish Crosshair's remark politely and salvage whatever scrap of cordiality that he can. "And that's all, but we'll let you know if we think of anything else. Thanks, ah, what was your name, trooper? "
Hunter worries that his appreciation for the medic will ring hollow in the wake of Crosshair's naked hostility. But as a testament to Kix's leadership, the 501st medics are hard-bitten when dealing with anxious, distraught, tense troopers whose vode have been taken away for emergency care. So, even though this medic is young and inexperienced, he has a firm and commendable grasp of the concept.
"I'm called Knuckles. And of course, Sarge," he says, collecting himself before hurrying off to catch up with his squad and relay the information to his superiors.
"Good job, Cross," says Wrecker with a rumbling chuckle as he emerges from his position near the cockpit, where he'd witnessed the entire exchange. "That poor little shiny nearly shit himself!"
"He can shit himself all he wants," growls the sniper indifferently. "As long as he gets the message. And isn't near us or Marauder when he does."
"Ha! Well, he's sure gone now. Hey, is it just me, or does this place feel real, I dunno… empty all of a sudden?" asks Wrecker.
"It does," Hunter admits.
"Hnn," Crosshair agrees, worrying at another fresh toothpick.
"I don't like it," Wrecker announces to them. "Whatta we do now? Can we go to medbay and wait?"
"Right after we get some work done, big guy," says Hunter, stepping effortlessly into his role as their leader. "Crosshair, can you start knocking out the technical checklist? Wrecker, can you offload waste and start reorganizing? We can't leave Marauder looking like this."
"On it," says Crosshair, grabbing a datapad and heading for the cockpit.
"Yep," says Wrecker. "What are you gonna work on, boss?"
"I need to find Generals Kenobi and Skywalker to debrief them," says Hunter. "Once I get back, we can finish up here and head to the medbay waiting area. Maybe by then, Kix will have updates for us."
"Roger that, Sarge," says Wrecker, turning to begin his cleanup duties.
Hunter leaves the Flag Officer's hangar and uses the main corridor of the ship to find the administration offices. Once he gets permission to meet with and is given the current location of the two Generals, he starts making his way up to the Flag Officer's bridge.
He hasn't made it very far when he gets an urgent page from medical.
"Hunter, it's Kix," he hears from his commlink. "Come in, please."
There are muffled thuds and groaning noises, mixed with the clattering of medical equipment, serving as background noise at Kix's location.
"Yeah, Kix," Hunter answers promptly, stopping dead in his tracks, his heart racing with concern. "What's going on?"
"It's Echo. He's... we're having some... difficulties with him," Kix says, punctuating his report with grunts of effort. "Can you send someone from the Batch to help us with him? He... I think he needs a squadmate right now."
"I'm on my way," Hunter tells Kix as he does an about-face and starts jogging back toward the lift.
Once he's inside and punches in the correct level for the medical wing, Hunter comms the General's admin desk and requests direct communication with Kenobi or Skywalker. Given that he has an official appointment to meet with them, a temporary connection with General Kenobi's commlink is granted to him. He makes the call right away.
"General Kenobi," he queries. "This is Hunter. Come in please, sir."
"Go ahead, Sergeant," says Kenobi in a tone that makes Hunter suspect that the Jedi General somehow already knows what he's about to ask.
"I was on my way to our meeting, but I got a page from medical, sir," he says. "They need some help down there."
"With Echo," Kenobi says perceptively.
"With Echo," Hunter affirms. "Sorry, sir, can we reschedule?"
"No apology necessary," Kenobi says. "Go be with your squadmates, Sergeant."
"Yeah, go," Skywalker chimes in from Kenobi's commlink. "We can meet up tomorrow morning. Go take care of your boys, Hunter."
"Yessir," Hunter tells him firmly. "I will."
Hunter ends the transmission only to dial-up Crosshair and Wrecker to tell them that Echo needs the in medical right away. Once they roger-up, he breaks out into a run, not giving a flying kriff who is scrutinizing him for it, and ignoring all the annoyed and confused looks he's getting from others in the passageway.
Breathless from his sprint, Hunter arrives at Resolute's medical bay and jogs right past the intake desk to find the suite where Echo's being treated. He doesn't need to ask where to go, he just follows his senses and heads toward the unrest.
Hunter quickly locates the room where Echo's being treated and is immediately waved inside by one of the medics within. Inside, he finds a scene of escalating chaos in which a harried-looking Kix and a team of both medics and mechanics are trying to treat the wounded ARC.
Echo, in semi-conscious and wounded confusion, is doggedly fighting them, thus preventing them from providing him with the treatment that he so desperately needs.
"Kix," Hunter calls into the room. "Is he alright? What's the situation?"
"Hunter! Glad you're here," says the tense medic, making space and beckoning Hunter closer to Echo's bedside. "He's got injuries we need to treat and foreign materials that need to be extracted. But he's wounded and damaged pretty badly from the ordeal. And now he's confused and fighting us."
"What can I do to help?" Hunter asks, fighting the urge to take Echo in his arms and hold him tightly until the panic stops.
"We need to get him immobilized on this table for his safety and we need to calm him down. He's making his injuries worse, Hunter. And the longer we wait, the greater the risk of complications."
Hunter rushes to the other side of Echo's bed, where he can get up-close and personal with his wounded vod. He nudges one of the mechanics out of the way, removes his gloves, and gently grasps Echo's shoulder. Echo has a breathing mask on and Hunter can hear and see the rapid puffs of air fogging the inside of it.
Echo's vitals are deficient and erratic. He's twitchy, cagey, thrashing, and reaching out with his already injured shoulder to tear at the IV line and diagnostic cable that they've managed to attach to him. He's already contrived to rip away the bandages that had been applied to the nasty blaster wound on his shoulder.
Hunter tightens his grip on his brother and leans in closely, knowingly running the significant risk of getting head-butted.
"Echo," he says gently. "Calm down, brother. You're safe."
Echo's chest heaves and his eyes twitch open, slightly unevenly.
"Zero... nine... CT... one four…," the ARC mumbles flatly.
To Hunter's absolute horror, Echo's starting to report his CT number. Just like he'd been forced to do during his horrifying year-long captivity on Skako Minor. Hunter leans in again to call out to him, but Echo suddenly bucks and strains against the tethers on the table. Then, the ARC reaches to pull at the tubing and cables connected to his artificial respirators in his chest, but Hunter captures his hand and holds it tightly before he can do any more damage.
"He's delirious, Hunter. We really don't want to have to resort to shutting him down," says Kix apologetically. "But we're running out of options. Please, if you can, just try to calm him down so we can treat him safely."
Shutting him down.
The words twist in Hunter's gut and send chills up his spine.
No, Hunter would not stand for it. Not ever would he allow Echo to be switched on and off again against his will, treated like the droid that the Techno Union thought they could convert him into.
