#tech pov

The room is quiet, a silence that only exists when it is completely unoccupied, since Wrecker somehow manages to be loud even when he’s sound asleep. Crosshair is disappointed, but he isn’t surprised. His brothers would not have been allowed to miss their training sessions. He wouldn’t want them to, besides. It is embarrassing to think - to hope - that they would risk punishment to wait for him. After all, this concussion was his own fault. He should have listened to Tech. If they had stayed together, the three of them would have taught those kark regs a lesson they would never forget. 

Instead, Crosshair fought by himself and lost. 

Three versus one. 

What was he thinking?

He had squeezed the trigger too soon, and the only thing those regs learned was that he probably was as dumb as they thought he looked. 

“You should go to your bunk and rest,” the droid says. 

At the mention of rest, Crosshair realizes how exhausted he feels, even though he just woke up. His muscles ache, like he’s done nonstop simulations and training a week straight. Not to mention his persistent headache. He glances around the room, which looks as it has always looked, down to the ration bar crumbs scattered around Wrecker’s bed. The mess that would infuriate him any other day makes him smile, a relieved chuckle escaping his lungs. His vision. It’s okay. 

He’s okay. 

He’ll be okay. 

…I told them you’d be okay… 

Crosshair shakes the memory – the dream – away. 

“Do you need assistance reaching your bunk?” the droid asks. 

“I don’t need anything from you,” Crosshair growls, forcing himself to walk to the center of the room. He looks at his bunk, the blanket rumpled as it was when they’d left to search for Hunter. But it isn’t the bunk he goes to. 

The droid protests, “That is not your assigned bunk. That is Hunter’s.” 

“How in Sith’s hells would you know that?” Crosshair shoots back, undeterred, as he shamelessly climbs across the tightly tucked blanket, destroying the meticulous work Hunter went to every morning for whatever kark reason. 

Then, what the droid said really sets in. Crosshair turns to look at the funny looking thing staring back at him with its yellow, glowing eyes. 

“How did you know this is Hunter’s bed?” he asks again. “And where do you get off calling him Hunter? Isn’t he just CT-9901 to you droids?” 

The droid tips its head. “Yes?” 

Crosshair groans. His head hurts too much to overthink this right now. He thinks he remembers Tech talking about the Kaminoans trying a new program on medical droids to have bedside manner…although that does not begin to explain every odd thing this droid has said. Crosshair scoffs and lays down, turning his back on the droid. 

Wrapping his arms around Hunter’s pillow, Crosshair closes his eyes.

He hopes his brothers come back soon. 

TECH

Divided focus is dangerous, if Tech being sent to the medic station - twice - for second degree burns is any indication. Tech decides that working with a blowtorch and worrying after Crosshair’s absence are incompatible mental pursuits, a mistake he hopes he will never have to make again. 

Tech had not wanted to leave the barracks that morning, even after the voice had given them a brief, but encouraging, update regarding Crosshair’s condition. It was not a logical inclination, risking disciplinary action which might result in further prolonging the separation. Hunter said as much. And while he had used more words to explain than strictly necessary, the combination of words had somehow convinced Tech and Wrecker to prepare for their day without further protest. 

Tech often marveled at Hunter’s seemingly effortless communication style. He had the ability to say exactly what ought to be said, but in such a way as to encourage, motivate, correct, or comfort his brothers as the situation required. No matter how long Tech studied Hunter’s methods and verbiage, replaying conversations over and over in his mind, he could not seem to even begin to emulate it in his own diction.

Perhaps, if he were more adept at interpersonal communication, he would have been able to convince Crosshair not to go off on his own. 

The training room door opens, a steady stream of cadets emerging. Tech feels their eyes on him as they walk past, but he ignores them.

“Tech? What are you doing here?” Hunter asks, the last to come out. “I thought you would’ve gone straight back to the barracks.” 

