you're writing the fic that repeatedly breaks me! I didn't know my heart could crack into such small pieces!
it's so good and I love it so much. I've been meaning to leave a comment, but I have so much to say and I can't figure out how to say all of it.
But it will be coming soon.
I may also have a wip inspired by chapter 3 hanging out in my sketchbook. Would you mind if I tagged you here and put the link to the story in the post? Or would you prefer the art go to you on AO3? I don't know if you can put art in a comment, I was trying to figure that out XD
Hey artgremlin! Thanks for the shoutout, you're too kind! Glad you've been enjoying thespaceinbetween. Gosh, I'm so flattered you made art about my fic! I'd love to see it! Please, feel free to post it on Tumblr, tag me and add a link to the AO3 fic, I'd really love that!
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E11 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-10 (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
"'untah..."
Omega's legs snapped like twigs at the knees and the cockpit flipped in her vision as she tumbled away from it. Hunter. The doorframe. The cabin roof.
Nothing.
She waited to feel her head crack against the durasteel. But it didn't. In fact…she didn't feel any pain…at all. The pounding in her skull now scarcely a thrum in the background, dimmed behind the feeling of something wrapped around her.
It was firm at first, but then it softened, deforming beneath her, changing its shape to accommodate hers until she was practically part of it, as if the Kaminoans themselves had designed her to fit right there.
And it was warm… everywhere it touched beginning to buzz with a delightful haze. Like sinking into a pot of heated honey, the sensation slowly swallowing her whole, and she didn't even mind.
Far away, someone called her name…
…Hunter?
Dazed and void-drunk, her attempt to focus on it felt as fruitful as trying to pinpoint the origin of an echo. She went to answer, but as soon as she opened her mouth it was flooded with a saccharine sweetness, thick molasses encumbering her tongue.
There it was again, Hunter's voice, her name, but this time the urgency of it muffled behind the syrup pooling in her ears. She tried reaching out to him, to let him know she was okay, but the honey was just so heavy...and she was just…so tired…
Slipping below the surface, its embrace was saturating; suppling her muscles and dissolving her bones, her skin growing senseless and her lungs sighing into their emptiness.
There was a peacefulness…in the way it took her apart. The deeper she let it take her, the more distant it made the ache... And although she felt sorry to admit it, she realised she wanted to stay...
She wanted…to sleep.
Suddenly, like a knife through butter, a shaft of light sliced through the treacle and white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes. All at once, everything came rushing back. Her bones mineralised and her muscles pulled taut, her skin sharpened and her lungs reinflated.
But the air she sucked in felt like fire, and every inch of her burned.
"Omega?!"
Empty-mouthed and exposed, she went to cry out, but before she could, the light vanished, as inexplicably as it had appeared and Omega plunged, feet-first, back into the sea of abyssal sap that awaited below.
Thick and cool, it smothered her, suffocating the blaze in her chest and dulling the pang in her head, accepting her pain as easily as it did her weight, and oh, how she wished she could simply drown in it.
But she couldn't... There was a pressure that hadn't been there before, caging her left hand, anchoring her there above the waterline of oblivion. She flexed her fingers to find the culprit, but they twitched against nothing. Yet, the sensation still lingered, ghosting her skin; the texture of stitchwork gloves over calloused pads and wiry sinew.
…Tech?
Curved metal came to rest atop her finger. What was that? It felt like---
The thing bit savagely into her nailbed, crushing soft tissue between keratin and steel. She shrieked, unable to pull away from it, her arms pinned by the viscous mire that engulfed her.
Then, it was gone, and she exhaled into its vacuous absence, the reprieve it wrought as only glorious as it was short-lived. A groan escaped her throat as something blunt and bony came to rest against her chest, pausing there to offer a taste of the kind of pain it could deliver.
She wanted to cry. It was all too much. Why was this--
The thing raked across the ridges of her sternum, back and forth, as if intent on sawing her in half, and to her abject despair, she felt the honey evaporate around her, abandoning her to this suffering. Without it, Omega plummeted from the high, crash landing so hard into her own body that she doubled over on impact.
The assault immediately ceased as she dragged air into starved lungs. She spluttered, her mouth tasting not of sugar, but of bile and vinegar. And her head...oh her head…
No…
She wanted to go back.
"Omega?"
Tech's voice. Tech's gloves. Her hand pressed like a flower between his palms. Her eyes fluttered open, but only halfway, ladened with dream lag. Vertigo tipped her upside down as the room skated beneath the point of her gaze; the floor, the corner of a screen, the flash of a red bandana, none of it staying still long enough for her to focus. Feebly, she groped for something to steady herself on, and her fingers twisted themselves into fabric that wasn't hers.
"It's alright kid, you're alright".
She cringed. Oh, STARS but her HEAD.
"N-no," she choked, tears spilling from her eyes. "No more..."
She couldn't stay here. They had to let her go back.
Tech cupped her cheek and dragged her line of sight to one side - presumably to direct her attention towards him - but as her head was pivoted on her neck, fireworks ruptured her vision and popped in her ears. After that, she heard nothing at all, except her own internal wailing.
--hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it--
"S-stop...ple-ase..."
She was weeping now, digging her nails into whatever flesh she could find. Finally, he released her, and she slumped back against whatever was cradling her. Vaguely, she wondered what it was, the softness of honey replaced now with the rigidity of plastoid. Something cold pressed gingerly against her forehead, and she couldn't decide if the sensation was painful or pleasant. But when the touch moved down to her neck and became sharp in its ministrations, her face twisted with agony.
Definitely not pleasant.
Travelling up and up, deft fingers digging into the ribbons muscle, probing the very roots of her spinal cord. She tightened her jaw, desperate for any sort of distraction, even an uncomfortable one.
Then, firm hands settled at her jawline, and slowly, her head was twisted to one side. For all she knew, the blade of a lightsaber had been driven right through the base of her skull.
She SCREECHED.
Pushed beyond the point of unbearable, some biological limit in her brain simply broke, and her body flooded with endorphins. Instantly intoxicated, utterly overdosed on endogenous opioids, her eyes flew wide open, the light no longer causing a pain she could perceive.
