Hi! My name is Jac, and although Iām not new to Tumblr, I lowkey just started posting š
Iām a HUGE Star Wars fan! I LOVE the Bad Batch! I want to be a part of a community of Star Wars fans so I can actually yap with people who will understanddd š«
I love art and writingā so maybe one of these days Iāll create a fic or fanart!
Anyways! Excited to be on here :) would love to make some new friends!
I saw that your requests are open! I was wondering if i could ask for a Hunter x fem reader fic?
Iāve been struggling with mental health recently (seasonal depression is no joke and experiencing major burnout/ been laying in bed for the past few days š)ā so Iād LOVE a fic thatās fluffy and comforting! I like to think that with his enhanced senses, Hunter can quite literally pick up on how anyone is feeling in the way they are breathing/ heartbeats.
Would love interactions with all the squad! I think itād be genuinely healing to be comforted by all of them lol
So yeah! I love your writing so much! No pressure to write this one! Thanks!!
.ā Ėāā§āĖ ā One Day at a Time .ā Ėāā§āĖ ā
Plot Summary: Hunter notices through his enhanced senses that you've been struggling with depression and burnout for days. With the help of the Bad Batch, he gently pulls you out of isolation and reminds you that you don't have to face the heavy days alone.
Warnings: reader is depressed/burnt out, descriptions of depression/burnout, light mentions of food and eating, light tears, mental health, hurt/comfort, the boys comfort her, can be read as platonic or romantic
Author's Note: Ahhh Jac!! Thank you so much for submitting this request! I am SO sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it. I struggle to write characters being a little upset, so I hope it reads well enough to you. Thank you for all the support, this was so fun to write!! <3
Hunter noticed it before anyone else did.
He always did.
It started three rotations ago, with a slight irregularity in your breathing pattern. The rhythm was off, shallow and slow, like your lungs had forgotten why they needed to fill all the way. Your heartbeat told a similar story, sluggish and heavy, each beat requiring more effort than it should.
Now, standing outside what could be called your quarters on the Marauder, he pressed his palm flat against the cold metal door. The ship hummed beneath his feet, that familiar vibration heād learned to tune out years ago, but he focused past it. Through the door, he could hear you. The rustle of sheets. A long, shaky exhale. The quiet that followed felt heavy, oppressive, like the air pressure had shifted in that small space.
Heād tried giving you distance. Three rotations of it. Three rotations of watching you retreat further into yourself, your smiles not quite reaching your eyes, your voice a little too flat when you spoke. Tech had asked you about the datapad modifications yesterday, and Hunter had tracked the way you moved slower than usual, how your fingers fumbled with the tools like they weighed too much. Youād laughed it off. Made some joke about needing caf.
But your laugh sounded wrong. Empty.
Hunter knocked, two gentle raps of his knuckles.
āYeah?ā Your voice came muffled through the door, and he heard the scrape of movement, like you were trying to sit up.
āItās me. Can I come in?ā
A pause. He could sense your heartbeat, that same slow, heavy rhythm. āSure.ā
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and he took in the scene with quiet concern. The bunk was a mess of tangled blankets, and you were half buried in them, propped against the wall. The lighting was dim, just the faint emergency strips along the floor, and in that low amber glow, he could see the exhaustion carved into your features. Dark circles shadowed your eyes. Your hair was disheveled. When you looked at him, there was a brittleness in your expression, like a leaf curling in on itself at the end of autumn, brown at the edges and barely clinging to the branch.
āHey.ā You tried for casual, but your voice cracked on the single syllable.
Hunter stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He could sense everything in the cramped quarters. The stale air that meant you hadnāt left this room in hours. The faint salt scent of tears, old ones, dried on your skin. The weight in your limbs when he moved closer, like gravity had doubled and you were too tired to fight it.
He didnāt ask if you were okay. That wouldāve been pointless. Instead, he crossed to the bunk and sat on the edge, careful not to crowd you but close enough that his presence couldnāt be ignored.
āYou havenāt been sleeping.ā It wasnāt a question.
Your laugh came out tired, threadbare. āThat obvious?ā
āYour heartbeatās been off. Slower.ā He kept his tone soft, non-judgmental. āHas been for days.ā
Something flickered across your face, surprise maybe, or embarrassment, and you looked away. Your fingers twisted in the blanket draped over your lap, worrying at a loose thread, the movement automatic and listless. āIām fine, Hunter. Just tired.ā
āYouāre not fine.ā
The words hung between you, simple and irrefutable, and he watched your shoulders sag. The fight drained out of you all at once, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable. Your breathing stayed shallow, deliberate, like each inhale was something you had to remember to do.