Tech had thought so too, when the day had begun; however, as the hours ticked by, his resolve had crumbled. Tech does not know how to articulate the reasoning for it. He searches for words in his vast vocabulary, but none seem to be correct. So Tech shakes his head in the negative, no explanation readily available. 

To his surprise, Hunter’s expression softens. “I get it,” he says, and he bumps Tech’s arm with a fist. “We’ll go together.” 

Tech nods, relieved that at least one of them understands, and falls into step beside Hunter as they begin their wordless trek back to the barracks. 

CROSSHAIR

“Crosshair! You’re back!” 

Crosshair moans, head still throbbing, and rolls to his back, staring blearily up at nothing. The sound of Wrecker’s booming voice is an odd combination of grating and comforting. 

“You must keep your volume at a minimum!” the droid's voice comes next, and that sound is simply and only grating. 

“Who are you?” Wrecker asks, alarmed, his volume decidedly not at a minimum. 

“I am AZI-345211896246498721347. I have been tasked with Crosshair’s care for the duration of his recovery. You may call me AZ. I have been informed that it is more efficient.” 

“I’ll say!” Wrecker laughs.  

Crosshair had never thought about the droid possibly having a name. He honestly didn’t care. It wouldn’t be staying much longer anyways, and he was not going to get attached. 

“Cross, whatcha doing in Hunter’s bunk?” Wrecker is standing over him now. “Is it ‘cause of your concussion messing with your memory?” 

“No…” Crosshair mutters, embarrassed. 

He moves to sit up, but Wrecker pushes him back. 

“I’m sure Hunter won’t mind,” Wrecker tells him, a grin on his sappy face. “You just stay put. You probably shouldn’t be up moving around.” 

“That is correct,” AZ says. 

Crosshair wants to be annoyed with Wrecker, wants to argue; however, he only scowls and looks away. He changes the subject. “Where is Tech? Don’t you guys usually get back from training at the same time?” 

“Yeah,” Wrecker agrees, sounding surprised. “I don’t know where he is.” 

Crosshair can think of one reason Tech might not come straight back to the barracks after specialized training, and Crosshair won’t blame his brother if he’s still angry with him after what he said. He’d said it to hurt him, after all. 

It was only fair if Tech didn’t forgive him. 

TECH

When they reach the barracks, Hunter pauses at the door and listens. After a few seconds, he grins, looking at Tech. “Sounds like Cross is back!”

Before Tech can respond, Hunter activates the door and walks inside. Tech follows. 

Crosshair is in Hunter’s bunk, for some reason, Wrecker sitting on the floor beside him. 

“Crosshair’s here!” Wrecker crows. 

“They have eyes, Wrecker,” Crosshair mutters, but he does not sound annoyed as he normally would. 

Wrecker ignores Crosshair’s comment with his usual ease, pointing across the room to a medical droid. “And that’s AZ. He’s Crosshair’s new friend. He’s staying with us until Cross is recovered.” 

“He’s not my friend,” Crosshair protests. 

“Aww, don’t say that,” Wrecker laughs. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” 

“My feelings are not hurt,” AZ assures them. 

Hunter goes to his bunk, stepping over Wrecker and sitting on the edge of the mattress next to Crosshair. “How are you feeling, Cross?” 

Crosshair shrugs. “Fine.” Then Crosshair looks at Tech. 

Guilt, sharp and familiar, twists in Tech’s stomach. If only he had listened to Wrecker, if only he had not been driven by his own pride. None of this would have happened. 

Unsure what to do with himself, Tech goes to the table, slipping into the chair with its back to the bunk Crosshair occupies, and begins working on one of his many projects. 

There is silence behind him for a few moments, and he distantly wonders if he is at fault. However, Hunter asks Crosshair another quiet question that Tech doesn’t hear, and Wrecker laughs. Tech focuses on his project, and tries to ignore the uncomfortable emotion that attempts to influence him.

Up next...