"It won't come to that," Hunter tells Kix, more aggressively than he'd intended.
"Good," says Kix. "But we can't let him carry on like this and he needs treatment. Please hurry, Hunter."
Hunter nods determinately at the medic and refocuses his attention on Echo.
"Echo?" he calls. "Echo, it's Hunter. I'm here vod. Can you hear me?"
This time, a flicker of recognition cross the wounded ARC's face and he glances up hesitantly, looking for the source of his Sergeant's husky voice.
"Echo," Hunter calls again, more insistently this time. "It's Hunter. I'm here with you, vod. You're alright."
"Hunter?" Echo asks in an exhausted, frightened voice that's so far out of character for him, Hunter almost doesn't believe it's real.
"I'm here, Echo," Hunter assures him, still maintaining a fierce grip on his brother's shoulder and hand. "I'm with you."
Behind the crowd of medics, Hunter senses the arrival of the other Batch members. Without taking his eyes off of Echo, Hunter reaches back and beckons them closer. Wordlessly, the regs shuffle aside to allow Wrecker and Crosshair space on either side of Echo's operating table.
"Hunter, please…," Echo urges. "Hunter, unhook me. Please, unhook me, the Skakoans…
"You're free from them, brother," Hunter promises. "We're on the Resolute, Echo. You're safe, vod. You, me, Crosshair, Wrecker, and Tech… we're all safe. You're with family. We gotta treat some injuries you have though, but I promise you're safe."
"Safe?" Echo says, undoubtedly in a lot of pain from the brutal hell he'd endured. "Yeah... okay."
Hunter nods to Kix, who then signals for the technicians and medics to ease their way closer. A technician moves in with a stability and diagnostic clamp to engage and secure around the base of Echo's skull while they treat his flesh wounds and physical damages. The ARC turns his head away from it in disgust, making it tricky and more dangerous to install.
"Shh, Echo, it's alright," Hunter tells him, continuing to murmur whatever comforts he can as the medics and mechanics hesitantly resume the required procedures.
The technicians use special magnetic couplings to engage the cybernetics along Echo's spine and legs to immobilize him, and finally, the large clamp engages around the back of Echo's head. Echo spasms as the connections are made and he winces when the diagnostic bracket locks his headpiece into place for safety and for readings.
"That's it, Echo," Hunter encourages him, now unsure if his brother's suffering more from the physical or the emotional pain of everything. All around them, the medics urgently continue to provide the necessary care. "Just a few minutes of this and it'll be over. Then you can rest as long as you need."
Echo squeezes his eyes shut, but they're still twitching behind his pale eyelids. His teeth are gritting sharply, and a tear runs down the side of his hollow face. Hunter reaches up and wipes it gently away with his thumb.
All in all, Echo is gradually calming down and seems to be less confused than he was minutes earlier. His violent tremors reduce to a steady shuddering, which then diminished into a slight trembling. Hunter continues to comfort him, grip him tenderly by the shoulder when not obstructing any care, and firmly holds his hand—even as Echo's arm is stiffly manipulated and strapped tightly to his side to protect his raw shoulder wound.
At long last, the medics get Echo stable and cleaned up, and the technicians are able to make superficial repairs. With Wrecker's help, the specialists are able to quickly remove the harmful foreign tools and cables that were still jammed into Echo's body, and they carefully replace most of the damaged ports.
Wrecker and Crosshair have both been instrumental in holding Echo down effectively, but without scaring him. Kix and his team had tried sedation in the prescribed way that should have worked for him, but Echo's extensive internal and neural damage is interfering with the typical care. According to Kix, they can't give him too much medication and harm his already overly taxed metabolism, and they don't want to cause any more stress on his cybernetics.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Echo's resting with most of his cybernetic damage repaired and his organic injuries cleaned and dressed properly. To everyone's relief the ARC is now sleeping soundly and ready to be moved to a recovery room.
"Any chance of bunking him in the same room as Tech?" Hunter asks hopefully. "It'll go a lot better for both of them if they can recover together."
"They've actually both been assigned one of the larger recovery rooms that are typically reserved for Jedi and high ranking officers," Kix tells them. "General Skywalker insisted they have it so that Echo can have some extra privacy. He'll have unique needs anyway, it's better to have him segregated from the rest of the patients. Until he's on his feet at least. You agree?"
"Yeah, that's fantastic," Hunter tells him. "Wow, this is gonna be huge for them. Thank you, Kix."
"Of course," Kix tells him. "They've earned it. Plus we're thinking that having Tech in the same room will be more convenient for when it's time for Echo to get his neural system damages taken care of. We only ran the diagnostic, but it's all Tech-level stuff. He's probably the only person in the sector capable to treat Echo. Otherwise, Echo'd have to wait for orders to a large base like Anaxes, or Kamino even. I'm just hoping it won't be detrimental to Tech's recovery— you know trying to do much too soon."
"Yeah... that is usually a problem with him," Hunter says sadly. "But there's a bigger issue for Tech this time."
"What's that?"
"He can't see, Kix," Hunter tells him. "His goggles were ruined while he was held captive. And without goggles... his eyesight's pretty dismal."
"Kriff, I did read that in his file," Kix says. "Sorry, I just assumed he had spares?"
"He did have spares. Several at one point," Hunter explains. "But we've been running nonstop for months now from one mission to the next. Not to complain, but we've been seeing a lot of action and not had time to put into port for personal supplies. That was his last set."
"Damn..." Kix says sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, we'll see what we can do about orders to Kamino then. They can order you guys the personal effects you need and they can help out with Echo if Tech's not going to be up to it for while."
"We'll see," Hunter says gloomily, knowing that the chance of them getting another set of special orders for addressing their deficiencies and their unique needs was near impossible.
Plus, ever since they'd reported the civilian hostages returned just a few days ago, the Bad Batch had already been pinged for assistance with assignments on several ongoing offensives. If Hunter's three-day backlog of emails was anything to go by, they'd be on their way to their next suicide mission as soon as it was reported that Tech could piss standing up again.
"Agh, too bad Mandalore's still neutral," randomly huffs a rookie medic from the other side of the room. He's helping clear away the mess that Echo made and picking up what was left of the medical droid that had gotten too close to Echo before the rest of his Batch swooped in to help. He's also, shamelessly eavesdropping on his superiors.
Kix rounds on the shiny, about to reprimand him for his invasion of a private conversation, but Hunter steps in.
"What was that, trooper?" he asks the rookie.
"Oh uhh nothing, Sarge," the medic says hastily, burying his nose back in his duties. "Beggin' your pardon."
"No-no. What did you just say about Mandalore?" Hunter clarifies. "I truly want to know."
"Umm... you know Mandalore..." hedges the rookie, looking to Kix for permission.
