Performing maintenance checks on his gear was something Echo had always found relaxing. It was casual work, but kept his hands busy; and at the same time, it was so routine that it could be done without any thought on his part.

Most soldiers didn't mind maintenance checks. It was something one did without thought, like brushing teeth or making beds regulation-tight. Some, though, actively liked maintenance checks. Mostly, they were troopers who also liked regulations.

Echo, for example, had always liked regulations. They kept things neat and orderly and in place. When he was a cadet, he'd depended on them to make sure he was doing everything right – or, at least, not wrong. Then, Rishi had come along, and within an hour, Echo's small, comfortable, regulation-oriented world had collapsed. Captain Rex and Commander Cody were the only reasons Echo and Fives – and Hevy, for a little while – even survived that disaster. . .

At least Hevy had lived long enough to see battle. Echo gave a slightly wry smirk at the thought of how mad Hevy would have been, if he'd died like Droidbait, without seeing battle . . . Or worse, if he'd died like Cutup. Eaten by an eel?

Echo stilled, his sad amusement vanishing. For weeks after Rishi, he had been haunted by the way Droidbait and Cutup had died. He hadn't quite known what grief was, at the time – oh, sure, he'd known what it was; but he hadn't known what it felt like. The deaths of his sergeant and fellow soldiers took days to fully sink in. Sometimes he lay awake at night, staring into the darkness, horrified by the thought that maybe Cutup had still been alive when Echo and Fives and Rex and Cody left the moon – they'd seen the eel take him, but they hadn't actually seen it kill him. Echo had also worried that Hevy had somehow survived that explosion, for a while, anyway . . . and he'd worried that maybe Droidbait had only been shocked senseless, and that they could have saved him if they'd gone to actually check his position – somehow – instead of retreating.

It was Hardcase who had walked over one day, while Echo was sitting in the hangar fixing his helmet comm, and said bluntly, "Fives told me about Hevy, you know. I've got to say – I'm proud of him."

From the stern of the Marauder came a faint thud as Tech set something down.

Echo stared at the helmet in his hand and realized he was fiddling with the comm, just as he had been that day – except that now, he had a scomp link instead of a hand. Not much point in poking at delicate circuitry with that. What am I even doing, he thought, setting the helmet aside. I'm not there anymore.

Too bad telling himself the same thing over and over didn't make the reality any easier. He could tell himself that he wasn't there anymore, wherever 'there' happened to be at the time, and his mind simply wouldn't believe it.

Echo glanced at the chronometer and decided his mild pity-party had lasted more than long enough. He then had that thought brutally reinforced when a splintering crash sounded from the lower hold.

He got up, helmet and flashback completely forgotten. "Tech?"

"It was not I!" Tech called from the bunkroom. At least, that was what Echo presumed he said; Tech's voice sounded odd, given the congestion from the cold. What it actually sounded like was, "Id was nod I!"

"Right . . ." Echo marched to the trapdoor, opened it with a jerk, leaned down, and hollered, "What the heck was that?"

Crosshair glanced up slowly and said, "It used to be a heating unit."

Echo's gaze traversed the bits of metal and transparisteel that were scattered across the entire floor. "I meant," he clarified, "to ask 'who broke it and why'."

Crosshair looked disdainful.

"I did," Wrecker said cheerfully. "It wasn't working, so why keep it?"

"Well, yeah, but. . . why smash it?" Echo asked.

Wrecker stared at him in bewilderment. "Why not smash it?"

He had a point, so after due consideration, Echo went back to the cockpit to see if Hunter had decided on a destination yet. He hoped he had. If Wrecker had advanced from toying with Gonky to smashing things, it meant he was getting bored . . . already. It was only just before noon.

And forget flashbacks from his time with the Techno Union and from when his squad was alive – Echo had plenty of flashbacks from normal times, most of which involved trigger-happy clones who loved breaking things. The Bad Batch were worse than the other clones. As it was, Echo was sometimes forced to wonder how the squad – and the Marauder – had stayed intact. Well . . . they hadn't, actually; Wrecker carried the scars to prove it.

Echo opened the cockpit door. To be absolutely fair, it wasn't always clones who were trigger-happy. There was that memorable occasion with General Skywalker and General Fisto – no one really knew how it all started, but at some point during the afternoon, the clones had congregated in the center of the camp to watch the two Jedi. Anakin had decided to teach Kit Fisto how to turn a half-broken starfighter engine into a timed explosive. And for some reason, General Fisto had seen fit to spend a solid three hours learning.

It had all gone flawlessly, if one ignored the 'timed' part of 'timed explosives'. The engine had exploded, all right, a full ten seconds before Anakin had intended it to. No one was hurt, because the clones weren't stupid enough to stand close, and the Jedi had their Force-abilities.

Echo couldn't hold back a smirk as he leaned in the cockpit doorway and waited for Hunter to notice his presence. The two Jedi had stopped work abruptly, glanced at each other with wide eyes, and then jumped as high and as far as they could. Monnk and Rex had alternately commiserated over that incident (when in public) and laughed (when in private) for the next standard week.