Prompt: Die A Hero

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tech wasn’t certain until he and his brothers spoke in Citali’s kitchen if what had happened was as serious as he suspected. Once Echo confirmed indeed it was, Tech’s admiration of Citali grew immediately. Something he did not think was possible as he already thought so highly of her, since the night they met. Citali had saved baby Marina’s life (possibly Melita’s as well) thanks to her skills, quick thinking, and ability to remain calm in a stressful situation. As Tech continued to reflect on what happened, at some point it occurred to him that those qualities were those of a competent soldier.  

Despite her familiarity with weapons and her higher-than-average proficiency in martial arts, Citali was not a soldier. But a soldier and a warrior were different things in Tech’s mind and Citali was certainly a warrior in her own right, at least to him. He was sure his brothers felt much the same. Citali fought for the health and safety of her individual patients like Melita and Marina, but she also waged her own personal "war" against a medical system and society that had the means to provide healthcare and stop the preventable deaths of its citizens yet chose not to do so. She was brave in the face of peril, unyielding in the face of insurmountable obstacles, yet always true to her kind and compassionate nature. The system may have failed her mother, her brother, but she would always do all that she could prevent what happened to them from happening to others. Knowing Citali, she probably felt that being a shoulder for her patients to cry on when they were afraid, offering care at a reduced cost or free in many cases, her hours and hours of outreach in the city, and offering her home as a safe place for her patients to give birth would never be enough. 

Wrecker sighs. “We can still catch up with Cross, tell him he’s outvoted.”  

“We will let Crosshair have his way,” Tech says. “Otherwise we will never hear the end of it.”

“That’s not a good reason for a bad idea,” Wrecker points out. 

Tech does not often feel anger toward any of his brothers. He knows that strong emotions left untended often, if not always, lead to impaired judgement. Tech has learned this through experience and observation. However, there are times that a strong emotion arrives with such unimpeded force that Tech finds himself swayed to its pure influence. Crosshair using Tech’s own words against him, having the audacity to imply that Tech holds blame for Hunter’s predicament…his anger is righteous and deserved.

“Perhaps it is not a bad idea at all,” Tech retorts. “Perhaps Crosshair is right that we should split up. Perhaps I am wrong.” 

“Then we’re both wrong, I guess,” Wrecker says.

“We shall see, won’t we.” 

“No, let’s find Crosshair–” Wrecker grabs Tech's shoulder, yanking him too roughly to a stop. 

Tech turns and shoves his brother away with both hands. “Leave it, Wrecker! The decision has been made, right or wrong. If there is one thing that Crosshair is absolutely correct about, it is that we are wasting time.” 

Tech does not miss, but ignores, the look of hurt in Wrecker’s eyes before he pivots on his heel and starts walking again. It is another danger of strong emotions allowed free reign: others can get hurt by them too. And now, not only is Tech angry with Crosshair. 

He is also angry with himself. 

**

Tech’s mind is exceptional. While he understands that it is a direct result of Kaminoan interference during his earliest stages of development, Tech also knows that it is by his own directive that he utilizes the enhancement well. It takes effort to employ the capacity of his mind to its full potential, to put away what is useless and nurture what is useful. Tech will admit that at times, what he finds useful might not traditionally be considered so. 

But there is one article of knowledge that is unquestionably valuable: Tech has memorized uncommon routes through Tipoca City using the map that is Hunter’s mind. 

Tech follows what he believes would be Hunter’s most logical direction in the event he was being pursued. Had Crosshair not been so obstinately insistent on splitting up, he might not be going in what Tech believes is the wrong direction. Some lessons were best taught, and some experienced. Crosshair will experience this lesson when Tech and Wrecker, together, locate Hunter – then Crosshair when the cadet undoubtedly becomes lost himself. Natural consequence, Tech thinks. Cause and effect. 

“Do you think Crosshair’s doing okay?” Wrecker asks, interrupting the flow of Tech’s thoughts. 