"I thought you checked her," he was shouting. "I thought you said she was fine".
Hunter was on one side of her, and Tech on the other.
Tech looked disconcerted. Hunter looked furious.
A chill dripped down her backbone.
Are they...fighting?
"She was fine," Tech spat back. "I performed the concussion assessment twice".
Oh, it was much worse than that.
They were fighting, and…it was her fault.
Thoughts spoken alone in her head inexplicably formed on her tongue, her voice so small and empty that she didn't even feel it leave her throat.
"E'ryone's...so mad".
In synchrony, both clones looked down at her, their aghast expressions blurred by the tears that were bubbling up from some deep wellspring.
Hunter was the first to speak. He purred something soft, something kind, but the shuddering of her sobs soured the sound of it.
"W-wha--'d I do...?" she cried.
Now Tech was leaning in, muttering with a sweetness she so rarely heard from him, but it was like her brain had forgotten Basic.
As she searched his face, she caught a glimpse of herself, reflected in the sheen of his goggles, and Stars, what a pathetic sight that was. Scraggly and wet-faced, mewling like some Tooka kitten strung out in a tree she'd been stupid enough to climb.
And suddenly, she realised she didn't want to go anymore.
"'m s-sorry..." she spluttered, knowing full well it would never be enough. "I'll...be g-ood...".
That was all she managed before the room grew too dark for her to see, a blackness crawling over her retinas. Gone was the honey, was the sweetness of oblivion. Now there was nothing, but an endless ocean of tar.
She had to stay. She had to fix this.
But as it consumed her, it became clear; she didn't have a choice.
===
Rhythmic but unpredictable, her consciousness washed in and out like the tide.
Occasionally, she was roused by one of the Batch as they lifted her for a sip of water, or shifted her from one side to the other. A few times, she awoke to find herself alone, the sounds of their collective voices echoing down from the gangway. Each sequence of words forgotten before she could begin to interpret their meaning.
Moments of any true lucidity were rare, and although she clung to them like lifelines, they sifted like sand through her fingers, eventually. So formless and unfathomable were they, that she began to believe her life had never been any other way.
Drawn back to the precipice of her senses, she became aware of a hand sweeping the wet hair from her forehead. Despite the miasma of pain that greeted her, she easily recognised the feel of it. Thick, roughened skin over rigid muscle.
Hunter…
"She's getting worse, isn't she?"
As his touch lingered, she shivered. It was nice, but somehow blisteringly cold.
The loathsome red light returned, illuminating the insides of her eyelids, the pressure in her skull compounding upon its intrusion. She winced, turning her head to one side in order to evade its glare, but as she did the rack beneath her seemingly swayed, and suddenly, oh, Maker, she was going to throw up…
"Her fever has escalated to 40.1 degrees". Tech was standing somewhere nearby, his words meaningless, his proximity important. "If we do not intervene soon--".
"--ech," she croaked.
The overwhelming urge to lean over struck her like a lightning bolt, but her body failed to comply. A hot flush of panic hurtled up her torso as her abdomen spasmed.
Thankfully, Tech was nothing if not observant.
"Roll her onto her side, QUICKLY," he shouted.
In a flurry of motion, three pairs of hands grabbed at her arm, her hip, and her leg, dragging her off her back and onto her tummy. Immediately, she vomited over the edge. At first, it was only fluid, but as she continued to heave, she quickly found herself choking out nothing but air and gagging on the acrid tang left behind.
Trembling with the ache of exertion, she whined in acknowledgement of how little it had achieved. She still felt wretched. At her complaint, an enormous palm began swiping clumsy circles over her back, broad with muscle but deliberately tender in its attentions.
That one had to be Wrecker.
Head partially slung over the bunk, Tech crouched down to wipe her mouth with a damp rag. "Hunter," he cautioned, his breath tickling her ear, "we cannot afford to delay any longer. We need to accept his offer".
What…what are they talking about?
"No. We already agreed that wasn't an option".
She tried opening her eyes. As Tech stepped away, she blearily made out the sides of Echo's greaves.
"It's the only option," she heard him grate.
Standing nearby, Hunter held his ground, his stance solid and unyielding. Omega gripped the rim of the bunk and gurgled as another wave of nausea gently rocked her. Over the steadily rising voices, Wrecker bent closer and began muttering to her; that she was 'doing good' and that it would be 'okay'. She whimpered pathetically as held-back tears began to dribble from her nose instead.
"Just think about what you're suggesting," Hunter growled in the background. "If we do this, and things go wrong, what do you suppose THEY'LL do to her?".
More than ever, she wished she could think straight. Usually, she was so good at thinking. If she could just figure out what she had done to make them all so upset, she knew she could find a way to make it better... Then, maybe they wouldn't have to bicker anymore.
"And if she becomes septic while we're standing around with our dicks in our hands, it won't matter what we do, it'll be too late".
Ugh, it was all just gibberish. Although she hadn't fully understood the words, their effect was plainly evident; Wrecker's hand on her back faltered momentarily as he hacked a cough, and to one side she saw Tech shuffle awkwardly on his feet.
As if becoming aware of an eavesdropper, Echo's voice sank low, but its venom remained. "She could lose her arms, her legs. She could be debilitated for life".
There was a pause, and in that second of silence, she couldn't hold her eyes open any longer.
"You don’t want that for her," Echo uttered from the gloom.
There was a rushing in her ears, whether the turbulence of her blood, or the memory of Kamino, she could practically hear the tide as it washed back in to reclaim her.
Somewhere distant, Hunter heaved a sigh.
"Alright. Comm him back. Tell him...we'll do it".
...do what? she wondered to herself. Then, she was gone.
===
Stars above… her… head.
How long was--
The smell hit her first. It wrinkled her nose as she breathed it in; recycled and dry with the unmistakable pungency of industrial-grade disinfectant.
Ugh, what…what's…happening?
Beneath her...the blankets felt wrong. Rubbing them between her fingers, they were thin, and scratchy, and definitely not hers.
And underneath THAT, the bunk...did it feel like it was...humming?