āI donāt know whatās wrong with me.ā
Hunterās chest ached. Heād felt helpless before, plenty of times, usually when someone was bleeding out and the medkit was nowhere to be found. But this was different. This wasnāt something he could stitch up or cauterize.
āNothingās wrong with you,ā he said firmly.
"Then why can't I just push through it?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. "You and your brothersā¦ you just keep going. No matter what gets thrown at you, you adapt, you survive, you take on more. And I'm over here falling apart over nothing. I don't have a right to feel like this when you've all been through so much worse."
"Hey." Hunter's voice was firm but gentle. He shifted closer, and when you didn't pull away, he carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Don't do that."
You went still for a moment, then slowly let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest plate. The coolness of the armor pressed into your skin, grounding. Real.
"We keep going because we have to," he continued quietly. "Because if we stop, we don't survive. But that doesn't mean it doesn't cost us. And it doesn't mean what you're feeling isn't valid."
Comforted by the privacy of his stature, you few quiet tears slipped free, dampening the fabric near his collar. For a few moments, you simply existed there in his hold, too tired to argue, too worn down to keep pretending.
Your fingers rested against his armor and Hunter kept his hold steady, patient. He'd learned a long time ago that sometimes people didn't need him to fix things or say the right words. Sometimes they just needed someone willing to sit in the heaviness with them, to not flinch away from the weight of it.
He didn't know how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other in the dim quiet of your quarters. Long enough for his knees to start protesting the angle. Long enough for your breathing to even out, for the tension to slowly bleed from your frame. When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, your cheeks blotchy, and Hunter thought you'd never looked more human.
"Sorry," you rasped.
He reached up, using his thumb to gently wipe away the remaining tears from your cheeks. "Don't apologize."
"I got your armor all wet."
"It'll dry." His mouth quirked, almost a smile. "Not the first time. Won't be the last."
That got a watery laugh out of you, small but genuine, and something in his chest loosened. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from your face with careful fingers. His hand lingered there, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, and your eyes fluttered closed at the contact.
"When's the last time you ate something?" he asked.
You were quiet for a beat too long.
"Right." He stood, already moving toward the door. "Come on."
"Hunter, I can'tā"
"You can." He turned back, extending a hand.
Your gaze dropped to his outstretched palm, and he could see the war playing out behind your eyes. The urge to retreat, to hide, battling against something else. Something that wanted to reach out. Wanted to accept the lifeline he was offering.
Slowly, shakily, you placed your hand in his.
The main hold was empty when you arrived, but Hunter had commed ahead. By the time he got you settled on one of the supply crates, the others started filtering in. Wrecker first, his massive frame taking up most of the narrow space, and Hunter didn't miss the way the big guy's expression softened when he saw you.
"Hey!" Wrecker's voice boomed, but he tempered it, gentler than usual. "There you are! We've been missin' ya."
You managed a small smile, though it wavered at the edges. "Hi, Wrecker."
Before you could react, he crossed the hold and pulled you into a hug, lifting you clean off the crate. Your spine popped in three places, and when he set you back down, there was the ghost of relief in your posture.
"There ya go," Wrecker said proudly, like he'd just solved all your problems. He dropped down beside you, the crate groaning under his weight, and dug into his pack. "Here, I saved ya some of those dried meiloorun slices from our last supply run. The good ones, not the chewy ones Tech keeps buyin'."
Before you could thank him, Tech appeared, datapad in hand as always. He adjusted his goggles, a tell Hunter recognized as concern, and took a spot near the wall since the crates were filling up.
"I have been reviewing the sleep cycle data from the ship's environmental controls," Tech announced, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation starter. "Your quarters have been experiencing a point three degree fluctuation in temperature during the night cycle. Suboptimal conditions for rest. I will recalibrate the system."
Hunter caught the way your expression shifted, something warm breaking through the exhaustion. Tech's way of showing he cared was rarely conventional, but it was always sincere.
"Thank you, Tech," you said quietly.
"It is a simple matter of environmental regulation." He adjusted his goggles again, already pulling up the ship's schematics on his datapad. "I will have it corrected within the hour."
Omega bounded in alongside Echo, her energy infectious as always, and Echo's thoughtful as he took in the scene. He didn't say anything at first, just settled on your other side with the careful deliberation of someone who understood what it meant to have dark days. The pair watched as Omega bounded between Wrecker, eyed the dried fruit on the supply crate, and immediately grabbed a piece.
"Hey! Those are for 'er!" Wrecker protested, reaching out and snagging Omega by the ankle. She squealed, laughing as he gently tugged her off balance.
"Wrecker! Let go!"
"Not until you put it back!" But he was grinning, and Tech sighed dramatically.
"The resulting caloric loss from a single piece of fruit is negligible," Tech announced, which somehow turned into Crosshair muttering something about Tech's definition of negligible, and suddenly the three of them were bickering.
The noise created a pocket of space, and Echo used it. His scomp link rested against his knee, and after a moment, he spoke, his voice low enough that only you and Hunter could hear.
"You know, after Skako Minor, there were days I couldn't get out of my rack." His voice was quiet, matter of fact. "Felt like I was still in that stasis chamber sometimes. Like I'd forgotten how to be a person."
Hunter watched you turn toward Echo, really look at him, and saw recognition flicker in your eyes. Someone who understood.
"What did you do?" you asked.
"Learned it was okay to have those days. That they didn't make me broken." Echo's organic hand came to rest on your shoulder, a solid, grounding weight. "And I let these idiots help, even when I didn't want to."
A scoff came from the shadows near the weapons rack, and Hunter's jaw tightened as Crosshair stepped into the dim light, a toothpick rolling between his lips. The sniper had been lingering there the whole time, Hunter realized, listening but keeping his distance.
"You gonna lecture her about feelings now?" Crosshair drawled, but there was no real bite to it.
"Cross," Hunter warned.
But you surprised them both by letting out a weak laugh. "It's okay."
Crosshair studied you for a long moment, his keen eyes picking apart details the way he'd scan a battlefield. Then he moved, fluid and precise, dropping something into your lap. A small toolkit, the one you'd been looking for two rotations ago when you'd mentioned your datapad acting up.
"Found it in the cargo hold," he said with a shrug, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't spent time searching for it because he'd noticed you needed it. "Figured you'd want it back."
Your fingers closed around the toolkit, and Hunter tracked the shift in your pulse. Steadier now. Calmer.
"Thank you," you whispered.
Crosshair's expression didn't change, but he gave a short nod before retreating back to his corner.
The conversation around you continued, Wrecker now trying to convince Omega that she owed you two pieces of fruit for stealing one, her protest dissolving into giggles. In the midst of the chaos, she wiggled free and plopped down near you, still clutching her contraband.
"Will you help me with my studies later?" she asked, bumping her shoulder against yours. "There's this navigation problem I can't figure out. You're way better at explaining than Tech."
"I am right here," Tech said without looking up from his datapad.
"You use too many big words," Omega replied simply, popping the fruit into her mouth with a satisfied grin.
You huffed a laugh, and Hunter felt it like a victory. He moved to the small galley counter, pulling together something simple. Ration bars weren't exactly gourmet, but he warmed them up, added some of the preserved fruit they'd bartered for on their last supply run, and poured a cup of caf that he deliberately made weaker than you usually took it. You needed rest more than stimulants.
"I'm not really hungry," you started, but he cut you off with a look.
"Try anyway."
Hunter set the plate within reach, then settled onto the crate beside you. His shoulder pressed against yours, a steady point of contact.
The conversation flowed around you, Wrecker recounting some ridiculous story about a mission gone sideways, Omega interjecting with her own commentary, Tech fact-checking every third sentence. It was noise, familiar and comforting, and Hunter kept his attention split between the banter and you. Monitoring. Making sure you didn't fade away.
At some point, you picked at the food. Not much, but it did taste a lot better than regular ration bars.
After the food was cleared, Omega tugged on your sleeve. "Come on, I wanna show you something."
You let her pull you to your feet, and Hunter watched as she led you toward the bunks, chattering about a new holonovel she'd found. Tech followed, still lecturing about proper narrative structure, and Wrecker clapped a massive hand on your shoulder as he passed, gentle despite his strength.
Hunter stayed in the galley, giving you space but keeping his senses attuned. He could track your movement through the ship, could hear Omega's bright voice and your softer responses. The knot that had been sitting in his gut for three days was finally starting to unravel.
Later, after Omega had fallen asleep mid-sentence and Tech had retreated to his data analysis, Hunter found you standing in the corridor outside your "quarters." You were staring at the door like it was some kind of insurmountable obstacle, your arms wrapped around yourself.
He approached slowly, deliberately making noise so he wouldn't startle you. "Need company?"
You turned, and in the low light, your eyes were overly bright. "I don't want to be alone," you admitted, the words so quiet he almost missed them. "But I don't want to be a burden either."
"You're not." He moved closer, closing the distance until he was right in front of you. "You could never be."
"Hunter..."
You were quiet for a long moment, staring at the door like it took too much energy to look at him. "I don't know how to make it stop."
"You don't have to fix it tonight." Hunter shifted closer, his presence solid and unhurried. "Just get through tonight. Then we'll handle tomorrow when it comes."
"One day at a time?"
"One day at a time," he confirmed. "And you're not doing it alone."
Your breath shuddered out, something loosening in your chest. "Thank you. For... for checking on me. For bringing everyone together like that." You glanced back toward where the main hold was, where you could still hear the muffled sounds of the squad settling in for the night. "I know I've been useless lately, but you all... you didn't have to do any of this."
"You're not useless," Hunter said firmly. "And we wanted to. All of us."
Your breath hitched, and then you were surging forward, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried against his chest again. Hunter held you close, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your shoulders. He could feel your heartbeat against his, no longer stalling nor racing, but settling into a rhythm that matched his own.
"Stay," you mumbled against his armor. "Please."
"He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, soft and lingering. "Okay."
He guided you back into your quarters, and this time the space didn't feel oppressive. He shed his armor, piece by piece, setting it carefully aside until he was down to his blacks. You watched him with something fragile and hopeful in your expression, and when he climbed into the bunk beside you, you didn't hesitate. You curled into his side, head on his chest, one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
Hunter wrapped his arms around you, feeling the way you slowly relaxed against him. Your breathing deepened, evened out, and he focused on that. On the steady rise and fall of your chest. On the warmth of you pressed against him. On the fact that you were here, you were safe, and you were letting him help.
"Hunter?" Your voice was drowsy, already half asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He tightened his hold, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Always."
Leave a comment to be added to my fanfiction taglist!
rewatching this episode and hey so I actually love crosshair! just wanted to come on here and make a lil appreciation post for him š„¹ he grew sm in the showā god I would do literally anything for that man and his happiness
I added extra and I will not feel bad about it because I didnāt even add everyone I wanted to š¤£š¤£thank you for the tag @starrylothcat š
NPT: @ulchabhangorm @eternal-transcience @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip @frostycatblr-fandom-files @ghostymarni @eobe @tahny-andthe-diamonds @littlemissmanga @leenathegreengirl @multi-fan-dom-madness @sev-on-kamino @gars-weaponeer @kimiheartblade @techs-stitches @lonewolflupe @eclec-tech and anyone else! Tag me in yours even if I didnāt tag you because i definitely want to seeeeee
Thanks for the tag, @returnofthepineapple and @freesia-writes!
Assuming my irl favorite guy wasn't available, it looks like my version of the song, "Underneath the Tree" would be about uber-competant weapon wielders! (The stone question mark is for an OC in-progress who matches the type pattern just as well.)
NPT: (glances up to find new victims participants...) @scribblesofshadow @wolveria @foxwithadarkside @drafthorsemath @ladysongmaster @apocalyp-tech-a @fuzzyenthusiastnelket01 @thecoffeelorian @letshareapapou and anyone else who want to jump in with their "wish list."
Thank you so much for tagging me @eclec-tech!! This challenge was so fun and now I am realizing I may happen to have a type or perhaps even a refined taste... š·
How would you rate my picks? š¤ Please let me know! I feel like itās giving ātumblrā but also weāre on tumblrā¦
NPTs (but also I really want to see everyoneās): @echomina @ct-goggles @jacmaee @wife-to-ct9904 @techhasmjolnir @thegreymarveljedi @littlebitofeverything-lass @ray-of-sunshine-99 @saiwaispirit @imperialsprig @the-tech-turn
(also tagged some people I donāt normally tag, sorry about that. I am just really nosy š )
The Bad Batch Holiday Exchange - for @wife-to-ct9904
āØ Crosshair + The Batch
āØ Word count: 3.6k
Plot Summary: On snow-covered Pabu, Crosshair grapples with grief, guilt, and the lingering scars of Tantiss as the Batch attempts to build a new kind of holiday tradition without Tech. Through crooked trees, icy lakes, and Omegaās unshakable faith, Crosshair learns that healing doesnāt mean forgetting and he belongs with his family after all.
Warnings: light angst, healing, found family, post-tantiss, post-season 3, amputation and phantom limb mentions, grief/mourning Tech, soft crosshair, domestic fluff, Christmas on Pabu, not proof read (im sorry)
The snow had been falling for hours by the time Crosshair retreated to the back porch of their house on Pabu. The cold bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. Pain he understood. Pain made sense.
Inside, he could hear them. Omega's laughter rang out like bells, followed by Wrecker's booming voice and Hunter's quieter chuckle. They were creating some kind of chaos in the living room, the sounds of home and family drifting out to where he stood alone in the cold.
Crosshair flexed what remained of his right arm. The phantom sensations were barely noticeable now, but he felt them. Always felt them. The ghost of fingers that no longer existed, reaching for triggers he could no longer pull. A constant reminder etched into his nerves, a souvenir from Tantiss and CX-2 that wouldn't fade no matter how many months passed.
He didn't deserve this. The warmth inside. The family waiting for him. The second chance he'd been given when so many others hadn't received one.
The door opened behind him. Crosshair didn't turn.
"You're going to freeze out here." Hunter's voice was steady, neither pushing nor retreating.
"I'm fine."
"Crosshair."
"I said I'm fine."
A pause. Then Hunter stepped beside him, leaning against the railing. His brother didn't speak, just stood there in the falling snow, breath forming clouds in the frigid air. The silence stretched between them.
"Omega wants to decorate," Hunter finally said. "She found a whole box of something called 'Christmas ornaments' in the market. Apparently it's some old tradition that's made its way here."
Crosshair said nothing.
"She wants you there."
"She doesn't need me for that."
Hunter turned to look at him fully now. Crosshair felt the weight of his gaze but kept his eyes fixed on the snow covered landscape before them.
"Maybe she doesn't need you," Hunter said quietly. "But she wants you. There's a difference."
The door burst open before Crosshair could respond. Omega bounded out, completely undeterred by the cold despite her bare feet.
"There you are! Come on, we're about to start." She grabbed his left hand and pulled. "You have to help me put the star on top. Wrecker says he'll lift me, but I want you to hand it to me."
"Omega, I don't think..."
"Please?" Those wide eyes looked up at him with such unguarded hope that something in his chest constricted painfully.
He glanced at Hunter, who merely raised an eyebrow. No help there.
"Fine," Crosshair muttered. "Five minutes."
Omega's grin could have lit the entire island.
"Five minutes," she agreed, tugging harder on his hand. "That's all I need."
She dragged him inside where warmth enveloped him immediately. The living room looked exactly as it had when he'd fled to the porch twenty minutes ago: chaotic, colorful, overwhelming. Wrecker had somehow procured an enormous tree that took up nearly a quarter of the space, its branches heavy with needles that smelled sharp and alive. Boxes of decorations were still scattered across every surface, though he noticed they'd made some progress. A few ornaments already hung on the lower branches, catching the light from the windows.
But now Omega had reinforcements, and she clearly had no intention of letting his five minutes be just five minutes.
Crosshair paused in the doorway, taking it all in. There was an empty space in the room, an absence that pressed against his awareness. He could almost hear what should have been there: a detailed analysis of optimal ornament distribution, commentary on the cultural origins of decorative traditions, the particular way Tech would have approached this with scientific precision and unexpected enthusiasm.
But Tech wasn't there. He would never-
"Here!" Wrecker thrust a box into his arm before he could retreat or finish his thought. "You can hang these on the high branches. You've got better reach than Omega."
Crosshair stared down at the delicate glass spheres, each one painted with intricate designs. His left hand wasn't as steady as his right had been. Nothing about him was as steady as he'd once been.
"I'll just watch."
"No way!" Omega appeared at his elbow again. "Everyone has to participate. That's what makes it special. Come on, I'll show you."
She selected an ornament, a simple blue one that caught the light, and reached up to hang it on a branch. Then she took another and held it out to him expectantly.
The rest of them had gone suspiciously quiet. Crosshair could feel their eyes on him, though they were all pretending to be busy with their own tasks. Waiting. Not pushing, but hoping.
He took the ornament with his left hand. The glass was cool against his palm, fragile. Everything about this moment felt fragile.
He reached up and hung it on a branch.
Omega beamed. "Perfect! See? Now pick another one."
And somehow, one ornament became another. Became a dozen. Crosshair found himself drawn into the rhythm of it, the steady process of taking something plain and making it beautiful. It became very clear that Omegas agreement to five minutes was a lie. She chattered constantly, telling him stories about each ornament, making up histories for the ones they didn't know. Wrecker started a competition to see who could hang decorations the fastest, which ended predictably when he knocked an entire branch down.
Hunter moved through it all like a conductor, saying little but somehow keeping them all in harmony. Every so often, Crosshair caught his brother watching him with an expression that was hard to name. Something soft. Something that looked almost like relief.
When the tree was finally complete, they all stepped back to admire it. Lights twinkled among the branches, ornaments caught and reflected the glow, and at the very top, Omega's star shone brightest of all.