"Go on, Indigo," Kix orders. "Spit it out."
The rookie continues, timidly at first, but more comfortably as Kix gestures for him to speed it up.
"Best transparisteel crafters in the galaxy. I'm fresh out of Medic school and this year we had all new microscopes for the histology course. The Kaminoans were furious because they wanted all the lenses ordered straight from Mandalore. But Mandalore wouldn't fill the order because they were gonna be used to train combatants. Apparently what we ended up getting wasn't near as quality."
"Huh, 'bout time they upgraded some of that equipment they were using for training," Kix muses. "Aw, but Mandalore though. Won't be going there anytime soon, I reckon."
"No, we won't," says Hunter pensively. "Crosshair—
—on it," says the sharpshooter, already halfway out the door.
Hunter listens to the sound of Crosshair loping down the hallway toward the medical bay's main exit.
"He's in a hurry, yeah?" Kix says to Hunter and Wrecker, looking a little confused. Then he turns to the rookie. "As you were, rookie! I'll let it slide because it sounds like you might have said something helpful. But next time, mind your manners, Indigo."
"Yessarge," says the rookie snapping to attention, then returning to his tasks.
"Anyway," Kix says to Hunter and to Wrecker. "Wrecker, I'll have someone show you where you boys can wait around without being in anyone's way. And Hunter, you can follow me and we'll get an update on Tech."
Beyond grateful, Hunter and Wrecker follow Kix out of the operating suite. In the hallway, a younger medic collects Wrecker to escort him to the waiting area. Hunter nods encouragement to the worried-looking Wrecker. Then, one step behind Kix, he accompanies the senior medic deeper into the ward, where the intensive care unit and bacta tanks are located.
To Crosshiar's surprise, Countess Zilpha Kryze of Mandalore is still embarked on Resolute, ensuring that all of her fellow hostages and survivors are taken care of properly before she returns home to her own people. It takes him all of five minutes to learn that finding the Countess' exact lodgings onboard is only too easy. He only needs a mere glance at an officer's open datapad in the lift to find out that Countess Kryze has no engagements until noon. Within minutes, he's making impressive headway using his long, angry strides to easily swallow up several tiles in the corridor at once coupled with a threatening scowl that quickly clears a path for him.
As he makes his way deep into Officer's Country, suddenly the hallways are cleaner, the quarters are less populated, and the air is less stale.
He finds the door to a stateroom for dignitaries: high-end, spacious, elegant, full of luxuries that are likely to depreciate to half their value by simply having a test tube-farmed, CT-numbered, grunt such as Crosshair be sharing the same recycled air.
He raps on the door, as politely as he feels like, hoping 'Her royal highness' isn't busy soaking in her bath or having her hair brushed by servants or some shit like that. Surprisingly, a voice answers just before he's about to rap on the door again, this time, with the toe of his boot.
"Just coming," says a female's voice from within.
Good. He won't be stupidly standing out here like a fool in a stockade, waiting for this posh member of high society to take temporary interest in him. The electronic lock disengages and the door slides open.
Staring up at him is the comely, porcelain face of Zilpha of House Kryze. He stares boldly, directly back down at her, then helps himself to a visual sweep of her borrowed quarters. As always, he sees, observes, and notices everything.
"Why hello," she says, surprised but pleased. "It's Crosshair, isn't it?"
"Right," he confirms, his sullen demeanor likely putting her ill at ease. Not the company she was expecting. He gets it.
"Wow, I didn't realize how tall you are," she says, noticing for the first time that he is several inches taller than the average clone.
Crosshair narrows his eyes, wondering if conversation with this particular dignitary is going to just be like all the rest: shallow, tedious, boring—a complete waste of his time. Then again, Hunter's almost never wrong about people.
"I'm wearing heels," he deadpans at her humorlessly. "A word?"
"Of course," she says, unsure if she should laugh or not at the quip. Then, she turns back into the room and gestures for him to follow. "Come on in."
He manages a polite nod and follows her into the tidy sitting area. It's no palace, but it's clean, spacious, and has been hospitably accessorized by the ship's staff with the mundane comforts of those born into a life of extreme wealth. There's a bouquet of exotic flowers in a crystal vase on the buffet, very fine linen running the length of the dining table, and ornate handmade Togrutan cutlery at all six place settings.
The Countess gracefully takes a seat on a plush leather sofa. She tucks her cropped, flaxen hair behind her ears, smooths her skirts, and motions courteously for him to sit.
Instead, Crosshair remains standing, allowing his sharp eyes to wander to the closet directly behind her, as its door has been left ajar. He smirks at what he sees within.
"Will you not sit when a Countess sits?" she says pointedly and politely, but with an undercurrent of sternness.
But Crosshair's already made everything he needs to of the room to know that he need not waste his time pretending to follow social mores with this one. Especially when there are so many other things he could be doing right now.
"No," he drawls.
"Excuse me?" she says taken aback.
She's certainly not used to being spoken to like this, but… doesn't entirely seem to be too upset with it. This is usually the part where a Countess would call for security, have him thrown out into the hallway on his bony shebs, and written up for insubordination. But he's already scored a decent glimpse into her lifestyle, her habits, her values. So he's pretty sure he's safe to play it on the unrefined side with Zilpha of House Kryze.
"Spare me," Crosshair tells her, rolling his eyes and placing a toothpick between his teeth. "I know you don't really give a shit about receiving empty courtesies. And that's well, because I don't give a shit about giving them. I see what you are."
"And just what am I then, if not a Countess?" she says angrily, making it evident that Crosshair's got her hackles up—a skill of his that seems to be right on par with his marksmanship abilities.
He can't help but grimace deviously.
"You are a Countess, my lady," he adds churlishly. "But I see the arsenal in your wardrobe, the calluses on your hands, and I read the notes on your datapad. You don't sit idly talking politics and sipping tea with your cousin. You're a kriffing warrior."
"I- I-," she stammers. "How did you- how can you possibly- my datapad?"
"Yeah, that one on the counter there," he says, sucking rudely on his toothpick and pointing it toward the swanky kitchenette. "Tsk tsk. You'd wanna slide the Lock toggle on that."
She gapes at him for a few seconds, then looks to her datapad once more, and then back to him.
"My my," she says, looking incredulous but impressed. "Well, the next time I plan to allow abrasive, impolite, nosy bastards into my presence, maybe I will."
Now that actually warrants him a proper grin.
"Good," he says approvingly. "Though I do know the identity of my sire... not really a state secret. But, still a good idea."
"Ah, my mistake. You're just a metaphorical bastard, then. And call me Zilpha, please. Especially since you recently saved my skin from terrorists," she says. "and since we're both 'warriors,' as you say."
"You deny it?" he asks. He can tell she's uncomfortable about the fact that he uncovered a massive secret about her within seconds of his arrival.