Hypocrites, the both of them.

The sergeant was still facing the holomap. He didn't seem to have noticed that Echo was there, so Echo decided to speak up.

"Hunter," he said. "Did you find a destination?"

He waited. Hunter did not turn around or even look up.

Slightly concerned, Echo took a step forward. ". . . Sergeant, are you all right?"

When there was still no response, Echo put a hand on his shoulder and shook him ever so slightly.

Instantly, Hunter's hand clapped down on his, holding him in place as Hunter leaped up like a startled nexu, twisting in mid-air to aim a punch at Echo's very unimpressed face.

"Hunter?" he said, raising a tired eyebrow.

The sergeant froze mid-punch. "Echo?"

"Yeah."

". . . You startled me."

"Because you were sleeping," Echo pointed out.

"I wasn't asleep," Hunter grumbled.

Echo decided to ignore that. "I was just asking if you'd found a destination."

". . . Destination?"

"Yeah. You know – because we're trying to find a place to take a break? Because we're on leave?"

Hunter narrowed his eyes. ". . . On . . . leave?"

Force, Echo thought. Maybe we should swap names until he's better.

He sighed. "Hunter, why don't you go to bed and let me sort this out."

Hunter appeared to consider this for a long time. The chronometer blinked away in the background. Eight seconds. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Then –

"Okay."

Echo watched suspiciously as he left the room, then made a note to himself for personal reference: Hunter, when sick, was less cognizant than the average cadet after a ten-kilometer run.

He checked the Marauder's position, checked the comms, checked the engine status, listened to another crash from the lower hold, then went into the main hold and opened the trapdoor again. "Hey, you two," he said. "I just sent Hunter to get some sleep."

"That's nice," drawled Crosshair. He was lounging against the ladder, looking half-asleep himself.

Echo frowned. "As in, keep it down."

"Awwww . . ." Wrecker looked sadly at the B1 droid he held with one hand around its neck, and the other around its spindly ankles. "Fine. Guess I'll finish breaking this stuff later."

"Thanks." There was only one teammate currently unaccounted for, now. Echo went back through the galley to the bunkroom and opened the door.

Tech was lying on his stomach in the upper bunk, chin propped in one hand as he gazed unseeingly at his datapad.

Hunter had made it to his own bunk, but was sitting on the edge, leaning forward with both forearms on his knees and not looking well at all.

"Hey," Echo said in concern. "You okay, Hunter?"

Hunter looked at him for several long seconds. "I think we're sick," he said, in a vaguely confused tone.

"Yeah, you are."

"Hm . . ." Hunter almost looked like he was dozing for a moment, but then he looked up blearily. "Echo, are you seeing things?"

"Uhhhh." Echo approached quickly and put the back of his hand to Hunter's forehead. He was burning up, all right. "Tech, can you check him? Run a scan? He's got a pretty high fever."

Tech slid clumsily out of the bunk and wandered over, tapping away. He ran a quick scan on the sergeant, and said, "He shows no signs of damage."

"What –" Echo took the datapad from him and studied the screen. "Tech, why are you running a hull integrity check?"

Tech tilted his head. "Because you told me to check him."

"I . . . I just." Echo stuttered to a halt. "Tech. I just wanted you to run a scan for temperature and –"

"Very well," Tech said briskly, adjusting his goggles in an efficiently businesslike manner. "Atmospheric or ambient?"

Before Echo could do more than shake his head in confusion, Hunter looked up again.

"Echo?" he slurred. "You look reaaaalllllly weird."

Echo simply looked at him.

"Well. That is not saying much," Tech told Hunter, then stopped to consider. "In fact, it is not saying anything at all. He always looks 'weird'. As do the rest of us."

"Thank you for making me feel so included," Echo said dryly. An alarming suspicion had begun to enter his mind. "Tech, tell me something. Did you have a headache earlier?"

"Yes."

"Was it bad?"

"Yes. So was Hunter's. Why is that relevant?"

". . . Did you take a couple of pain meds, by any chance?"

"I took one. Hunter took two."

Echo held his breath, then let it out slowly. "Did you use the ones that I picked up at the last med station?"

"Yes." Tech smiled vaguely. "Why?"

"Did . . . Cross and Wrecker?"

"They did not have headaches."

Before Echo could think more than, Oh, thank the Maker, the door opened to admit Wrecker and Crosshair.

"Good thing we got those good meds!" Wrecker said at the top of his lungs. "I've got a killer headache!"

"Don't take them!" Echo snapped, turning on him.

"Already did," Crosshair said breezily. "Hey – you know more about medicines than Tech does, Reg. The stuff he gets never worked. These work fine."

"Why, Echo?" Wrecker said. "What's'a matter with 'em?"

Crosshair wandered out into the galley.

Tech sat on the edge of Hunter's bunk and hummed tunelessly under his breath, while the sergeant stared at nothing.

Echo let out his breath slowly, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes.