#mayzer

Howzer nodded, agreeing, but they couldn’t just let Mayday suffer. He laid back down, fully prepared for Mayday to reel his elbow back and fight him as he put a firm arm around his middle. A pained grunt fell from his lips, but he didn’t budge, keeping hold of him tightly even as Mayday tried to thrash.

“No! You can’t take him! Crosshair!” Mayday screamed out a sob and fought against whatever invisible force was holding him from getting to where he wanted to be.

Crosshair sighed. Mayday always blamed himself for what happened on Tantiss, for Crosshair being tortured, for losing his hand, later. He blamed himself, even if he rarely vocalized it. The metal on Crosshair’s replacement hand was cool to the touch this early in the morning as he touched Mayday’s cheek, caressed it softly. So much pain was etched into that handsome face, pain that he usually hid so well. He was the backbone of their little polycule, always holding them up, getting them involved in things around the island, insisting that they live their lives to the fullest now that they were free from the Empire’s grasp. It hurt Crosshair to see such a sturdy, resilient man crumble in his arms.

“I’m okay, Mayday,” he told him as calmly as he could. If there was still a bit of panic in his tone, he couldn’t help it, and Howzer didn’t call him out on it. “Mayday, can you hear me? Open your eyes. We’re safe. We’re home, with Howzer on Pabu.”

Another wretched sob ripped from Mayday’s chest as he lurched towards Crosshair, seemingly drawn to his voice, but not quite able to shake the night terror that gripped him like a vice. Tears spilled from his eyes as he pressed his face into Crosshair’s chest.

“You kept him safe,” Howzer whispered in his ear. “He’s alive because of you, Mayday. You saved him.”

In reality, it was half-truth. Crosshair would always insist that Mayday was the one who saved him by forcing him to confront what the Empire was doing to clones and opening his eyes to their malicious intent. However, it was on Tantiss, where they’d found Mayday imprisoned, that Mayday had fought alongside Howzer and the others to free Crosshair from being tortured again.

Howzer’s words sunk in and kept breaking through the restraints that were keeping Mayday in his nightmare. He repeated them for as long as Mayday needed to hear them, until slowly the thrashing ceased, the screaming became silent sobbing, and Mayday was back with them, back in the bed they’ve shared for over a year, back with the partners that he vowed himself to quietly one night last month. No rings, they’d decided, it wasn’t for them, but instead they had matching tattoos that bound them together. It was permanent, something that couldn’t come off while they were washing dishes or tending to the garden that Mayday kept in the backyard, glued to their skin like scars and something they wore with pride and dignity.

“Crosshair,” Mayday rasped heavily, finally allowing his body to relax and lean into the bodies around him. “Howzer…”

“Hey there,” Howzer greeted with a soft press of lips to his neck, the hand around him rubbing small, calming circles into his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the spot where Mayday’s tattoo was, just over his heart, and he could feel the rapid pulse start to slow to something more regular. “It’s okay, we’ve got you.”

“…Sorry,” Mayday apologized pathetically into Crosshair’s chest. Sorry, for making a scene, sorry, for waking them up, sorry, for not being strong enough.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Crosshair soothed and dragged his fingers through the thick hair that was just starting to steak with silver.

Mayday grumbled but didn’t argue, choosing to take the comfort instead of fighting it. That was progress. Before, Mayday would double down and tell them that he should be sorry, that he needed to show constant remorse for what he allowed to happen to himself, to his men, and to them. Crosshair is glad that they’ve come as far as they have. Every small step is a victory, and it took even him a long time to come to terms with that.

He whined a little when Howzer shifted to grab a cloth to wipe his face and hid it again after Crosshair had given him several soft, reassuring kisses on his cheeks. Overall, though, this was one of the tamer outbursts any of them had.

The morning sun started to rise over the horizon, turning the sky outside of their bedroom window a deep shade of red and orange, and it blanketed their bed in a comforting light. It was a reminder that this was real, this was their reality. Soon, the sun will have risen over the water, the birds will start singing, and Batcher will be barking down the beach during her morning walk, usually with Omega, but more recently, Hunter has been the one to get up with her and watch the sun rise over the island. They would go about their days, working, contributing to the island however they could, having dinner with their family, and it was nice. It was real.

“…’M still tired,” Mayday yawned into Crosshair’s chest as they watched the morning roll in.

“Go back to sleep,” Howzer yawned into Mayday’s shoulder. It was true what they said about yawning being contagious.

Crosshair offered them both a soft, understanding smile. It was rare that Mayday slept in. He liked to be an early riser. Howzer was the opposite. This was far too early for him, and he’d only come to bed a few hours ago.

“I have watch,” he said, running a hand through Mayday’s hair, then Howzer’s, who kissed the back of it as he pulled away. “Get some more rest.”

As they drifted off, he heard Mayday murmur a quiet, “Love you.”

Howzer’s reply was much sleepier and more garbled, but Crosshair could only assume the sentiment was returned, because Howzer pulled him a little closer buried his nose in the crook of Mayday’s neck. Long after he knew they were both asleep and the sun was now fully exposed above the sea, Crosshair gazed upon them and breathed a sigh of contentment.