"No. But... you know, thanks to years of hard work, greased palms, and good espionage, I've kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about that little fact," she tells him, a bit exasperated.
"I'm not your commonwealth," he drawls with a bored shrug.
"No," she agrees, eyeing him warily, but reverently. "No, you are not."
"But I am on a timetable."
"Oh, by all means then!" she scoffs at him goodnaturedly. It seems they're on the same page. "What, in fact, brings your cantankerous self to my doorstep?"
"Well, Zilpha," Crosshair answers, approving more of this saucy, well-bred wench as the conversation continues. "Hunter said you'd honor us with a favor for our part in the hostage ordeal. I've come to set up a meeting for him, with you, so he can ask for it."
"Absolutely," says the Countess, sounding eager to repay the clone troopers who saved her life. "But can't you just tell me what you require? Why waste your time setting up a meeting when you can just tell me what favor I can provide right now?"
"Because one half of Hunter's face is tattooed in solid black, and there's a scruffy curtain of hair obscuring the other. And it still doesn't hide the sickening blush he gets at every mention of your name," he tells her.
"Oh?" she says demurely, cultivating a nauseatingly lovely blush of her own.
"Yeah," Crosshair continues. "You free tonight at 18:00, or what?"
"I am," she allows. "And where are we to meet?"
"Wherever," Crosshair drawls. "Where's most convenient for you?"
"Umm, I'd say at your shuttle, but I think I've had my fill of it," she admits.
"More than fair," Crosshair allows, the ordeal that she and 13 other hostages had been through still fresh in his mind.
"Here would be fine," she decides, gesturing to the main compartment of her stateroom. "I'll host him here. I'll have a long-range comms terminal synced to my datapad and we can make the arrangements right then."
"You sure?" Crosshair asks, suddenly feeling very foolish. Man, woman, non-binary, everybody… no being should ever feel pressured into a romantically charged encounter. Especially by the likes of him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to emphasize his little crush. Please don't feel obligated to host him here. Nor to do so in private."
"It's quite alright," she says confidently.
She's a warrior born of Mand'alor, Crosshair reminds himself. She could probably turn out any unwanted guests on her own.
It suddenly dawns on him why there's a distinct lack of guards or security in or around this particular VIP's quarters.
She's her own protection, he muses. Good thing Hunter actually has some manners.
"In any case, discretion would be best. Mandalore is officially neutral; Hunter's a solider of the Republic. I'm guessing you can work that out," she snarks at him.
"Think I'll manage," Crosshair scoffs back at her with a devious smirk. "Ok then. My Sarge, here, 18:00 tonight."
"Alright," she says. "Anything else you need to bother me about?"
"No. I'll let myself out, thanks," he says with a lethargic bow. "Been a real pleasure, Countess," he adds, dry as Tattooine sand.
"Goodbye, noble Crosshair," she calls back at him.
He shoots her a look that's likely to wilt the flowers on her table, and the door slides closed behind him.
Hours pass as Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker wait in the medbay for any updates about their ailing vode. According to the medics, Tech's still in bacta and Echo's still being carefully monitored and sedated for safety. Both are making improvements, but the fact that Hunter hasn't been able to speak to either one of them yet has him worried sick.
Midday meal comes and goes. Wrecker was kind enough to go to the galley and bring back some rations for his brothers while they wait. Crosshair and Hunter eat their rations in anxiety-laden silence as Wrecker takes a few hours to himself to work out. When he returns, Hunter makes Crosshair take some personal time too, either to get himself a good workout or just take some time to work on anything that will take his mind off of Tech and Echo for a while.
"Alright already," Crosshair caves after Hunter and Wrecker heckle him enough about the subject. "But I'm staying here tonight."
"That's fine. I think Wrecker and I will be doing the same," Hunter tells him. "It's about 17:45; I'm going to go to that meeting you set up for me with the Countess. Thanks again for that, Cross."
"Mhm," Crosshair tells him absently, still staring down the corridor where the medics come and go to give them updates.
"Wrecker," Hunter says, turning to the big clone who just plopped himself down on the floor to do some stretches. "You good to stay here by yourself for a while? I'm not sure how long I'll be."
"I'm good!" Wrecker tells him happily. "I'll comm both of ya if there are any updates while you're gone."
By now, Crosshair's risen from his chair but is still loitering near the waiting room entrance, looking uncertain.
"Changed my mind," he drawls, still looking forlornly toward where Echo and Tech are being treated. "I'm going to—
"Go," Hunter and Wrecker tell their brother in unison.
The sharpshooter frowns and rolls his eyes.
"Go," Hunter tells again him, this time more firmly, as an order. "Seriously. They'll be fine while you blow off some steam."
"Ya go on, Cross," Wrecker joins in. "The gym on this ship's incredible, and it'll be pretty empty right now while everyone's at chow. You'll feel all the better after a good sweat."
"Fine," Crosshair scoffs at them both. "Two hours. Tops."
"Atta boy," Hunter tells him as his brother finally traipses languidly out of the room. "Alright, Wrecker, see you in a bit."
"Yup," says Wrecker giving him the ole thumb's up. "Good luck with you're... uhh... meetin', Sarge. Heh heh."
Hunter's chrono chimes with the arrival of 18:00 at the exact moment he steps up to the Countess's stateroom door. She's left it ajar in preparation for his appearance, so he knocks very gently. He can sense the lady sitting on her settee in the living room and can hear her light, graceful footsteps as she approaches the door to let him in.
"Hunter!" she says happily, swinging the door open and gesturing for him to enter her quarters. "Good to see you again."
"And you, my lady," he says warmly, then notices the stern look she gives him. "Ahh... Zilpha, I mean."
"That's more like it now. Drink?" she says, making her way to the kitchenette.
"Yes, please," Hunter says. "Whatever you're having sounds good."
"Coming right up. Please, make yourself comfortable."
She brings over two glasses of a golden beer, sets them down, and takes a seat.
"Now, about that favor," she says eagerly, opening up her datapad and settling in on the couch across from the sergeant. "What can Mandalore do for you and you boys? What can I do as a member of House Kryze?"
"Thanks a million, Zilpha, I mean it," he tells her. "Call me a fool, but I only just learned today that Mandalore is known for glasscrafting. So, here's my big question: do you know anyone who could make a set of corrective lenses and ship them here to Resolute? One of my guys, he... well, let's just say that he really needs a new set."
There's a long pause as Hunter earnestly awaits her response.
Then, when Zilpha Kryze only laughs at the question, Hunter feels his spirits plummet.
Kriff. I knew it'd be too much to hope for, he mentally berates himself. Sorry, Tech...
"If that's too much to ask for," he begins, crestfallen, "maybe you could point us to another system that could fill the order we need? I'm sorry to ask for so much."
Zilpha continues to laugh, a little heartier this time, and Hunter feels his anger rising.