Tech stops to consider an intersection of halls. “I would assume he is doing as well as he can on his own.” 

“We shoulda stayed together,” Wrecker mumbles, kicking at a scuff mark on the ground. 

“Belaboring the point won’t change anything,” Tech tells him. 

Wrecker crosses his arms and glares down at Tech with a frustrated ire Tech is not accustomed to from this particular brother. “You think using those big words makes you sound smart, but you’re being really dumb right now, ya know that? Now we’ve got two brothers lost!” 

“That is not my fault!” Tech protests. “Crosshair chose to leave.” 

“And you chose to let him!” 

“So did you!” 

“I wanted to get him, and you said no!” 

“I am not in charge!” 

“Well, you kriffing act like it!” 

“Tech? Wrecker?” 

Tech and Wrecker startle at the sudden, third party interruption. Hunter is standing there in the middle of the hall, just a few paces away, staring at them. 

“Hunter!” Wrecker laughs and runs to him, wrapping him up in his arms and bodily lifting their brother from the floor. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

“Sorry,” Hunter chokes out, squirming in Wrecker’s grip. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long.” 

“Why were you gone so long?” Tech asks, approaching. 

Hunter is spun around twice before Wrecker finally releases him, and he stumbles a few steps to the left before finding his balance. “Some stupid regs were chasing me,” Hunter admits gingerly, straightening out his rumpled tunic. “I had to hide in a supply closet until I knew they were gone.” 

Wrecker and Tech exchange a knowing look. 

“Where’s Crosshair?” Hunter asks, glancing around.

“He thought it would be best if we split up to search for you,” Tech says, and even though it is the truth, the words taste sour in his mouth, like an admission of awful guilt.

Hunter’s brows knit together in transparent confusion. “And you let him?” 

“Ya know how Cross can be,” Wrecker explains weakly. He sounds as small as Tech suddenly feels. As though he is the one who has done anything wrong. 

Tech cannot meet the gaze of either of his present brothers. 

“Yeah, I know,” Hunter says. “We better go find him, huh?” 

Hunter does not wait for an answer, because the answer is obvious. He takes off down the way Wrecker and Tech came from, and his brothers wordlessly follow. 

**

They do not find Crosshair.

They even sneak to the medical wing, a place typically avoided at all costs. While they do not go all the way inside, Tech is able to access the medbay’s list of occupants on a carelessly left data pad he finds at the front station. 

“He is not here,” Tech says, but the discovery does not bring him the relief he had anticipated. Tech has never given much stock to the sensation of intuition, logic and analysis being his greatest allies; however, now, he cannot shake himself loose from the immense feeling of dread that overwhelms him. Something is not right. Something is very, very wrong. 

“Maybe he went back to the barracks,” Wrecker suggests, not sounding convinced himself. 

Tech looks to Hunter, and sees Hunter’s gaze flicker briefly to the in-wall comm unit beside them. Before Tech can puzzle over it, Hunter says, “You’re right, Wrecker. Let’s head back. Maybe we’ll find Crosshair along the way, yeah?” 

Wrecker’s demeanor shifts at Hunter’s encouragement, and he smiles broadly. “Yeah!” 

Tech knows that Hunter’s optimism is a front; however, he still envies the easy way Wrecker leans guilelessly into the sentiment, bounding ahead when the halls become familiar again. 

“He isn’t in the barracks, Hunter,” Tech says quietly. 

Hunter’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at Tech. “We don’t know that.” 

“Alright,” Tech allows. “What if he isn’t in the barracks? What do we do then?” 

“We’ll get help.” 

Tech’s breath catches in his throat. “From who?” 

Hunter finally turns his head to look at Tech, to meet his eye. “Someone helped me get away from the regs,” he says softly. 

“Someone?” Tech prods when Hunter does not elaborate on his own. 

Hunter shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know who they are, but they helped me. They said they’ve been watching us for a long time. They’ll know where Crosshair is.”

