Summary: "His body is burning, and he can faintly tell that the heat must be rolling off of him in waves, based on the discomfort of his interrogators." There's always a man on the inside, even if you don't know it. One-shot.
A/N: Partly inspired by the season one finale of Rebels, partly by The Princess Bride.
The Bonds Of Family
It's dark. The moon's half hidden by the clouds, the majority of the light he can see is from the lights on the helmets of the pursuing troops- and from the Marauder, her engines fired up and hovering over the ground.
But Tech's running behind. Too far behind.
The rest of the squad is already on board, and Hunter's waiting just inside, shouting at him to pick up the pace, as Echo turns the ship to a more maneuverable angle. But Tech's never quite been the best runner- he's fast, but he never quite developed the stamina one needs in war.
Unfortunately, the regs- the Empire's men- have the stamina he doesn't have. He could outswim them- that's something he can do- but this is a foot race. There is no way he'll make it.
And he doesn't.
A reg tackles him to the ground without a second thought, and he grunts as his head bounces off of the duracrete of the landing field. With gasps for air he's struggling to get and with energy he doesn't have, he does his best to fight them off as they swarm him.
"No, no, no! Tech!" Hunters makes to leave the Marauder.
"Hunter, go!" He shouts back, his voice choked with uncertainty and breathlessness, as the regs secure his arms and pin him down.
"Hunter, we can't leave him!" Omega pleads over the comms.
"We'll come back for you!" Hunter calls. "I promise!"
The sound of a stun round going off is the last thing he hears before everything goes dark.
Tech's not quite sure what he expected to happen once the Empire had captured him, but torture hadn't exactly been on his list.
Nonetheless, here he is.
He's strapped- very tightly- to a table, has been ever since he first regained consciousness.
He's starting to fall into delirium at this point, and he's fighting it off the best he can.
A couple members of Rampart's Elite Squad are the ones interrogating him. They occasionally switch out with others outside. But there's no sign of Crosshair. Tech's yet to decide if he's glad of that or not.
"Where are the others, clone?" One of them snarls between shocks- the torture device sends painfully spikes of electricity through him each time he refuses to answer.
"If I wanted to answer that, I would have by now." He pants- because they have been at this for hours on end.
Zzz!
He screams as another bout of electricity shoots through his body. Sweat streams down his exposed chest, stings at his eyes- they had stripped him down to no more than the lower half of his armor, and the goggles were no exception. His limbs spasm, his wrists jerk painfully against the blood-slicked restraints holding them down. He can smell the steam coming off of him, even if his blurred, black-spotted vision can't lock onto it.
"We should stop. The commander wants him alive."
They don't stop.
He doesn't die.
Tech hates how he's fading in and out of consciousness, hates how he can't track the time- though it's probably for the best, because the longer it feels, the worse it'll be in the end.
His brothers will come.
Hunter promised.
It's just a matter of time.
"It's only a matter of time before he reveals their hideout to us."
"It's only a matter of time until he dies."
It's only a matter of time before they come back for me.
His skin is sizzling following another round of electrical shocks. His body is burning, and he can faintly tell that the heat must be rolling off of him in waves, based on the discomfort of his interrogators. He wonders if he looks as horrible as he feels.
"Huh. If the rest of the clones were this tough, I imagine that the Empire wouldn't be decommissioning them." One of the natborns muses thoughtfully, his words distant to Tech's weary ears.
The other one in the room, a woman, snorts. "Well, they're not, and they are."
Tech's certain that he's starting to hallucinate now.
Sometimes, it's his brothers shouting outside, the sounds of blasters firing down the corridor beyond his cell. Other times, one of the natborn members of the Elite Squad will take off their helmet and it'll be Wrecker or Echo or Hunter's face that he sees. Sometimes, he even sees Rex's familiar blonde head of hair. But it's not them. He knows it, but at the same time, it still tricks him.
"Tell us where they are, and we'll stop."
"Hunter?" He croaks instead, hopeful.
A scoff. "He's of no use to us like this."
"He might let something slip if we keep it up."
"Yeah, maybe. Or, we'll kill him. Those aren't our orders."
"Just keep going. I'm sure he'll reveal something."
Hunter, when will you get here?
His throat is raw from the screaming he's stopped hours ago.
He thinks he's forgotten how to scream.
His mouth is parched. He's so very thirsty.
But his interrogators offer him nothing. The only promise of escape is to give in to their questioning, and he will never do that.
The door opens after what feels like weeks, and a lone figure enters. His frame is a familiar, lanky shape. His snake-like voice is familiar too. But Tech's too tired to place who he is.
The Elite Squad troopers stop their current bout of shocks at his command. "That's enough."
"But, Commander, Admiral Rampart-" A woman begins.
"-Leave him to me." The newcomer is blunt and to the point. "You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
And then, his interrogators are finally leaving.
The commander slowly comes to his side, hesitant. Tech's gaze is faraway, and he doesn't know the man's removed his own helmet until he speaks again, his familiar voice unmodulated. "Look at me."
He does. His eyes widen. Because even without his goggles, that face is unmistakable.
Crosshair?
"I've sent a signal to Hunter." Crosshair tells him. "They'll be coming for you shortly."
I must be dying. Tech blinks. His weak, raspy voice is scarcely above a whisper. "You what?"
"I'm helping you." His brother gently strokes the familiar tattoo that marks his arm- that marks all of their arms. The skull, and the ninety-nine below it. "We've always been brothers. That'll never change."
"Are you going to come with us?" He can't help but to ask it, even if he's probably hallucinating the whole thing.
Crosshair offers a small, sad smile. His head shakes slightly. "Get some rest, vod'ika. You're going to need it when the others get here."
"I...is this real?" Tech finally voices aloud, barely daring to let himself hope it is.
The sharpshooter's preparing a sedative syringe, and there's a sorrowful understanding in his gaze when he looks up at him. "As real as the day you left me with strangers on Kamino."
His eyes shut with pain at the memory, and his sophisticated speech falters as he murmurs an apology that's long overdue. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
The needle presses into his neck, and he's too exhausted to even feel his usual fear of it. He lets it slip beneath his skin, lets Crosshair inject him.
"Hey, hey, hey- you need to wake up." Someone's lightly slapping his face.
"Hunter?" He blurts out as he groggily opens his eyes, nearly choking on the dryness of his throat.
"What did they do to you?" Hunter- it is Hunter- murmurs worriedly.
A breathy laugh escapes him. "You came."
"Of course, we did. I made a promise."
"Hunter, we're on the clock, here." Echo warns from the doorway.
"Can you walk?" Hunter asks.
"I haven't the faintest clue." Tech admits, forcing himself to sit up. It takes a lot of effort, and he knows that the possibility of him being able to walk is unlikely.
"Wrecker, get in here." Hunter calls, using a firm hand to steady him.
Wrecker obediently ducks through the doorway, almost freezes at the sight of his youngest brother's condition. "Need a hand?"
"Legs, actually." He wittily replies. He swallows, but his mouth is too dry to aid his throat- so, he coughs instead.
"Here." Hunter presses a canteen into his hands. "Drink this."
Tech's hands shake from the harsh interrogation, as well from the lack of food or water. But he still manages to unscrew the canteen's cap and tilt it back. Water, he thinks, as it coats his dry mouth and throat, has never tasted this good before.
He knows enough not to drink too much water, and hands the canteen back to Hunter with a nod of thanks. He glances up at the others. His voice is quite a bit stronger now. "I believe we were leaving?"
Hunter nods, wordlessly hands something else to him; his goggles.
Upon boarding the Marauder, Omega gives him a hug that compares to one of Wrecker's.