"It's perfect," she whispered, "so green."
"Tech would have spent an hour explaining the science behind why pine trees retain their needles in winter." Wrecker said somewhat quietly, a smile in his voice despite the sadness.
The name hung in the air. Crosshair's chest tightened. He'd never gotten to see Tech after he chose to stay behind on Kamino. Never gotten to apologize, to explain, to try to bridge the gap his choices had created.
"He would have loved this," Hunter said softly. "All of it. He'd have researched every tradition, traced their origins."
"And we'd have pretended to be annoyed but actually liked listening," Omega added, her voice thick.
Crosshair said nothing, but something in his chest had cracked open. The tree was crooked. The ornaments were distributed unevenly. It was chaotic and messy and nothing like the precise, orderly Empire decorations he vaguely remembered from some distant past.
Tech would have analyzed it, improved it, and somehow made it more special in the process.
"He'd want us to keep going," Wrecker said. "Keep doing this. Being together."
"Yeah," Hunter agreed. "He would."
The moment stretched, heavy before Omega took a breath and straightened her shoulders.
"Tomorrow we're going ice skating," she announced to the room, but mostly to Crosshair as she settled onto the couch. "The lake froze over and everyone's going."
Crosshair's momentary peace evaporated. "I don't ice skate."
"None of us do," Hunter pointed out. "That's the point."
Crosshair opened his mouth-
"Please?" Omega interjected. "All of us together?"
"It's barely dawn."
"The ice is best in the morning before it gets all scratched up!"
Crosshair seriously doubted the quality of ice was going to make any difference to his inevitable humiliation, but he allowed himself to be herded outside where the rest of the batch waited.
The lake stretched out before them, a sheet of white surrounded by snow heavy trees. Already, a few early risers from the village were gliding across the surface with enviable ease. Shep waved from the opposite shore where he was helping his daughter lace up her skates.
"The appropriate footwear has been procured," Hunter said, holding up what looked like torture devices disguised as boots with blades attached.
Wrecker sat down heavily and began strapping on the largest pair Crosshair had ever seen. "How hard can it be? We've done way more dangerous stuff than this."
Famous last words.
Ten minutes later, Wrecker was flat on his back for the third time, his laughter echoing across the ice. Hunter was moving forward with careful determination, his enhanced senses apparently not helping much with balance. Omega had taken to it naturally, spinning and sliding with the fearlessness of youth.
Crosshair hadn't moved from the shore. He watched as Omega appeared beside him, skating backward with show off ease. "Are you scared?"
"I'm not scared."
"Then prove it." She held out her hand.
It was a challenge. Crosshair had never been able to resist a challenge, especially not from her. With a muttered curse, he stepped onto the ice and his feet immediately shot out from under him. Only Omega's grip on his hand kept him marginally upright.
"I've got you," she said. "Just small steps. Push and glide."
Push and glide. Simple in theory. In practice, his legs seemed to have forgotten how to coordinate. He felt ridiculous, like a newly decanted cadet trying to learn basic motor functions. His balance was off, his center of gravity wrong without the weight of his right hand to counterbalance.
"You're doing great!" Omega encouraged.
He was objectively not doing great. He was barely staying vertical.
But Omega kept hold of his hand, patient and steady, and slowly, painfully, he began to figure out the rhythm of it. Push and glide. Push and glide. His missing hand didn't matter out here. There was nothing to aim at, no shot to miss, no trigger to pull. Just ice and movement and his sister's unwavering grip.
"See? I knew you could do it!"
Wrecker zoomed by, arms windmilling wildly. "This is awesome!"
Hunter circled around them, keeping pace but giving Crosshair space. Keeping watch, the way he always did.
And somehow, impossibly, Crosshair found himself almost enjoying it. The cold air in his lungs. The challenge of something new. The way Omega looked at him like he'd accomplished something worth celebrating, even though all he'd done was not fall on his face.
They skated until the sun was high and the ice began to roughen with use. By the time they returned to shore, Crosshair's legs ached and his pride was thoroughly battered, but something else had shifted. Something he didn't have words for.
"Tomorrow we're getting a tree," Omega announced as they walked back toward the house. "A real one from the forest. Hunter says we can cut it down ourselves!"
"We already have a tree."
"That's for inside. This is for outside, for the front of the house! It's another tradition!"
Crosshair looked at Hunter, who shrugged with an expression that clearly said pick your battles. This was not a battle he was going to win.
"Fine."
"And we're all wearing matching sweaters for the photo!"
"Absolutely not."
"Crosshair..."
"No."
"Please?"