“You trust this unknown individual?” Tech asks incredulously. 

“I don’t know why, but I do,” Hunter says. “They…it feels like they care about us. They said it isn’t safe for us to know who they are.” 

Tech absorbs the information he’s been given, skeptical as he is. Unlike himself, Hunter relies heavily on instinct. But if Hunter believes he can trust this individual, Tech will trust Hunter. 

They reach the hall of their barracks. Wrecker, far ahead of them now, activates the door and barrels inside. Tech doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until Hunter turns back to look at him. “Tech?” 

Tech shakes his head. His boots suddenly feel as though they are made of permacrete. If Crosshair isn’t here…if Tech let him go off alone…if anything happened to him…

Wrecker comes back into the hall, his face a stark and awful reflection of Tech’s internal turmoil. “He’s not here, Hunter.” 

**

“Do you know how we can contact this…unidentified subject?” Tech asks, pretending there isn’t a painful lump in his throat to speak around.

Hunter is pacing the perimeter of their barracks. “They talked to me through the comm in the wall.” 

“Do you have any idea where they were contacting you from in the city?” Tech presses. 

Hunter shoots him a sharp look. “I would have told you if I knew that, Tech.” 

“Maybe we should just ask a trainer to help us, or a long neck,” Wrecker offers nervously from where he’s folded himself against the head of his bunk, pillow hugged to his chest. 

Tech nods. “That is likely the best course of action. It is well into our sleep cycle. Crosshair would have been returned to our barracks by now if he were not incapacitated.” 

“Unless he’s being too kriffing proud to ask for help,” Wrecker says. “He could be hiding in a closet like Hunter was doing.”

“Crosshair may be proud, but he knows that an absence like this would cause us alarm,” Tech counters. “Not even he would do that to us…at least, not willingly.” 

Hunter stops pacing and turns to look at their in-wall comm for what Tech thinks might be the thousandth time. Then he marches up to it. “Hey!” he yells. “You said you wanted to help us! So help! Where is Crosshair?” 

Tech startles at the outburst, and even Wrecker lets out a sound of surprise. 

Hunter continues to stare at the comm, as though his steady gaze alone will force the mysterious individual to speak. 

Tech opens his mouth to suggest that perhaps this helper, whoever they are, is unable to make contact at this juncture. 

“C’mon,” Hunter continues, but his voice is quiet now, pleading. “You can't have wasted your help on me…please…” 

The comm crackles to life. “Hunter,” a voice says, soft and young.  

Tech is on his feet and rushing to Hunter’s side before he realizes what he is doing. He only knows that he does not want to miss a single syllable. He feels Wrecker press in behind him. Under normal circumstances, Tech does not like being crowded. It makes him feel trapped and overwhelmed. But at this moment, he welcomes Wrecker’s solid presence in the absence of another. 

“Do you know where Crosshair is?” Hunter asks again. 

“He’s going to be okay,” the voice says. “Nala Se said he’ll be okay.”

Nala Se. Tech’s chest tightens. He is finding it difficult to breathe.  

It is Wrecker who recovers his voice first. “What’s wrong with him?” 

“He was in a fight…” the voice says, slowly, as though they are choosing the words they say very carefully. “...with some cadets. He–he hit his head. He was taken to the medical wing, but Nala Se had him brought to her personal lab so that she could monitor him. She said concussions like this can be dangerous with his enhancement.”

“We want to see him,” Hunter says. 

There is a long pause, and then, “You…can’t. I’m sorry. But Nala Se said he will be returned to the barracks once he’s recovered.” 

“How long will that be?” Hunter asks. 

“I don’t know,” the voice says. “I have to go…Nala Se is coming back. She can’t know that I’ve told you anything. I’ll give you an update when I can, I promise.” 

Silence, dense and heavy, falls on the barracks. 