"Look, I realize you find this funny," he tells her solemnly. "But I'm serious. Tech really needs—
"Oh no!" she tells Hunter, her laughter coming to an abrupt end. She suddenly looks horrified with herself for laughing at Hunter's expense. "Oh no! No! Forgive me, Hunter, please! I thought you were joking! Of course, I can have lenses made!"
"Really?" Hunter asks her. He's confused but suddenly feeling hopeful again. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure, really," she says. "I thought you were being sarcastic, you know, asking for something so simple. Particularly given the history of House Kryze."
"Errr, how do you mean?" he asks her, suddenly wishing he could have consulted Tech before this meeting. "House Kryze, the royal family of Mandalore, are glassmakers?"
"The best transparisteel craftsman to ever grace the galaxy," she says confidently. "Well, not as much on the Kryze side of late. They've been busy with politics for the past few centuries. But on my father's side, they still run the highest quality and most successful operation of glassmakers in the history of Mand'alor."
"That's good to know," Hunter says, blowing a deep sigh of relief. "Honestly, I was worried as hell when you started laughing there."
"I'm so sorry! I thought you were pulling my leg," she promises. "Of course, your man will have new lenses, and of course, they can be shipped directly to Resolute. Do you have his prescription and his specifications?"
"Right here," Hunter tells her, removing the flimsi from his pocket and handing it over to her. "He's not particular about frames. Actually, he'll build the actual eyewear to his exact preferences. He just needs a set of lenses to see with to get him started. If you can get a fresh set sent over, he's got an old pair without the glass. We can set him up with those so he'll at least be able to see well enough to start work on something new."
"It won't be a problem in the slightest," she tells Hunter, loading the flimsi into her pad and scrolling through the specs. "Hmm, yes, I can see why you'd be keen to get these for him. And the Kaminoans won't be happy that he's lost his other set? Getting too rowdy on your missions?"
"Rowdiness, they don't mind," Hunter confides. "But I'm not sure the long-necks know how bad his vision actually is these days. For the last few years, we've been ordering him new lenses from wherever we can in the galaxy. Plus, we need Tech to help Echo with his injuries. Tech's not going to be able to unless he can actually see what he's doing..., especially with the other injuries he'll be working through for a while."
"Consider it done. It will be my pleasure to have these made and delivered to him as soon as possible," she says proudly. "Though it will take a little longer to get an independent courier to make the final handoff to ship's company. What with Mandalore being officially
"Neutral, yes," Hunter says. "Which makes me all the more astounded and thankful that you're willing to do this for us, Zilpha."
"You just sit there and enjoy your beer, my friend," she tells him, taking a sip from her own and typing away on her pad. "I'm going to send the message to start the order immediately. Then I'll have transportation expedited."
"Thank you, my lady... Zilpha, I mean," Hunter tells her feeling heady, buzzing from the mere whiff of alcohol and the renewed hope that Tech isn't going to have to suffer through his entire recovery blind. "I can't even begin to tell you what this will mean to him. And what it means to me. And the rest of the Batch."
"Well, please remind him that he's earned it a million times over," she tells him adamantly. "Tell your entire squad that. Including yourself."
"I will," he promises just before he feels the electromagnetic pulse of a signal on his commlink about to go off. "Excuse me, I gotta take this. Could be about one of the lads."
Zilpha looks up at him, confused.
Beep-beep.
The Countess' face registers in recognition, and she motions for him to, by all means, take the call.
"Hunter, come in. It's Wrecker," says the voice of the burliest member of the Bad Batch on the other side of the transmission.
"What is it, big guy?" Hunter asks, feeling a pang of anxiety about what Wrecker's about to report. "Did something happen?"
"Nothin' bad, Sarge," Wrecker assures him. "Just wanted to let you know that Tech just got lifted outa his first round of bacta. Kix has him set up in the recovery room until his surgery tomorrow. But he says he's doin' just fine."
"That's fantastic, brother. Thank you," Hunter tells him, feeling happy with the news but still wary. "Did you let Crosshair know yet?"
"I'm on," rasps the voice of their resident scout sniper. He sounds breathless and is likely in the middle of some insanely-long run.
"Yep! He knows now, too!" says Wrecker cheerily. "Oi, Sarge you still at your meeting with that Countess? The real pretty one?"
Hunter feels heat rising in his cheeks and, from across the couch, hears Zilpha snort a bit of beer up her nose. He shoots her an embarrassing and apologetic look before addressing Wrecker's horribly-worded question.
"That's not... I-I didn't," he sputters, hoping that Crosshair will rescue him from this mortifying situation.
"Oh, you all done?" says Wrecker. "Wha'd she say about the order for Tech?"
"We... I-I..."
Hunter can't seem to find his tongue and he still has high hopes that Crosshair will amend the situation.
"Your words," hisses Crosshair indifferently, with an air of smugness that tells Hunter that the sniper knows exactly what he's doing and exactly how he'd dashed Hunter's hopes of a rescue.
"And thaaaat's enough of them," Hunter says ending the call and glancing sheepishly at the Countess. "I beg your pardon for that, Zilpha."
"Why?" Zilpha says, writing off his apology. "I'm quite flattered. But, let's get back to your man's order. Would you like to double-check this email that I've written to my contact? Here."
She holds up the datapad for Hunter to read.
"Err, may I?" he says, unable to read the text from where he's sitting.
"Oh, sorry, of course," she says, passing him the datapad. "Your sniper read it from across the room, I didn't want to insult you."
"Ugh," Hunter says with a wince. "He does that. Apologies, my lady."
"Again," she says, edging closer to him. "No apology necessary, Sergeant."
Hunter returns to the company of his absolutely mutinous brothers later in the evening. He does get plenty of jabs from Wrecker and Crosshair, but they ultimately stop giving him shit when they start discussing the part about the Countess making the order from Mandalore happen for them.
The three Batchers spend the rest of the night together in Medbay, anxiously waiting for updates on their injured vode. Echo's still being monitored in his recovery room, and Tech is still in intensive care for the night. Collectively, the trio of commandos gets very little sleep since they're all still too anxious.
Reveille comes as a surprise to Hunter, as he's quietly working on a report to pass the time. He gets up to stretch and is just thinking about sneaking off to grab some breakfast to bring back for Crosshair and Wrecker when he gets a notification on his datapad.
It's from the admin office, and it's a summons to meet with Generals Kenobi and Skywalker to officially debrief about the hostage rescue mission at 10:00 later in the morning. Hunter accepts the invitation right away, then makes good on his plan to procure some breakfast for his weary squad.
By the time 09:45 rolls around, Wrecker's just returning from a workout and a trip to the Marauder and agrees that he wants to stay behind in medical while Hunter and Crosshair attend the debrief. It's an unspoken rule in their squad that they'll always try to have at least one member from the Batch present when any of the others are in medical.