He looked down at her upturned face, at the hope and excitement and absolute certainty that he belonged in this family portrait. His throat tightened.
"We'll discuss it," he managed.
Omega's smile suggested she knew she'd already won.
The forest was quiet except for the crunch of their boots in the snow. Hunter had insisted on bringing several tools to ensure they could actually cut down a tree. Wrecker had brought enthusiasm and very little else. Omega darted between trees, considering and rejecting each one with the seriousness of a military operation.
Crosshair found himself legging behind again, his left hand shoved in his pocket, watching his family debate the relative merits of various conifers as if it actually mattered.
"This one!" Omega finally declared, stopping before a tree that looked identical to every other tree they'd passed. "This is perfect!"
"Looks good to me," Hunter agreed, examining the branches.
"Let's do it!" Wrecker pulled out a vibroblade that was absolutely overkill for the job.
"Wait!" Omega ran back to Crosshair and grabbed his hand. "You have to help pick the spot to cut."
"Omega, I don't..."
"Please? I want us all to do it together."
Together. This whole weekend all Omega talked about was being together. Crosshair has become used to "together" meaning his thrown-together squad for the Empire, or the group of captured clones on Tantiss. He'd been part of something, but he'd never belonged. Not really.
Crosshair watched his sister look at him like his opinion mattered, like his presence made things complete. In this forest, together meant something different.
He knelt beside her, examining the trunk. "Here," he said, indicating a spot. "Straight cut, minimal damage to the surrounding growth."
Omega beamed. "Perfect!"
They took turns with the cut. Even Crosshair, when Omega insisted and he managed the blade one handed with more difficulty than he'd ever admit. The tree fell with a soft whump into the snow, and Wrecker hoisted it onto his shoulders with ease.
The walk back was slower, filled with the comfortable silence of a task completed. Snowflakes began to fall again, catching in Omega's hair, settling on Hunter's shoulders.
Omega tilted her head back, breathing out deliberately, watching the cloud of her breath rise and disappear into the falling snow. She did it twice more before catching Crosshair watching her again.
"It's just... cool," she said, somewhat defensively. "You can see it."
Crosshair tilted his head back and let the snowflakes land on his face, cold and clean. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."
Hunter glanced at them both, and something in his expression softened. "Remember when Tech tried to improve the Marauder's heating system?"
Wrecker laughed, "Ended up making it so cold we could see our breath inside the ship!"
Hunter huffed a laugh. "He fixed it in under an hour, but we never let him forget it."
Crosshair's throat felt tight. "He never let himself forget it either. Kept a log of every modification failure. Said it was 'data for future reference.'"
The words came out before he could stop them, rough and unpracticed. The others went quiet, and he wondered if he'd said too much. If he'd broken some unspoken rule about who got to reminisce about Tech.
But then Omega squeezed his hand. "I didn't know that."
"He had logs for everything," Crosshair continued, surprised at himself. "Successful missions, failed ones. Every adaptation we made in the field. He said information was only useful if it was recorded and analyzed."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers nodding in agreement. He found himself continuing almost absentmindedly. "He tried to explain it to me once. On Kamino. Why we could see our breath in the simulation rooms but not in the barracks."
But then Hunter's hand settled briefly on his shoulder, solid and steady. "What did he say?"
"Something about relative humidity and dew point." Crosshair stared at the snow covered path ahead. "I told him I didn't care about the science. Just wanted to know if the sim room needed fixing."
"What did he say to that?" Omega asked.
Despite everything, despite the ache in his chest and the phantom pain in his missing hand, Crosshair felt his mouth twitch. "He said understanding the cause was essential to determining if intervention was necessary. Then spent ten more minutes explaining it anyway."
Wrecker's laugh echoed through the trees. "That's Tech."
"He never could resist a teaching moment," Hunter agreed. His voice warm and present with the gentle acknowledgment that Crosshair's memories of Tech mattered too, even after everything.
Family. The word had changed meaning. Once, it had been the Batch, his squad, his brothers in arms. Then it had been broken, shattered by his own choices and the Empire's manipulation. Now it was being rebuilt into something new, something that included Omega and second chances and Christmas trees in the snow. Something that bore the permanent absence of Tech but carried his memory forward.
Something that included him, even when he wasn't sure he deserved inclusion.
Back at the house, they decorated the outdoor tree with lights that Shep had helped them procure. As darkness fell, they illuminated it, and the glow reflected off the snow in a way that made everything seem softer, gentler.
"Beautiful," Omega breathed, her exhale forming a small cloud that drifted past the glowing lights.
It was.
