A/N: You know, I know I haven't said this yet, but even though I didn't get all the Whumptober prompts done this year, I'm still proud of what I did manage to do. I don't think I've ever written so much in the span of a month! And I certainly accomplished more than I did last year. Here's to hoping next October will be even better!
Hunter grunted as the fist collided with his stomach; what little breath he had burst painfully out of his lungs. The restraints, which had him hanging by his arms, tugged harshly at his wrists. But he had given up on trying to stand long ago; the sharp pain that shot up his right leg every time he tried to was reason enough, without the solid roughing-up he was getting.
"Try again," he croaked, staring defiantly at the scrawny weequay through a swollen eye. "And maybe don't hit like a hu'tuun."
The bouncer-turned-interrogator paused, looked over his shoulder at the towering trandoshan lurking behind him. "The kriff did he call me, Storr?"
Snakelike eyes appraised Hunter for a moment, and he had to keep from smiling too wide when Storr shrugged wordlessly. A massive contrast to the now livid weequay, Storr stood silently in the corner, expression unreadable. Hunter had yet to get the Trandoshan to talk or show any emotion other than indifference. He seemed to get enough pleasure out of watching his colleague do all the dirty work.
"It's Mando'a for coward," Hunter answered, a smug smirk still playing on his lips. With a snarl, the weequay wheeled around, brandishing a fist at Hunter.
"Shut up!" he snapped, and a backhand struck Hunter in the temple.
Hunter grunted as his head snapped to the side, and bursts of light flickered across his spinning vision. Once he wasn't seeing double, he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. "I thought you wanted me to talk," he commented in a dry tone.
Rage flashed in his interrogator's eyes, and there was a metallic hiss as the weequay cursed colorfully, unsheathing a dirtied knife. Well, that was not the direction Hunter had intended this to go… Before his attacker could move a step closer, Storr clamped a clawed hand down on the weequay's shoulder, his gaze sharper than the gleaming knife. His warning seemed to get across rather quickly, as the weequay yelped, dropped the knife in surprise, and bent sideways in an attempt to escape the trandoshan's iron grip.
"We won't get anything out of him that way, you laserbrain," Storr hissed, forked tongue flicking out in irritation, before he roughly released him. The weequay stumbled back, rubbed his shoulder. He sent a brief glare in Hunter's direction, then slunk behind Storr, mumbling expletives and insults even Hunter had never heard before.
Then Storr stepped closer, grabbing Hunter's shoulder with the same bone crushing hold. Hunter grimaced at the strain added to his already aching shoulder, but didn't make a noise. With Storr's partner, he knew that there was a chance he might have been able to get a rise out of him, make him divulge in his blind rage some of the vital information he had come here for. Judging from the trandoshan's icy, calculating stare, however, Hunter knew it would be nearly impossible to manipulate him in the same way. If anything, he was in for a lot more practice with his resistance strategies than he had bargained for.
"I've heard you clones are impossible to crack. And maybe they're right," Storr said thoughtfully, appraising Hunter like a predator playing with its trapped, half-deceased victim. Hunter stared back unflinchingly. To be intimidated by the enemy is to give up before you've even begun. A wicked, eager grin crept across the Trandoshan's face. "But I don't plan on breaking my record."
Hunter didn't know how much time had passed. He lost track after what felt like hours of Storr slowly chipping away at his resolve.
Some time ago, the Trandoshan had released his wrists from their restraints, let him fall limply to the cold, hard floor. He thought his right shoulder must have been dislocated at some point, judging from the stabbing pain he experienced every time he tried to move it, and the not-so-subtle tingling in his fingers. Still, that was the last of his problems, when every inch of his body offered its own, distinct type of pain.
Hunter's vison spun as he struggled to lift his head from where it had struck the floor, face-down. A violent wave of nausea seized his stomach, and he coughed hard, only to aggravate the stabbing pain in his chest and shoulder. He let out a shuddering gasp, struggling to comprehend the sight of the bare floor sliding in and out of focus. His mobile arm shook with the effort of keeping his face off the floor.
Before he could catch his breath, a harsh kick to the side turned him onto his back. An intense weight pressed down on his sternum, crushing the air out of his lungs, and Hunter finally let lose an agonized cry at the burning in his chest.
A scaly face loomed close. The stench of rotting flesh hung tangibly on the Trandoshan's breath as he chuckled darkly. "So, the stoic soldier feels pain," Storr observed in vile amusement, watching Hunter writhe under the weight of his foot. "He knows what we want from him. Let's see how long before he breaks."
At that, Storr pressed down harder on Hunter's chest, until a muffled, sickening snap reverberated through Hunter's entire body. He hardly even registered the scream that ripped out of his throat as the pain in his chest doubled. Unable to inhale, both from the weight and the agonizing pain, gray began to creep into the edges of his vision.
His thoughts were getting cloudy; he couldn't think straight. The only coherent thought lingering in his mind was that he needed to wait. What he was waiting for, he wasn't sure, nor did he know how long it would be, but he needed to hold out, just a little bit longer. Minute by minute, that's how you survived.
As he felt consciousness slipping away, and the pain reached its peak, Hunter thought he felt a dull vibration travel through the floor. He didn't have time to wonder about its source – another broken bone, perhaps? – before his world turned to black.
The next thing he knew, a pair of hands were hauling him to his feet. Initially, Hunter struggled to escape his assailant's hold, but the pain and the effort proved too much for his battered body. He let out a low groan, dimly considering begging, before dismissing the idea just as quickly. He wasn't even close to that stage yet, and hopefully he never would be, if he could help it. No matter how much he felt like throwing up right now, it would take more than that to crack this commando.
It wasn't for another moment, when violent blows didn't follow being hoisted up onto his own legs, that Hunter began to question what was happening.
"…di'kut, you never know when to quit…"
Hunter's eyebrows drew together, and with great effort he managed to pry open an eyelid; the other eyelid was too swollen to open even a crack. Through blurry vision, he caught sight of a slitted visor, a familiar shape.
"…to wait for reinforcements, but no… charging in…" His cranky savior grumbled to himself, adjusting his grip on Hunter. In the motion, he jostled his injured shoulder, and Hunter let out a grunt.
"Havoc 4 reporting in, I have Havoc 1," the voice said, and recognition flickered vaguely in the back of Hunter's mind. "Repeat, I have Hunter."
Feebly, Hunter croaked, "Cross…?"
"Yeah, di'kut," Crosshair grunted. "It's me."
The tension in Hunter's stomach dissipated immediately; he let his head sag as Crosshair continued to half-carry him through the building.
With a peeved huff, Crosshair grumbled, "you know, you're way too good at finding new ways to screw up our missions."
The two hobbled into the next room, whose opposite side was made completely of windows – at least, it used to be. At some point, the glass had been shattered inward, Hunter noted indifferently. "You should frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble," he mumbled an exhausted smile on his face.
Crosshair snorted, waved an arm into empty space. "And you call me difficult."
"You are," Hunter insisted, but his voice gave out mid-sentence to a bout of coughs.
With a skeptical snort, the sniper began attaching a grapple attachment to his rifle. "Alright, sarge. Let's get the kriff out of here."
A/N: I (think) I've said it before and I'll say it again, I wish we got to see more of Crosshair's dynamic with the rest of the squad during The Clone Wars. The sarcasm we do see between him and Hunter in the Skako Minor arc, though? Unparalleled.
Hope y'all enjoyed! I'm so glad this fandom is still going strong, almost a year after it ended. Here's to many more!