Tech does not cry. Well, he likely cried when he was much younger, but that is expected as emotions are not as easily regulated when one is very young. But to his memory, he cannot remember crying. So the sensation that burns at his eyes now is surprising and strange, oppressive in its urgency for release.

“This is my fault,” he says, but the words stutter on a gasping breath. “I let him go.”

“It’s not,” Wrecker says firmly. “Don’t say that.”

 But Tech shakes his head, blinking hard against the dampness in his eyes. 

Hunter does not say anything at all, expression dull and unreadable, when he turns away from the comm. Then he sits down on the floor, back against the wall. Quietly, Tech and Wrecker do the same, sitting on either side of their oldest brother. A silent understanding between them. They will not sleep until they hear from the voice again. 

“The voice said he’ll be okay,” Wrecker says.

Hunter nods. “Then he’ll be okay,” Hunter whispers, voice flat. 

Tech wants to believe him. He wants to trust Hunter. He wants to trust the unknown voice. 

Desperately. 

He should never have let Crosshair go alone. 

There are times that a strong emotion arrives with such unimpeded force that Tech finds himself swayed to its pure influence.

Tech begins to cry. 

Up Next...

Prompt: Alternate Timeline Self

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Natural consequence…cause and effect. 

Tech had thought - known - that Crosshair would fail in his search for Hunter. Tech had hoped Crosshair would feel foolish; had hoped, improbable as it was, that Crosshair would admit his mistake. In his hurt, in his anger, Tech had forgotten the entire reason he had fought for them to stay together, why he believed Hunter would want them to stay together – why Wrecker had pleaded with Tech for them to catch up with Crosshair…

Some lessons were best taught, and some experienced. 

It had been dangerous for Crosshair to go alone. They are soldiers in training, yes; however, they are not soldiers yet. They are being developed, honed, with weaknesses no fault of their own. 

And Tech simply let him go to experience his lesson. Cruel and heartless, that is what he had been. And for what? Nothing Crosshair had said or done deserved that – Crosshair had only been trying to help Hunter in what he believed was the best way…even if he had been wrong.  

Tech sits at the table after his brothers have gone to sleep for their night cycle, the lights turned down low. But he cannot sleep. So he sits, tracing the outline of the bacta patches covering his burns with the index finger of his opposite hand, over and over again. 

“What happened to your hand?” 

Tech jumps, embarrassed to have been caught off guard; however, next to Hunter, Crosshair has always excelled at stealth training. Tech moves his injured hand to his lap, shielding it from view. “You are supposed to be resting.” 

“So are you,” Crosshair says, sitting down across from him. 

“I am not recovering from a concussion.”

“Sleep cycles are for sleeping, di’kut.”

Tech keeps his eyes on the table’s cluttered surface, shadows and shapes in the dim light of the room. He knows that Crosshair’s enhanced eyesight gives him a distinct advantage. While Tech might not be able to read Crosshair’s expression in the dark, Crosshair can certainly read his. “I am not tired,” he tells Crosshair stiffly. 

“Well, neither am I.” 

Silence, then, for several minutes, disrupted only by Wrecker’s familiar snoring.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?” Crosshair asks again. 

Tech shakes his head. 

“Why not?” 

“The details are unimportant.” 

“Why?” 

Tech feels his face contort before he can regulate his annoyance. “Why do you care to know?” 

Crosshair does not answer immediately, and Tech still cannot bring himself to attempt to meet his brother’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t I care, Tech?”

That is not what Tech had meant. He had not meant to imply that Crosshair did not care or would not care. 

“I burned my hand during my technical engineering module,” Tech tells him, hoping that the admission will smooth over the offense without further discussion. 

“Oh,” Crosshair says.

More heavy silence. 

Tech considers escaping by feigning being ready to sleep when Crosshair speaks again. “If I apologize…will you still be mad at me?”

“Apologize?” Tech finally looks up, but it is Crosshair that is looking away now. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I said it was your fault, didn’t I? What was happening to Hunter during specialized training?” 