With Crosshair keeping stride right beside him, Hunter makes his way to where he's been summoned to meet with General Kenobi and Skywalker again. This time, he asked the sniper to come along to give them a full debrief about the hostage rescue mission and the mission to retrieve Echo and Tech from captivity. They approach a large compartment on the ship, where Kenobi and Skywalker are gathered around a holomap, pouring over it and diligently discussing tactics. The door is open, but they pause, and Hunter knocks on the bulkhead as a courtesy to let the two Jedi know they've arrived.
Looking genuinely pleased to see the clone sergeant and his scout sniper in their doorway, the two men straighten up at once from the table and give the Hunter and Crosshair their undivided attention.
"Hunter. Crosshair," Kenobi calls genially, gesturing pleasantly for the clones to enter. "Do come in."
"Third time lucky, sir?" Hunter asks as he leads Crosshair into the room to stand before the two Jedi.
"So they say," Kenobi agrees. "Join us. Have a seat."
"Thank you, sir," Hunter says, entering the room and approaching the large console where the two generals are working.
"Good to see you again, Sergeant. You too, Crosshair," says Skywalker. His voice is darker, and surlier but does not contain any less authenticity than his counterpart's. "And good to have the Bad Batch all present on Resolute."
"Thanks, sir," Hunter says, feeling a little choked up about how close of a call it had been. "It's nice to have the squad restored to full roster once again."
"A full headcount is always good," says Kenobi. Then his kind, blue eyes lock into Hunter's, radiating empathy and compassion so intensely that Hunter feels it in his bones. He gives the same look to Crosshair as well before continuing. "Though, we are very sorry to have read the extensive list of injuries your men sustained."
"Yeah," agrees Skywalker with a worried-looking wince. "Word has it that Tech and Echo never broke. But that they were interrogated pretty harshly. How are they doing, truly, Hunter?"
For an instant, Hunter almost gives the standard answer that any subordinate clone trooper is expected to provide to the brass. Yet these Jedi have made it perfectly clear that they care deeply for him and his vode.
Directly beside him, Crosshair shifts uneasily and becomes agitated as the question has likely evoked anxiety and feelings about his wounded vode that he's been keeping buried for the sake of professionalism and presentation.
But Hunter, knowing this is a safe space to speak candidly, gives Crosshair's shoulder an affectionate squeeze and sighs deeply.
"Rough shape, I'm afraid, sir," Hunter reports dolefully as Crosshair averts his gaze. "We're beyond grateful to have them with us, but yeah... rough shape. The both of them."
"Understatement," Crosshair comments sourly, well-aware that even the faintest whisper can be detected by everyone else present.
Hunter gives the sniper a cautionary nudge with his elbow, but Kenobi and Skywalker seem totally unfazed by Crosshair's indiscretion.
"But both have a promising prognosis still, do they not?" asks Kenobi, evidently so troubled that his hand pauses at his chin, mid-beard-stroke.
"Well, sir, Tech's still tanked until further notice," Hunter reports solemnly. "He's in for another surgery once he's out, then due for another dunk. You gentlemen read the medical reports, so you know the details, but Tech… well…."
Hunter trails off for a moment, his mouth going dry, his heart sinking at the memory of finding his youngest vod beaten beyond recognition and struggling to breathe.
"Barely made it, sir," Crosshair interjects, allowing Hunter to collect himself. "Others couldn't even recognize him."
"That's right," Hunter agrees. "Echo's faring a little better. He's been conscious here and there, but he needs extensive work. Thankfully, Kix thinks it's likely they'll both make a full recovery."
"They will," Skywalker assures them. "So why do Obi-Wan I still get the sense that something else is wrong here, guys? What's up?"
Hunter shares a knowing look with Crosshair, and the sniper silently agrees that it's safe to the Generals about Tech's lack of goggles situation.
"Well, sir," Hunter begins, "Tech's goggles were lost during the rescue."
"Destroyed actually," Crosshair mutters, apparently still absolutely livid that someone would dare do that to his little brother... even though he'd already helped eradicate all those who were responsible for it. "Smashed right into and off his face."
"Err, yeah," Hunter confesses. "He was down to his last pair, and now he's got nothing to help him see until we can get him a new set. We've been pulling a few strings to get an order. But the truth is, until we can get him some new specs, he and Echo are only going to suffer more."
Kenobi and Skywalker look equally distressed for the Batch by this news, but then, oddly, they share an insightful look and start their own sidebar conversation.
"Glasses, Obi-Wan..." Skywalker tells his former Master. "Is your girlfriend-
"She's not at her usual post right now, unfortunately," Kenobi says solemnly, stroking his beard. "It wouldn't be possible for her to—Anakin! She's not my girlfriend!"
"Okayyy," Skywalker says insolently with the roll of his moody eyes. "Either way, that's a 'no' as far as the titans of transparisteel go?"
"Perhaps if I... no-no, that won't work," Kenobi says to Skywalker, who is also still deep in thought. "Or maybe..."
"We already placed an order, sir," Hunter tells the two Jedi before they waste any more of their valuable time trying to devise a way to do what Hunter and his brothers have already accomplished.
"Have you now?" says Kenobi, arching an eyebrow. "An order from whom?"
"Errr, from," Hunter stammers. "From..."
"Those same titans of transparisteel," Crosshair cuts in, pegging the Jedi with a shrewd look.
"That's right," Hunter confirms. "We got lucky, and a friend called in a favor for us, sir."
"Indeed," says Kenobi. "A new friend?"
"Uhh, a recent acquaintance, yes, sir," Hunter tells him.
"A brand new friend," Skywalker adds with amusement. "Good. So what's the problem then? You already have what you guy needs on order with the people who are literally the authority on the trade for the entire galaxy."
"Quite true," Kenobi says. "And the order seems to have been made by a friend on whom you can fully rely."
"Well, sir," Hunter tells him. "We're just simple soldiers in a war that not everyone has chosen to join. We don't want to cause any political incidents, nor do we expect the shipment to Resolute to go without its risks. We won't be at ease until we've got what Tech needs. In-hand."
"Psh, don't worry about that, guys," Skywalker says, cuffing Kenobi on the shoulder. "The Negotiator will handle it, won't you, Obi-Wan? You see, General Kenobi here is quite well-connected with your supplier."
"Not very eloquent, dear Padawan," Obi-Wan says with a scoff at the younger Jedi. "But, yes. I'll take the precaution to ensure the delivery is made to Resolute, with the discretion that the situation requires."
"Thank you, sir," Hunter tells him. "We really, really appreciate it, General."
"It's my pleasure," Kenobi tells Hunter and Crosshair politely. "Now, let's leave politics aside and talk operations. From start to finish, can you give us a relatively decent account of the entire hostage mission?"
