Gun Roswell

“Any time now, Tech,” grit out Hunter, the ship shuddering with another raking pass of laser-fire across the hull.

Crammed in the narrow confines of the engine service hatch, chest-to-chest, Tech and Crosshair were rattled against the jutting bowels of the ship.

“Perhaps if your evasive manoeuvres were more successful,” bit back Tech in annoyance, straining with both hands deep inside the hyperdrive unit. Unable to brace himself against the Marauder’s roiling dives, that role fell to Crosshair, who anchored him in place as best he could.

Beneath their feet the engine whined louder, shrieking a frenzy-pitch as it fed power to the deflector shields. Artificial gravity flickered further in response, a nauseating lurch as it grasped clumsily at the clones in an effort to keep running against the power drain.

“C’mon Tech.” Crosshair’s scratchy voice caught on the exhale, the engineer’s name a prayer. “Get us out of here.”

He could have sworn he felt the racing tattoo of Tech’s heartbeat, pressed close as they were. Doffing armour whilst under attack had grated against every natural instinct that had been trained into them since birth, but it was the only way both of them would fit inside the cramped hyperdrive hatch. So Tech was stripped down to his utility belt and leg armour, and Crosshair had shed his pauldrons and chest-plate also.

Without their helmets, Crosshair could almost taste the adrenaline in the air. It tightened in his chest, his own thudding pulse singing in time to the alarms blaring around them.

Reaching overhead, every line of Tech’s body was a taut symphony of stress. The pupils of his brown eyes flickered and danced behind his goggles, searching for the problem, calculating the million computations it might need to fix it.

Without even thinking, Crosshair spread his hand in the small of Tech’s back, an urgent pressure both securing and urging him on.

“Aha.”

Tech’s hand darted out, snagging a drive wrench which was floating past in their faltering gravity. In moments he had delved back into the hyperdrive, and the screaming strain of the electronics suddenly oscillated back into harmony.

Above them, the reconnected system must have registered on Hunter’s flight control panel; his wordless whoop of victory reached them before the ship slewed a tight reversal, the Marauder’s skeleton protesting the violent turn.

Euphoric as the hyperdrive spun to a high-pitched whine, Crosshair grabbed Tech’s face in both hands, a rare grin lighting his features as he pulled their faces close.

“You kriffing genius,” he breathed, adoration glowing in his eyes –

– before a stray wrench adrift in the Marauder’s careening motion connected with his temple, and everything went dark.

*

Crosshair came to with a pounding headache, but at least he resurfaced to the erratic sound of a limping hyperdrive and not the rumbling explosions of a space-battle.

Sitting up with long fingers pressed to his forehead, he heard a pleased hum.

“Aha. You are awake.”

Rolling to sit on the edge of the bunk, Crosshair blinked the world to focus to find Tech sitting across from him, at the foot of Hunter’s rack.

“We made it out?” he said, a cautious test of both their escape, and whether he could get the words out of his mouth in the same order they were in his head. His thoughts still felt scrambled and he winced as he fingered the lump at the side of his head.

“Of course we made it out.” From anyone else it might sound boastful; with Tech, it was a matter-of-fact statement. “We plan to rendezvous with the 212th, hitch a ride with one of their Venators to a planet-side stop were the hyperdrive can be properly inspected. But, it is holding for now.”

At that, the faintest of thin smiles curled the corner of his lips. Perhaps he could be a little prideful after all.

Crosshair grunted his agreement, still groggy.

Even the pounding of his headache wasn’t enough to muffle the alarm he felt when Tech leaned in close, one arm braced either side of him, bracketing him into the bunk. He swayed back warily, mouth dropping open to speak but finding nothing to say.

"You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it."

Tech’s voice was low and serious, his gaze intense as he hovered inches from Crosshair’s face. A small crinkle had formed between his brows, one that gave him an endlessly endearing look of earnestness that Crosshair couldn’t help but admire even as he swallowed nervously.

Tech’s proximity was scrambling his already muddled thoughts, and part of him wanted to object to the unfairness of being speared by this pop-quiz almost the moment he awoke. “Finally do what?” he asked, a warning croak as he leaned back a bit further.

For an agonising span of heartbeats, Tech continued to hover in his space, the air charged between them. Crosshair’s chest rose and fell shallowly, trying hard not to read too much into the other’s cool, discerning gaze.

Eventually Tech leaned back with a wordless, thoughtful noise, regarding Crosshair levelly across the tight bunk space.

“I cannot deny that the adrenaline of the situation was certainly intoxicating,” he continued, seeming to have had half a conversation to himself. “Perhaps next time you can choose a marginally less life-threatening moment to, ah… attempt a move?”

Heat rose in his cheeks as he realised that perhaps he and Tech were on the same page about this. He just hadn’t expected the engineer to state it so openly.

“The stim I gave you for the pain will wear off in an hour or so,” said Tech abruptly, changing the conversation. “Come find me when you need more.”

He was turning to leave when Crosshair caught his hand, determinedly lacing their fingers together.

Tech paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Crosshair remained seated, but despite the pounding in his head he summoned a weary smile.

“You really are a kriffing genius,” he murmured, with quiet pride.

An almost imperceptible smile, and an even softer squeeze of his hand.

“Next time,” said Tech, and the promise hung between them like a horizon.