"Now for the photo!" She disappeared inside and returned with an armful of fabric in an alarming shade of red. "I got one for everyone!"
The sweaters were objectively hideous. Bright red with white snowflakes and something that might have been meant to be a tree but looked more like a green blob. Wrecker immediately pulled his on with delight. Hunter sighed but didn't protest.
Crosshair held his at arm's length. "No."
"Crosshair, please?" Omega had already pulled hers on and looked up at him with those devastating eyes. "It won't be the same without you."
"That's the point."
"Come on, Cross," Wrecker said. "Don't be a spoilsport."
Crosshair glared at them all and, with an audible groan, wrestled the sweater over his head.
"Fine," he ground out. "But I'm not smiling."
"You don't have to smile," Omega said. Her grin suggested she'd take what she could get as she immediately positioned them all in front of the tree, fussing with their placement until she was satisfied. She set up the holoprojector with a timer and rushed to take her place in the center.
"Everyone together!" she called.
Wrecker threw an arm around Hunter's shoulders. Hunter stood steady and calm. Omega grabbed Crosshair's left hand and squeezed as he became increasingly aware of how the sweater was itchy and too warm and made him look ridiculous.
The projector flashed.
In the resulting image, they would be captured forever: three soldiers and one girl who'd become something more, wearing ridiculous sweaters and standing in the snow, as family rebuilt from broken pieces.
The fireplace crackled with warmth, orange light dancing across the walls. Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing Pabu in white silence. Inside, the house smelled like the hot chocolate Wrecker had insisted on making, following some recipe he'd charmed out of a local vendor.
They'd arranged themselves in the living room without discussion, falling into comfortable positions. Wrecker sprawled on the floor, too large for any chair. Hunter sat in the armchair, relaxed in a way he never was on missions.
And somehow, Crosshair had ended up in the center of it all.
He hadn't meant to. He'd intended to take his usual position at the edges, maintaining his distance. But Omega had pulled him down beside her on the couch, and Wrecker had shifted to give him a better view of the fire, and Hunter had handed him a mug and a look that clearly said don't even think about moving.
So he stayed.
The hot chocolate was too sweet, but the warmth spread through him in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. They weren't talking about missions or strategy or survival. Omega was telling some rambling story about the other day, something involving a mishap in the market and a runaway fruit cart. Wrecker was laughing. Hunter was listening with half a smile.
Normal. This was what normal looked like. What families did when they weren't fighting for their lives.
Crosshair's hand wrapped around his mug. Omega noticed him staring at the fire, she always noticed, and shifted closer until her shoulder pressed against his. Not drawing attention to it, just offering silent support. Anchoring him.
"He never stopped believing you'd come back," Omega said softly. "Even when it seemed impossible."
"Tech was right about most things," Crosshair heard himself say. His voice came out rougher than intended. "I should have listened to him more."
"We all should have," Hunter agreed.
Then Omega squeezed Crosshair's arm. "He'd be happy you're here now. That we're all together."
They sat with that for a moment, the fire crackling, the snow falling outside, the weight of absence and presence intermingled.
"I'm trying," he said finally, "To beā¦ better. To deserve this."
"You already deserve it," Hunter said. "You just have to believe that."
"Belief is not my specialty."
"Then let us believe it for you," Omega said, "until you can believe it yourself."
Such a simple offer. Such an impossible gift.
Crosshair looked around the room at these people who had every right to hate him and chose love instead. Wrecker's open smile. Hunter's steady presence. Omega's unwavering faith.
His left hand was steady around his mug now, and for once, he didn't mourn what was gone. The missing hand was there, permanent, a reminder of everything he'd survived and everything he'd lost. But sitting here, surrounded by warmth and family and the soft glow of firelight, he realized something:
Maybe the loss wasn't a weakness. Maybe it was proof that he was alive. That he'd survived. That he'd made it home. That he'd made the shot that mattered when it counted most.
"Merry Christmas, Crosshair," Omega said softly.
Christmas. This strange tradition they'd adopted, this celebration of light in the darkness and love in the cold. A week ago, he would have dismissed it as meaningless sentiment.
Now, sitting in the center of his family with hot chocolate warming his hand and snow falling outside and their tree glowing in the corner, he understood.
"Merry Christmas," he echoed, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, the words felt true.
The fire crackled. Outside, snow continued to fall. Crosshair sat surrounded by his family and let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserved this after all.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The phantom pains wouldn't disappear. The memories of Tantiss wouldn't fade overnight. The work of becoming the person he wanted to be would continue. Tech's absence would always be felt.
But tonight, in this moment, he was exactly where he needed to be.