So it had not been an implication afterall, but a subtle attack. Tech’s anger stirs  for the briefest moment before he asphyxiates it violently. He has no right to anger. He is far more guilty for his actions than Crosshair’s thoughtless words. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tech says. 

“Liar,” Crosshair mutters. 

“I am not lying,” Tech insists. 

Crosshair scoffs, a sound that never fails to make Tech feel that he has missed something important, misunderstood something vital. A language that will always be lost to him. “You don’t have to forgive me, but just say so, okay? Just get it over with,” Crosshair demands. 

Tech frowns. “Get what over with? I do not understand.” 

“Yell at me, tell me you told me so, something…just…I want us back to normal!” Crosshair’s voice has risen to a shout. 

Tech winces. If Hunter isn’t already awakened, he certainly is now. 

“I don’t want to do either of those,” Tech says, making a point of whispering. 

“Then tell me why you won’t talk to me and why you’ve been avoiding me!” Crosshair hisses.

Something akin to anger rises up, dark and awful and self-directed: Loathing. 

“Because you getting hurt is my fault!” Now it is Tech’s tone has escalated. 

“How the kriff is it your fault?” Crosshair demands. “That makes no sense!” 

“Because I let you go by yourself. I wanted you to go by yourself. I wanted you to fail! To prove that you were wrong! That I was right!” The words come without Tech’s direct consent, explosive, as though keeping them inside might cause him to implode. 

Wrecker’s snoring has stopped. They are all awake now, and they are all witness to the terrible truth, the ugliness of Tech’s internal depths. His breathing ejects in sharp pants, hands fisted in his lap. They should all hate him now. Not only Crosshair, but Hunter and Wrecker as well. 

“You wanted those cadets to attack me?” Crosshair asks. 

Tech shakes his head vehemently. “Of course not!” 

“You wanted me to get a concussion?” 

“No!” 

“Even if you had wanted those things, wanting something doesn't make it happen! Even an idiot knows that. The last time I checked, you are supposed to be the smartest being to ever exist in the galaxy.” 

Tech scoffs at the wildly gross exaggeration. “I can assure you, I am not!” 

“Obviously,” Crosshair shoots back. “Because the smartest being in the galaxy wouldn’t be saying such stupid stuff as you.” 

There is a snort from the direction of Wrecker’s bunk. “I already tried to tell ‘im, Cross. But his skull is just about as thick as yours,” Wrecker calls out. . 

“They could probably skip on the helmets when we get fitted for armor,” Hunter adds. 

Wrecker laughs, loudly, almost so loudly that Tech misses that Hunter is also laughing.  

Tech’s jaw goes slack with surprise. How can they laugh at a time like this, after a confession like that?

And that’s when he hears it: Crosshair is laughing too.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” Wrecker asks, the words nearly lost around an obnoxiously loud yawn. 

“Yeah,” Hunter says. “Go to bed you two, some of us have training in the morning.” 

“But,” Tech begins, “what I said about–”

“It’s done,” Crosshair interrupts him, standing up from the table. “We’ve established we were both dumb idiots. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.” 

While Tech balks at the simplistic description of his internal crimes, he cannot reject their validity. “We will still need helmets,” he says. 

Crosshair comes around the table, grabs Tech’s arm, and pulls him to his feet. “Yeah, yeah, we know. We might not be as smart as you, but we know that much. It’s called a joke.” 

“I know what a joke is,” Tech mutters, going to his bunk.

It is not until he is laying down that he notices that Crosshair is standing there. “Move over, jerk,” Crosshair growls. 

Tech obeys, and Crosshair tucks into the bunk beside him. 

“Goodnight, Crosshair,” Tech whispers. 

Crosshair’s hand wraps around his own, and he squeezes tight. “Goodnight, Tech.” 

Up next...

Prompt: Emergency Surgery

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!