"We can, sir," Hunter says before starting from the beginning of the original mission and ending with their docking in the Flag Officer's Hangar a few days later. With Crosshair's help, Hunter doesn't leave much out of the picture.
Tech is groggy as he climbs out of clutches of deep sleep. He feels warm, numb, and sleepy. He's in a medical facility somewhere and starting to realize that he's seriously injured in many places and still healing. Making more sense of his surroundings, he can make out voices nearby. This is good. This will help him determine what is currently going on and what could be the cause for him to be in such a state.
"Psst, Crosshair," he hears someone say beside him in a gratingly forced pseudo-whisper. "Look! I think Tech's waking up. For real, this time. See?"
This time? How many other times had there been?
Tech has no idea, but he already feels a thousand times better knowing that Crosshair is here. And the voice which summoned the sniper sounds suspiciously like Wrecker's.
"Huh," drawls the familiar voice of the sullen scout sniper. "He actually is. And it's about time. I'll find the duty medic and let Hunter know. Stay here with them. Don't let Tech try anything stupid."
"Yup," says Wrecker happily. "Wait, wha'd you mean 'anything stupid'?"
"Ugh," scoffs Crosshair, more distant and likely having already made his way closer to the door. "You're the subject matter expert. You figure it out."
"Gotcha," replies Wrecker.
Several seconds later, the gentle giant finally catches on to the slight.
"Hey!" he whines petulantly.
But it's way too late— Crosshair's long gone by now.
So, that's Wrecker, Crosshair and Hunter accounted for, but Tech hasn't heard Echo's distinctively deep baritone, nor has anyone made any mention of the ARC so far. Odd. Where could Echo be? Tech racks his tired brain, trying to think of where Echo could be, and suddenly he feels panic gnawing at his stomach. Echo… he was injured and in a lot of danger!
Tech struggles to rouse from sleep, trying desperately to peek his head above the turbulent waves and current of slumber. The words are on his tongue, but it's taking everything he has to form them into a shout and wake up properly. But he must. He must find Echo!
He must get Echo away from the bounty hunters, away from the Skakoans, away from that moon! Echo is in danger…
"E-Echo!"
Tech finally manages to form the word at the same time he jolts fully awake, attempting to shoot into an upright position so that he can start making moves to find and help his wounded vod. Pain blooms beneath several tightly wrapped bandages on various parts of his body, it feels like there's a vibroblade jammed between his ribs, and he's unable to move his left arm as it's been pinned and lashed to his side. But these concerns are to be ignored for now.
Where is Echo? What happened on that moon between him causing the cave-in in that holding cell and now. He can hear someone next to him, pleading desperately, trying to soothe and calm him down.
"Echo?" he queries again.
"No, it's Wrecker," says his burly brother, as if that booming voice could belong to anyone else. "Lay back, buddy. You're OK."
Tech feels the big clone's massive hands on him, gently trying to press him back down into a lying position. But Tech decides to fight him on this until he's given some definite answers.
"Oi Tech! S'alright, Tech!" Wrecker insists. "You're safe. And Echo's safe. We got you both outta there in time and to a hospital. You both got banged up, but you're gonna be ok, mate. We're all OK."
"You… you extracted Echo?" Tech tries. "And, he's… alright?"
"He's alright," says Wrecker. "I promise. How're you feelin'?"
After letting the relief sink in, adrenaline fades away, and Tech considers the question.
"Not exceptionally well," he admits. Despite the soreness in his face and the pain it causes him to do so, he tries several times to blink and squint the room into focus. Alas, it remains an indistinct blur. "Wrecker… where are we? I don't have my… I can't quite…
"Yeah, sorry, buddy," says Wrecker apologetically. "We only found a few scraps of your goggles. Nothing that could be saved. We'll get you a new set, though, don'tchu worry!"
"That was not entirely unexpected," Tech says morosely, unable to deny that he hates this news. Wrecker's admission about his goggles hurts just as much, if not worse, than his actual physical ailments. But after briefly reflecting on the entire mission, Tech reminds himself that it was all well worth it. "Where are we? Where is Echo?"
"Oh, we're at the big, fancy hospital on Resolute! They've got you and Echo bunking together in a recovery room. He's here too, Tech. Doing just fine and sleeping right over there. See?"
Tech squints dubiously up to where he can only estimate Wrecker's face to be.
"Awh hells. Guess you can't," says the giant, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, buddy."
"It is alright," Tech tells him. His eyes are already falling shut again anyway. Not only is he tired, but his face feels swollen, tight and sore, and it hurts to keep them open.
"You know," Wrecker says happily. "Echo said the same exact thing you did when he first woke up!"
"Did he," Tech replies, trying to distract himself from and breathe through the increasing pain.
"Yeah! Well, I mean, he didn't say his own name," Wrecker continues. "But he did say what you said, but with your name!"
"Indeed," Tech murmurs sluggishly.
"Well, OK, so you said his name, yeah? And he said your name!"
"Wrecker..."
"And then you both, each of you, asked about each other!"
"Wrecker," Tech tries to interrupt. He knows Wrecker is rambling, but Tech knows he can't reasonably begrudge anyone for that if he's being frank with himself.
"So you asked about him, and he asked-
"Wrecker," Tech says again, more insistently this time
"Yeah, buddy?" Wrecker says sincerely. "What's up?"
"I got it," Tech tells him.
"Oh! Ok, good!" Wrecker says, sounding relieved. "'Cus I was starting to get confused there."
"Mhm," is all Tech manages to muster in reply.
"Hey, listen, bud," Wrecker tells him, his voice suddenly taking a solemn tone. "Don't do stuff like this anymore."
"Well," Tech scoffs indignantly at the absurd request. "It is not as though I put myself in this... state."
"Yeah?" says Wrecker, his voice climbing dangerously above the pseudo-whisper. "Then why's our ori'vod sayin' you did? Sayin' you were asking those bounty hunters to punish you like that?"
"That is..." Tech begins, feeling too tired and in too much pain to have this argument right now. "That is not what Echo meant."
"Awh!" complains the larger clone. "What can't either of you two just say exactly to me what you mean!"
Wrecker's voice has now escalated into a loud whine, soon to become a yell. The forced whispering wasn't meant to last long anyway. It was common knowledge that asking Wrecker to speak softly is akin to telling a jawa not to scavenge or asking a taun-taun not to stink; it's a request that simply defies all the natural laws of the galaxy.
Tech's working on the strength to explain when Crosshair appears in the doorway. He closes in to hover over Tech, and Tech glances up at him blearily to see the narrow dark frame of the sharpshooter, topped with a blur of silver that can only be Crosshair's shock of grey hair.
"Just what the hell is going on here?" he demands, whispering harshly.
"Tech's awake!" Wrecker reports happily.
"Why yes, Wrecker," Crosshair says scathingly, and Tech can practically hear the eye roll. "But Echo's still trying to sleep, you di'kut, so why are you shouting?"
"I wasn't!" Wrecker whines. "We were just talkin'."
"Just talking..." Tech mutters.
"Well, don't. Because Echo needs his rest," Crosshair says.
"We're sorry, Cross," Wrecker says.
"Don't be sorry, just be quiet. And as for you, vod'ika," he tells Tech dangerously. "You barely have the energy to speak, so don't waste it sticking up for this meathead. Rest."
"Hey, my brains aren't meat," Wrecker complains.
"Ah. Technically, all human brain tissue could be considered meat..." Tech begins to inform his brothers. "...by any species... consuming it as a source of sustenance..."
"That would be a waste of yours," calls a deep voice from the other side of the recovery room, sounder more rough than usual from disuse.
"Echo?" Tech calls, suddenly forgetting every pain that's currently plaguing him.
"In the flesh," he assures Tech. "Well, you know... partially. You OK?"
Tech hears Wrecker sniggering at their ori'vod's black humor, and if Tech could see right now, he'd likely get a glance of Crosshair's appraising smirk.
"Are you?" Tech asks in return. "I would expect you to be still feeling terrible a-after-
Unable to finish the sentence, he breaks off the comment with a choking cough. The pain is horrendous, and a terrible ache suddenly strikes Tech in his chest, making it harder to breathe and causing him to keep painfully coughing. Suddenly the room goes dim, and all he can do is struggle to pull air in as his world collapses into a blinding mass of pain.
He hears voices in the room calling out to him and a shuffling of boots on the floor. Only a few more moments of agony transpire until he feels a rush of cold through his IV line, and he's dozing back off into oblivion. The pain ebbs away, and he can finally manage to string a few small breaths together without choking. But he's fading back to sleep.
"Please," he thinks he manages to mumble before falling insensate again. "Move me... closer to... Echo. Please..."
Tech's unsure if his request was effectively spoken or understood. Before he gets any idea, either way, he drifts off into a dreamless, painless, healing slumber.
The next time Tech wakes up, he's happy to learn that his request to be closer to Echo has come to fruition. He shifts around on his bed, trying to get a better view of his vod. All the shifting and groaning must have woken Echo.
"Hey," says the deep baritone. He sounds tired and unwell, but Tech is still happy to hear it. "Hey, try not to move so much, OK?"
"Apologies. Did I wake you?"
"No, I was just resting here, trying to read a little," Echo insists. "You doing OK?"
"Considering the entire ordeal," Tech muses, "I think it fair to say that I am."
"You sound much better than the last time I heard you," Echo tells him. "But, maker, Tech, you still look kriffing awful."
"It is not nearly as bad as it appears," Tech huffs.
"It is," Echo insists. "Besides, you have absolutely no way of knowing that!"
"That is..." Tech wants to say preposterous, but he knows Echo's right. "That is true."
"Yeah. You… you really took a beating this time, Tec'ika," Echo says sadly. "I wish you hadn't stuck your neck out for me like that."
"You are in no position to berate me for that," Tech says crisply and unapologetically. He squints in Echo's general direction and frowns when he can't see much. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know, likely about the same as you. Probably slightly better," Echo reports. "You broke bones, Tech. And you're gonna have some scars that'll put Commander Cody's to shame."
"Ah, but mine are not on my face," Tech hedges, trying to downplay what is going to be substantial scarring. Then something troubling dawns on him. "Hang on. They are not on my face, correct? I cannot quite remember every detail from the interrogation."
"No, not on your face, Tech," Echo quickly assures him. "You've got a lot of swelling and some other deep cuts there, but they've been sewn up and are already starting to heal nicely. All of those kriffing coward lizard's marks should be hidden by your blacks, vod."
"Good to know," Tech says, feeling relieved that there's not going to be additional features making him stand out from amongst the sea of cut copy Fett faces. "Tell me more about you, please. Are your cybernetics functioning properly? Are you experiencing discomfort? Can you please describe any cranial, neck, or spinal pain you are having?"
"Everything superficial is on the mend. One of those damned TG's got me twice with blaster fire, but the bacta is doing wonders for one of the holes, and the other hole's already been completely fixed," Echo says. "Ahh, look Tech. No pressure or anything. But I'm still shy of a few tweaks to my neural net and interface. I'd prefer to have you look at it all for me when you can, and I don't care how long I have to wait."
"Are you feeling disoriented? Latency in your cybernetics?" Tech says, spouting off clinical questions to distract himself from the extreme sadness and regret he feels for his wounded vod at the knowledge of his status. "Are you experiencing severe chills and the feeling associated with extreme cold?
"Yeah, but nothing pressing," Echo tries to assure him. "You know me; I'd rather wait for you to get better instead of going under the knife of someone I don't trust."
"Echo, I understand. I will do my best to heal quickly," Tech promises. "But I still wish more than anything I could help you in some capacity right now."
"Well, these railing on our cots are retractable," Echo says. "Can I slide them down and come over there and snag some body heat? I'm freezing in here, and they already gave me a third blanket.
"I would enjoy that very much."
Echo pushes the railings down and shimmies over to his vod. Careful of Tech's bandages, Echo inches close to his brother and presses himself comfortably around his younger brother.
"Oh, kriff, Tech, you're roasting," Echo says with concern. "Here, let's even this out. This ok for you? I'm not hurting anything?"
"It is a vast improvement," Tech hums contentedly.
Echo gets closer still, then gently leans over and presses their foreheads together. Tech closes his eyes, leaning into the gesture wholeheartedly.
"Glad we pulled through," the ARC says softly.
"Likewise."
"So grateful for you, Tec'ika," Echo sighs softly as they pull away and settle back down for rest. "You don't even know."
"Hmph," Tech says, snuggling as close to his brother as their injuries allow. "Are you insinuating I am ill-informed on the subject?"
"Uh-huh, yeah," Echo grumbles at him. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Well, I feel the same way about you, Echo," Tech informs him candidly. "I truly am a better man because of you. While I deeply regret what horrors you endured after the Citadel, I am immensely happy that you chose to join us afterward.
"Honestly, Tech, I'd be lost without you," Echo admits. "Now, get some more rest, vod. If you're not up and running within two weeks, the Republic will fall."
"Oh, show some humility, brother-mine," Tech tells him impishly, amidst a weary yawn. "Even with the both of us still convalescing, I would give it at least three."
"Humility," Echo mutters drily, stroking light circles through Tech's hair with the edge of his scomp-link. "That'll be the day."
"Which day, Echo?" Tech sleepily murmurs in return, savoring the tactile comfort that Echo's providing him with.
"Nevermind," Echo tells him fondly. "Go to sleep, vod'ika."
Tech sighs happily and obeys his older brother's authority.