Fluorescent lights were strobing overhead, casting hypnotic patterns across her eyelids. She didn't dare open them for fear of the pain it would invite, but she didn't have to. Even sightless, she knew she was not onboard the Marauder anymore.
All around her rang the marching of boots. Two pairs? Three?
Okay. They were moving her. That's all. She was…on a hover trolley or something. Yeah.
Then a stone hit her centre.
...Marching?
The Bad Batch didn't march. The Bad Batch RAN. They strolled and they stalked, they danced and they slid and they charged.
But they did not 'march'.
Something was very, very not right.
As the trickle of doubt widened into a river, there came a voice. Timid and sourceless. Familiar yet foreign. Like the scent of an old friend, long ago forgotten but rapidly remembered. It was her own. The youthfulness of it marred by the trepidation of its tone. The weight of its terror. The warning in its words.
It told her now, the exact same thing it used to tell her then.
It said...'don't move'.
And she didn't.
Shortly after, the marching stopped. A door hissed open, and then closed. This room was dimmer, but its smell was much the same.
"Good day, doctor," droned a stilted metallic voice. "How may I be of assistance?"
Omega's mouth immediately went dry as a static white noise filled her ears, loud enough to drown out the roar of a starship.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Even lying down, her head was growing dangerously light with dizziness.
S-stay calm…just...don't move.
"Certainly," the droid responded, its hollow voice like a scalpel through the thick of her panic. "Please place the subject in lateral recumbency".
The room rotated on its axis as she was rolled onto her side. The movement jostled her neck and she had to bite back a groan, hoping that no one heard it.
Don't throw up…do NOT throw up…
A cold dread chewed at her bones.
"To optimise access to the intervertebral space, the subject must be restrained in the foetal position".
Two sets of hands descended on her. One cupped the nape of her neck and her shoulders, the other her knees and her ankles. Together, they pushed, folding her inwards, in and in and in until she was curled into a ball. This position was also familiar, but she didn't know why.
What were they going to do to her? Where was Hunter? Why wasn't he here?
"I shall aseptically prepare the site".
"Listen, we don't need the running commentary, okay?" someone grumbled. It sounded like a clone, the accent and pitch told her that much...but it wasn't a Batcher.
Stay still. Stay still. Stay still.
The air buzzed with the hum of dual repulsors as the medical droid drew near. Cold, metal appendages made contact with her skin, the fabric of her pyjama shirt lifted away to expose her trunk.
Fighting to keep her breathing under control, the small voice returned, quietly chanting its ominous mantra.
Gauze brushed the skin over the small of her back. It went around and around, abrasive as sandpaper, painting circles in orange antiseptic. The smell of it singed her nose and stirred something sick in her belly.
"This procedure is highly invasive," the droid explained. "Complete immobility of the patient will improve the likelihood of success whilst minimising the risk of complications. Therefore, the use of either a local anaesthetic or, preferably, intravenous sedation, is strongly advised".
Omega stopped breathing altogether. They were going to…put her to sleep.
If that happened... would she wake up? And, perhaps more importantly, where?
Locked in a room? A cage? A tube?
A tube…
With that, something broke. Deep inside her, small and made of glass. A jar she had sealed and hidden away, never to be opened. As it shattered, its contents poured out, swelling and sloshing, rising like floodwater. Long suppressed memories. Deep-seated fears. Drowning her from the inside.
She remembered this. The way the hands would hold her, the way the needle pierced skin and parted muscle, the way it pushed close, mere millimetres away from that central cord.
A threat, and a promise. Over and over. Every time. Move, even a little, and so easily, it could be severed. And then…
She'd truly be helpless.
Her stillness…no longer a choice; if she lost that too, they'd have taken everything from her.
Over the quiet begging of the small voice, something louder came.
This was a new voice. Older. Stronger. Hers.
And it thundered.
Omega, RUN!
Eyes springing open, Omega flung herself off the table, some feral instinct, fuelled by adrenaline, driving her forward with surprising agility. Instruments clattered as she collided with the floor, but she didn't stop.
Door, find the door-- there!
She leapt towards it, only to smack face-first into the thigh plate of a trooper as he side-stepped into her path. She fell backwards with a shout, clutching at her head as she glanced up.
White clone armour. Red paint. A shock trooper.
Oh, Stars, she needed to get OUT of here.
He stooped to grab her, but for once, her mind moved faster, eyes darting to the DC-17 at his hip. Ducking to avoid his arms, she snatched the weapon from its holster, using her momentum to quickly stagger out of reach before swinging around wildly to aim up at his helmet.
"STAY BACK!" she screamed.
"Woah, easy…" The clone lifted his palms up, as if to broker peace, but his slow, deliberate step towards her belied a different intent, and her double-handed grip on the blaster tightened.
"S-STAY AWAY FROM ME," she squeaked. Her vision was tunnelling, legs shaking under her weight. She knew she didn't have long. Stumbling slightly, she strafed a few paces to the right, trying to pivot around him. Far more practised at this dance, he countered her movements, maintaining his position between her and the door.
Oh no.
Again, he stepped closer, and she was forced to take a step back. She was losing ground. To the left, she heard a few shuffling sounds, and suddenly remembered they weren't alone in the room. But the trooper had a second blaster on his other side; taking her eyes off him now would be a death sentence.
"Take it easy," he was saying. Another step. Her mind raced, her breaths haggard and ineffective. He was going to press her into that corner, or manoeuvre her so someone else could snatch her from behind. She had seconds to make a decision. If she dropped him, she had a clear path to the door, then she could find somewhere to hide, and comm the Batch to come and get her.
She had shot troopers before with her plasma bow. This wasn't any different. What they were going to do to her, she-- she had no other choice.
The blaster wavered in her grasp. Face contorted in a horrified grimace. Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, she pressed her finger to the trigger.
"Omega, NO!"
A droid clad in black lunged out from her blind spot, diving between her and the clone as the blaster went off in her hand. The sound of it split the air, followed by something heavy and metal breaking apart against the floor.
Time stopped as everything froze, plunging the room into near silence. Open-mouthed, blaster rattling uncontrollably in her grip, Omega stared at the figure standing in the direct path of its barrel.
That wasn't a droid.
It was Echo.
And where his scomp arm used to be, there was nothing left but a smoking stump.
===
A pARt 4??
What is this madness? Make some noise. Break some shit.
THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I love you all.
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E11 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
Sssshiiiiiinggggg
In a single fluid motion, the vibroknife cleared its scabbard, singing with a sigh of delight, as if relishing its freedom. Hunter lifted it against the backdrop of hyperspace and admired it. The way its edge caught the light, the pattern of circuitry adorning its cheek, the snug fit of its hilt in his hand. Masterful. He spun it expertly, testing its weight, watching the blade blur into a ribbon of silver.
Catching it once again in a firm grip, he held it level in front of him and applied a dab of mineral oil to its flat surface. With a cloth from his weapon kit, he began working the oil into the carbon steel, quietly enjoying the simple leisure of the task.
Bathed in the light of galaxies passing by, Hunter relaxed further into his chair. It was nice to have a few moments alone, the rhythmic hum of the Marauder like a soothing salve for his weary senses.
Thunk
His knife work paused.
It had come from far astern, the sound of it drowned beneath the rumble of the flight engines, but the feel of it unmistakable; a sudden reverberation through the deck, out-of-place against the predictable beat of the Marauder's heart. A series of short, uneven staccatos followed soon after. Footsteps, he discerned, though they were similarly erratic in cadence; their owner most likely drunken with sleep. Hunter listened closely as they drew nearer, assessing the pitch of the noise, and the length of the stride, allowing him to estimate the height and weight of the perpetrator.
Small…and light.
He sighed, giving the knife one last swipe before sheathing it.
Should've known…
With each passing rotation, the monstrous subject of her night terrors continued to prove itself a truly bizarre and slippery fish. Nocturnal and amphibious, lurking hungrily in the deep of her dreams, the threat of being drowned by it causing her to fear even the shallowest of sleep.
Though she wouldn't speak of its nature or identity, Hunter could tell when it was on her mind. Ever so often, as the rotation crawled to its end, he would catch a glimpse of it. A hollowness to her expression, eyes downcast and unfocused. It was almost as if she could see the thing, breaching the surface of her consciousness just long enough to remind her that no matter how far she travelled, no matter what corner of the galaxy she fled to, it lived where she lived, and she would never escape.
The cure, Echo and Hunter had recently discovered, seemed to be complete and utter exhaustion. Only when she was entirely spent, worn and bone-weary to the point of being unable to carry the weight of her own eyelashes, did sleep find her more peacefully, her imagination too tired to conjure the beast of her haunting.
However, the problem, Echo and Hunter had subsequently encountered, was that Omega seemed to be in possession of some near-endless supply of rechargeable energy. Tuckering her out to an adequate extent during the day was proving to be no small feat; one that the pair were still struggling to achieve on a consistent basis.
Consequently, being met by a sleepless little clone who really ought to be sleeping was still not uncommon. Occasionally, she sought them out on their bunk while they themselves were resting, her silent plea for comfort rarely questioned and almost never turned down. Most often, however, she would come visit them on watch, seeking out their company, armed with some creative non-nightmare-related excuse for needing to be awake and in their vicinity despite the odd hour.
Although utterly endearing, concern regarding her ever-shortening sleep cycle was growing like a damp mould on Hunter's mind. Now that she was out in the field with them, he needed her senses sharp and her reflexes sharper, and nothing was more corrosive than chronic sleep deprivation. Slowly eating away at the edges of her focus, it would only take a single mistake, a single momentary lapse of judgement, to spell utter disaster. And in their line of work, disasters were typically of the lethal variety.
As he tracked her approach, he wondered what tall tale she had come up with this time.
"Omega…" he called to her, tone low in warning. "What're you doing out of bed?"
A second passed and there was no reply. Hunter swivelled around in the co-pilot's chair, expecting to see her frozen with surprise, embarrassment, defiance - or perhaps a combination of the three.
Nothing had prepared him.
Framed in the gangway, Omega teetered precariously. Hunched over, hands clenching the front of her pyjamas as though her belly had been sliced open and she was desperately trying to prevent her insides from becoming outsides. Her eyes met his and he caught a glimpse of pin-prick pupils, amber-brown irises trapped behind muddied glass.
Hunter leapt to his feet as if someone had just electrocuted his chair. Every hair standing on end. Every muscle fibre taut.
"'untah..." she gasped, barely louder than a whisper.
It almost looked like she was about to--
Omega exhaled with a shudder, her eyes rolling up into their sockets. Mouth falling open, her head rocked backwards and the rest of her body began to follow its lead.
Hunter lunged, diving for her as she crumpled.
Bridging the gap between them in two strides, he managed to snatch a fistful of fabric, catching her in mid-air by the collar of her shirt. As his momentum carried him forward, he swept his other arm around her torso, bringing her against him and absorbing the shock of her fall as he landed on his knees.
"Omega!" he gasped.
She was limp in his grip, legs draped over his thigh, neck cradled in the crook of his elbow. He released her pyjamas to jostle her by the shoulder. Her head lolled against his bicep at the movement, but nothing more.
"Omega?!"
Her face was paler than a fresh sheet of flimsi, hair plastered to her forehead in thick strands, dampened with sweat. Heat was radiating off her in waves, and there was a sickly sweet smell about her, like freshly squeezed tangerines.
Hunter glanced up in panic, immediately locating Tech, sound asleep in one of the common room chairs.
"Tech!" he bellowed. "TECH!"
---
Similar to Omega, Tech considered his sleep cycle much like an unpleasant chore, although for very different reasons. Despising any moment in which he was unable to do something practical, he was typically the last to bed, and the first to rise. And, ever the pragmatist, he had even developed his own mechanisms for circumventing the inconvenience of unproductive time. In the same way a computer could be set to standby, Tech never completely shut down. Instead, he hovered somewhere between sleeping and awake, trawling through the rotation's data, organising files and making mental notes whilst lucidly dreaming.
As a result, when Hunter's call rang out, it roused him immediately.
Tech's head snapped up. Blinking, he mentally paused the progress of his interrupted task and reached up to adjust his askew goggles. Glancing around to locate the source of his rude awakening, his eyes quickly fell on Hunter, crouched in front of the gangway, cradling something small and blonde.
Tech shot out of his chair faster than a reg coming to attention.
"What happened?" he asked urgently, rushing to Hunter's side and kneeling down.
Hunter swallowed, voice thick in his throat. "I'm not sure," he croaked. "I think she fainted, but…I can't wake her up".
Tech scanned over her prone form, immediately noting the pallor of her skin, the sweat on her brow, the shallow pattern of her respiration. This was not right at all.
A set of rapid, metallic clunks announced the arrival of Echo, followed closely by the heavy stomping that always preceded Wrecker. Clearly, they too had been roused by the commotion.
"What's going on?" Echo demanded.
"Is the kid alright??"
Tech answered before Hunter could. "Give me a moment," he snapped, shushing them.
Reluctantly, the Batch sank into restless silence as Tech commenced his examination. Eyebrows furrowed behind his goggles, he pressed his fingers lightly against the hollow of her throat and counted.
Heart rate normorhythmic.
Then, he placed his hand on her abdomen, assessing the quality of its rise and fall.
Mild dyspnoea.
Tech shook her by the shoulder.
"Omega?" he called. The room stood still. A single speck of space rock pattered against the hull, the sound of it made deafeningly loud by the unnatural quiet of the room as they waited, no one daring to even breathe.
But Omega didn't move.
For the second time that cycle, Tech took hold of her hand. "Omega, if you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand, please".
The seconds dragged like eons, her fingers laying soft in his palm. The furrow of Tech's brow deepened.
Unresponsive to auditory stimuli.
He fished a slender flashlight from his utility pouch and clicked it on. Lifting Omega's left eyelid with his thumb, he directed the beam into her eye. As the light blistered her retina, her pupil constricted to almost nothing and she flinched violently, consciousness returning to her like an ember fanned back into flame.
"Omega!" Hunter gasped. Echo and Wrecker both took a step closer, mouths agape with concern and delight respectively. Under the glare of the light, Omega whined a non-verbal protest, the muscles of her face twitching resentfully at the bright intrusion.
Pupillary light reflex intact.
Dropping the light, Tech recaptured her grip. "Squeeze my hand, Omega," he instructed. No sooner had he done so, her eyes fluttered shut, head slumping to one side, fragile flame succumbing to smoke almost as quickly as it had been rekindled.
Tech grimaced.
Wrecker shouted. "What's wrong with her?"
"I do not know yet," Tech grumbled, "but I do not like it".
Changing his grip on the penlight, he held its shaft sideways across her finger, and after a moment's hesitation, used it to crush her nail bed. Immediately, Omega sprang to life with a high-pitched shriek. Desperately, she reached across her body, as if to swat at him, but failed to carry her arm the whole way. As it dropped against her tummy, she scrunched her fingers into her shirt and groaned.
Able to localise pain.
As soon as Tech relinquished the pressure, she slipped away from them again with a sigh, nothing but the shell of her left behind.
"You're hurting her," Hunter growled, his voice darkened with asperity.
Tech's response was equally grim. "I know…" he said carefully, beginning to unbutton the top of her pyjama shirt, "but I must assess her neurological function and level of consciousness".
The Batch watched on as Tech curled his hand into a fist and placed his knuckles inline with her sternum. Then he paused.
"This… will be unpleasant," he warned. Echo and Wrecker shared disquieting look.
With an intake of breath, he pressed down, firmly, and began rubbing the sharp, bony joints of hand along the seam of her ribcage. As if administered an electric shock, Omega jerked awake, squealing in anguish at the horrible sensation. She folded inwards protectively and Tech ceased.
Positive sternal rub response.
"Omega?" he seized her hand and, this time, she reciprocated, clutching feebly at him.
Her eyes, only half-open, tumbled around the room, never once settling on either Hunter or Tech, though they surely dominated the field of her vision.
She was here, and yet somewhere else entirely.
Altered mentation.
Tech tried to ignore the sight of the angry red mark blossoming on her skin as Hunter brushed his thumb across it soothingly.
"N-no," she gasped breathlessly, tears spilling down her face, "no more..."
"Omega," Tech cupped her cheek and directed her gaze towards him, speaking slowly and clearly, "do you know where you are?"
"S-stop...ple-ase..." she wept, weakly scraping her fingernails against the fabric of his glove. In Tech's periphery, Echo shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
"Tech?" Hunter prompted angrily.
"She is demonstrating a state of delirium," he explained. Leaning forward, he slicked back the damp hair on her forehead and she mumbled something incoherent at the contact.
Pyrexia?
Pinching the fabric of his glove between his teeth, he pulled his hand free and placed the bare surface of his palm against her forehead. She shuddered against his touch, as though he was made of ice.
"I believe she has a fever," he uttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "She was certainly not this warm before I escorted her to bed".
"A fever?" Hunter repeated, incredulously.
Tech nodded. "It could be contributing to her state of confusion". He glanced up at the others. "Echo, I need the med-scanner". Echo nodded curtly and spun on his heels, marching towards the cargo stowage.
"Wrecker," Hunter added, "we're gonna need a flat surface. Clear the bottom bunk for her".
"You got it, boss," he answered, heading for the racks.
Tech shifted on his knees, leaning closer to gingerly position a hand on either side of her neck. Frowning, he began walking his fingertips up and down the length of her spine, deftly palpating her cervical vertebrae. She groaned pitifully beneath him, the sound tickling his thumbs where they rested near her voice box. Hunter caught her hands when they moved to tug on Tech's blacks in protest.
"I think that's sore," Hunter commented quietly. "She's grinding her teeth".
Tech hummed an acknowledgement.
Neck pain…
He adjusted his grip, and rotated her head to one side. Omega's entire body spasmed in Hunter's arms as she screamed.
Tech let go, mortified, as Hunter pulled her away protectively, curling her into his chest as she continued to shudder and cry with the lingering pain, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Hunter looked up, his face contorted into a furious scowl, and Tech knew he was in for it.
"I thought you checked her," Hunter roared up at him. "You said she was fine".
Tech twitched, face flushing with heat as he glowered, Hunter's baseless accusation of negligence sparking a fire of belligerent rage. "She was fine," he retorted, obstinately. "I performed the concussion assessment twice".
Hunter opened his mouth, but before the words could leave his throat, a faint, hollow whisper rose up from beneath them.
"E'ryone's...so mad".
Horrified, they both looked down. Omega's dazed eyes were wide, wet, and watching them, face taut with quiet despair. As quickly as it had flared, the heat between the brothers dissipated, any remaining bitterness melting away like a cube of sugar dropped in a cup of caff.
"It's okay, Omega," Hunter crooned, his voice low and soft.
"W-wha--'d I do...?" she sobbed.
"Nothing, ad'ika, nothing," Tech hushed. "You have been doing brilliantly".
"'m s-sorry..." she mewled, fresh tears brewing as her expression began to soften, oblivion returning to reclaim her. "I'll...be g-ood…" was all she managed before her eyes drifted closed.
Limp once again in Hunter's grip, the two clones exchanged a stricken look.
"Tech," Hunter begged quietly, clearly desperate for answers, for reassurance, for anything.
"A concussion alone would not have produced these signs," he said thoughtfully, fingers pinching his chin as his brain worked through the list of symptoms again.
He met Hunter's worried gaze. "I think I know what this is".
At that moment, Echo and Wrecker returned.
"What happened?" Wrecker barked. "Is she alright?"
"I need to scan her," Tech answered hastily. "Did you clear the bottom bunk?"
"Yah, it's good to go".
In a single smooth motion, Hunter scooped an arm under Omega's knees and stood in unison with Tech, lifting her with ease. As he carried her to the racks, Echo handed Tech the med-scanner.
Wrecker had spread three blankets over the metal bunk, creating a make-shift mattress. The med-kit was there, open and ready, along with her pillow, Lula, and Trooper.
Careful not to jostle her neck, Hunter laid her down atop the blankets as Tech calibrated the med-scanner. She stirred as he stretched her flat, attempting to roll onto her side as soon as he let go.
"Sorry, kid," Hunter said ruefully, pressing down on her shoulder to keep her pinned on her back, "gonna need you to stay still for us".
She whimpered, pawing pathetically at the blankets beneath her as tears pooled in the cups of her ears.
"H-hurts..." she gasped. Echo pinched his eyes with his hand and turned away, Wrecker offering him a firm but comforting pat on the shoulder.
Hunter swallowed thickly. "I know, kid," he managed.
"Hold on just one moment, ad'ika". Tech stepped forward, activating the program. A plane of red light projected from the med-scanner and Tech swept the beam down her entire length, from head to toe. It beeped at its completion.
He checked the readout and felt his stomach drop through the floor of the ship.
He had been right.
"What is it?" Hunter demanded, obviously disconcerted by whatever expression his face had assumed.
Attempting to wrangle control of his composure, he re-programmed the device for a second pass.
"She has no discernible trauma or internal injuries," he reported evenly, "but her core temperature is reading at 39.5 degrees Celsius".
"Issat bad?" asked Wrecker.
Tech nodded gravely, leaning forward to repeat the scan, focusing this time on her head and neck. "It is a high-grade fever, which would typically indicate some sort of infectious process".
Hunter gawped. "She's sick?"
The scan finished, and Tech heaved a sigh at the result. The first readout hadn't been an error.
"I thought clones couldn't get sick," Echo questioned. "Not like this, anyway".
"You are not incorrect," Tech informed, fetching a tube of Bacta from the med-kit and squeezing a small volume onto his thumb. "We cannot, but I believe that perhaps she can. Being unaltered, her immune system lacks the benefit of genetic enhancement that we possess, and I have no idea if the Kaminoans deigned to vaccinate her". He smoothed the gel across the red mark over her sternum and Omega grimaced against the sting. As soon as he was done, Hunter released his hold on her shoulders, reaching forward to button her shirt back up.
"That's absurd," Echo interjected, crossing his arms. "Why wouldn't they vaccinate her?"
"Think about it. If they never intended for her to leave Kamino, they would have no cause to. Kaminoan facilities such as Tipoca City are close to sterile".
"Just how sick is she, Tech?" Hunter asked.
Tech paused, the words weighted on his tongue. "My scans indicate…inflammation around the brain and spinal cord, consistent with a form of meningitis".
The diagnosis sat heavily in the room. Dense. As if it occupied it's own space.
"That's…not good".
"It's not," Tech said gravely, "but I cannot predict the likely course of disease without knowing its aetiology. From an infectious standpoint, meningitis is most commonly viral or bacterial. Unfortunately, I have no means by which I can ascertain the causative agent in her case". He hefted the device in his grip. "This GAR-issued med-scanner is designed for the rapid, in-combat assessment of internal injuries, not illnesses".
"So, whadda we do?" Wrecker spluttered.
Tech pushed his goggles up his nose. "Ordinarily, I would recommend taking her to a medical facility..."
Echo scoffed. "Any licenced hospital from here to the outer rim is bound to be under Imperial control by now".
"And that's not an option," Hunter grumbled.
"Maybe Cid knows someone?" input Wrecker.
"No way," Echo spat. "She's caused us enough trouble, already. Any doctor on her books is not one we can trust".
"I agree. But that leaves us with very few other options. Tech?"
Tech rubbed his jawline thoughtfully. "I have the skills necessary to treat her, but we lack the equipment and supplies I would require".
"Could we salvage any of that from Bracca?"
Tech shook his head. "I would not recommend it. Everything on Bracca was highly contaminated. Immunocompromised as she is, she is at risk of acquiring a secondary infection. If that happened…"
Tech trailed off, his unfinished sentence hanging in the air like a noose.
"Alright," Echo conceded, making a firm gesture. "What we need is someone reputable, someone Republic-friendly, who can get us medical-grade equipment and supplies".
No sooner had he finished his sentence, the answer bloomed in his mind, and, locking eyes with Hunter, he could see the exact same idea forming there. Without another word, Hunter made for the front of the ship, Echo and Wrecker falling in step behind him.
Bending forward, Tech took a moment to help Omega gently roll onto her side, folding the blanket over her and ensuring that she was settled before following the others.
Filing into the cockpit, Tech found Hunter bent over the central comms, keying in a channel frequency. He took a few steps back as the call was beamed out, and the Batch arranged themselves either side of him, forming a loose semi-circle around the holoprojector.
After a few languorous minutes, it was answered, and the blue, flickering image of a hooded figure was beamed into the room. Tucked under his arm, a helmet adorned with jaig eyes.
"Hello boys," he greeted with a companionable smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Hunter looked between his brothers before replying, regretfully unable to return the jovial tone. When he spoke, it was with the gravity of a Sergeant… still at war.
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E11 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
Omega stared doggedly down at her boots as they trudged through the undergrowth. All of her willpower focused on forcing her feet to move, each step a concerted effort. At this point, it felt more like wading through thick tar than brittle leaf litter.
One foot. In front of the other. Keep going. Don't trip.
This is what she had wished for. To be brought on the missions. To be part of the team. If she wanted it to stay that way, she knew she had to hustle.
Her game of dejarik against Hunter had been an infuriatingly close win, but even so, she wasn't about to give him any reason to back out of their deal. No. She was determined to prove her worth. Prove that she could be just as tough, as fast, as fearless as the rest of them. Prove that she was good enough... to be a Batcher.
No matter... how tired she was, no matter... how much she ached.
Fortunately, the prospect of being left behind again… was a very good motivator.
One foot. Then another. Keep up. Don't fall behind.
Flanked on all sides by the rustling sounds of the Batch hiking in tandem around her, she concentrated on following Hunter's path. His footprints were evident, even to her novice skill, pressed lightly into the vegetative carpet of the forest floor.
Unable to help herself, she briefly marvelled at how pretty the fallen leaves were. They were huge. Flat and broad, with spiky edges and spiderweb veins, auburn like the setting suns. Even these ones, dry, dead, and crunching underfoot, were beautiful. She imagined that those alighting the enormous trees around them must be even more vibrant and spectacular, but she couldn't bear to lift her head to admire them.
For some reason, the sky was sharp today, and it hurt to look up at it.
Not seeing Hunter's 'hold position' signal, she yelped with surprise as she ran face-first into the rear of his armour and was knocked clean off her feet. Tumbling ungracefully onto her backside, she hissed as her palms scraped across the gnarled roots of a tree, and her tailbone bore the brunt of the impact. A jolt of pain rocketed up her spine and she clutched at her head, afraid it was about to pop off. She hadn't even bumped into him that hard, but there was a pressure mounting in the base of her skull that seemed to suggest otherwise.
She moaned as Wrecker's voice bellowed in her ear. "Hey, you alright, kid??"
Wincing, she opened her eyes, and they immediately grew wide at the sight that greeted her. They were… back on the Havoc Marauder.
Wait… when did we--?
"How's that knock to the noggin' treatin' ya? Hah, I've been there, kid". Wrecker was hunkered down in front of her, grinning at her sympathetically.
She was sitting in the common room, but when she tried to recall how she got there, she was met with an impenetrable wall of fog. A stinging sensation came into focus and she looked down at her hands to find them cleaned and dressed with a few small Bacta patches. Omega glared at them with utter confusion, as if they belonged to someone else.
What--?
"Omega?"
She blinked, and suddenly Wrecker was gone. In his place was Echo, holding a ration bar and fixing her with a wearisome expression, as if he had been standing there attempting to get her attention for half a rotation. Glancing around, she found herself cross-legged on the floor at the base of the Gunner's nest with crayons and blank sheets of flimsi in her lap.
When did I…?
Her head throbbed to the rhythm of her pulse. Weakly, she rubbed her temple and wondered what was wrong with her.
There was a clunk as Echo knelt down in front of her, the sound of his mechanical knee against the durasteel deck. He sighed heavily, and she sensed a lecture incoming.
"We've talked about this, Omega," he said, not unkindly. "You can't just not eat".
Oh… it's time for dinner already?
Finally catching up to the present, she pouted at the floor and crossed her arms over her chest. Ever since Echo had figured out that she was skipping meals to keep herself awake at night, he had taken it upon himself to break the bad habit. Bizarrely, despite having new - and much better - ways of coping with the nightmares now, she still found it difficult to manage a full portion. Tech had rationalised that she may have formed a negative association with the plain foodstuffs, making the rehabilitation process more challenging. Gratefully, Echo's strategy was humane and empathetic, having recovered from a prolonged period of starvation himself. It involved increasing the amount of her end-of-rotation ration very gradually, in manageable increments.
She glanced at the three-quarter sized bar he was holding and groaned. He was stepping it up today, and his timing couldn't have been worse. Ordinarily, she might have put up a fight, but as she went to muster an argument, she found herself completely devoid of the energy to do so. Sighing with defeat, she reached out, palm up, to accept the ration.
Echo placed the bar in her grasp and then gave her upper arm a squeeze of encouragement. The very weight of it in her hand made her want to cry, but she didn't want to disappoint Echo. As soon as she brought it to her face, however, she found herself inches away from trying to take a bite out of Tech's soldering iron instead.
Omega gawped at it, flustered with befuddlement.
I don't--
She looked up. Tech was beside her, seated in the pilot's chair, rewiring a broken comms device with deft fingers and happily oblivious to her sudden disorientation. Her arm shot out to brace herself against the back of the chair as her head reeled with dizzying turbulence.
How… did she end up in the cockpit?
In the process of adjusting to her new setting, she became aware of a churning sensation in her centre. As if mere acknowledgement had awoken it, like some angry beast, her stomach twisted with cruel intent and she nearly doubled over. Stifling a gurgle, she snatched at her tummy, trying in vain to somehow restrain it from performing wild backflips inside her. It was not the empty nor anxious feeling she was uncomfortably familiar with. This was a noxious pang, as if her brain was convinced she had imbibed a poison and was determined to rescue her from it.
Had she eaten that entire thing? How long ago had that been?
A warning signal went off on the dashboard, close behind her, and Omega grimaced as the sound blared in her over-sensitive ears.
My head…
"Miss Omega, would you mind disabling that alarm?" Tech muttered, reluctant to deprive his present task any degree of his attention. "The starboard seismic sensor is misaligned and the Marauder will not stop hassling me about it". He gave a short grunt of annoyance. "It is not as if I can climb out and adjust it while we are in hyperspace," he huffed under his breath, more to himself.
Omega knew where the deactivation switch was, but as she turned towards it, the bright lights of the console bit savagely into her eyes, and she gasped aloud with the pain that lanced through her skull from front to back. Quickly, she attempted to dilute the agony with the relative darkness offered by the crook of her elbow.
A warmth loomed near as Tech leaned over her to flick a toggle, and the warbling siren was immediately silenced. Then, she felt Tech's gloved fingers pry the soldering iron from her white-knuckled grip before clasping her arm and gently dragging it away from her face. She kept her eyes firmly shut.
"Omega, what is the matter?"
A rising heat flushed her cheeks and hot tears prickled behind her eyelids.
Don't cry…DON'T cry.
He swept his hand under her fringe to expose her forehead, as if looking for a bump or a bruise. "Does your head still hurt? Perhaps I should reassess you for a concussion--"
"N-no! I-it's nothing, really," she stuttered with embarrassment, balling her hands into fists to scrub over her eyeballs. "'m just tired…".
It might have been the truth. She honestly had no idea.
Surely, that was it. Surely, she was just tired…
"Then I think it is time for your sleep cycle, ad'ika". Gingerly, he captured her hand and she allowed herself to be lead down the gangway. Eyes still closed, she begged her feet not to stumble on smooth steel, or on thin air for that matter.
One foot…in front...of the other… Don't…trip.
"Do you require assistance with the ladder?" Tech asked when they arrived at the Gunner's mount.
"No," Omega mumbled unconvincingly. Blearily, she attempted to navigate the rungs without divulging the pathetic weakness of her limbs. Clearly, she failed in that endeavour, as Tech decided to boost her up the last part of the way. Grateful that her fairy lights were switched off, she crawled two paces onto the cushioned platform before collapsing onto her side with a loud sigh.
"I… am going to fetch Hunter," she heard Tech say with a tone of concern, though she could not fathom as to why, and within the space of a millisecond, Hunter seemingly materialised out of nothing. Perched on the lip of the Gunner's mount, leaning forward so he could comb his fingers through her hair. Had it truly been just a millisecond? The fog in her mind had grown muggy and fetid, ladening her thoughts with a thick damp. It was too hard to figure out what was going on, so she simply gave up trying.
All she knew was that everything hurt.
"Hey, kiddo," Hunter said quietly. "You feeling alright?"
She sunk her face into the mattress. "Sleepy," she managed, the word muffled through foam.
There was a tugging at her left leg as Hunter carefully removed her boot. "Well, you can't go to bed like this, kid," he chuckled softly. The other boot came off, and Hunter's hand pressed behind her shoulders. "C'mon, sit up".
She mewled irritably as he eased her into a sitting position.
"Arms," he prompted. Omega made a sullen face as she tried to raise her arms over her head. As if her wrists were adorned with bracelets made of solid lead, it felt damn near impossible.
Regardless, Hunter made do, pulling her tunic up and over before threading her into the long sleeves of her pyjama shirt. As he began buttoning it up the middle, Omega leant back against the wall, already halfway to oblivion.
"Gonna need you to stand for a sec," he told her, fastening the final button, and she frowned, rolling her head side to side in a wordless 'no'.
"C'mon," he crooned, bringing himself onto one knee in the Gunner's nest. "Last piece, promise".
Hunter scooped under her arms and lifted her effortlessly onto unsteady feet. He brought her hands to rest on his shoulders so she could balance as he delicately tugged off her trousers and replaced them with flannel pyjama pants, patiently instructing her when to lift each foot for him.
"There you go," he muttered, securing the ribbon at the waistband with a neat bow before resting his hands on her sides and looking up at her. "Been a big day for you, huh, kid?". His words were softened by a smile, but he couldn't have realised the blow that they landed. Omega dipped her head, chin to chest, and didn't answer.
Maker, she felt like such a burden. Such a waste of space, of time, of resources. Incapable of swinging a punch, shooting a rifle, or flying a ship. Part of the team? Who was she kidding? The Batch could just go on without her and they'd probably be better off…
If a light thump to the head was all it took to reduce her to this, then perhaps Cid had been right.
She was nothing but a liability.
Her resolve deteriorated, like a cliff face finally crumbling under the relentless will of its oceanic adversary, and her shoulders began to quake.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
All she could do was stand there, tears spilling from the commissures of her eyes no matter how tightly she scrunched them.
"C'mere," he murmured, drawing her into his arms and brushing his hand in wide circles over her back. "You did good today, Omega, really good".
Arms slung over him, face nestled against the base of his neck, she felt sick with the turmoil. Hunter was murmuring things to her - she could feel the tenor of his voice against her skin - but none of it made any sense. It was all back to front. Her ears insisted she was spinning, but her feet claimed she was not. Even with Hunter wrapped around her, she trembled with the effort to stay upright, swallowing her sobs and whatever else was threatening to bubble up in her throat.
Moments or minutes passed like that, perhaps it was hours - she had no way of knowing. In one instant she was gripping Hunter's blacks with all her might, and in the next she was practically slumped over his shoulders, her legs having surrendered her weight. Vaguely, she felt Hunter's hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, and his other arm sweeping her knees out from under her.
As her consciousness slipped away from the fringe of reality, she hummed pleasantly, feeling the pain simmer down to a bearable buzz in the background.
Carefully, Hunter leaned forward, keeping her pressed close as he brought her down to rest on the mattress, and by the time she made contact with it, she was already gone.
---
For the first time in weeks, Omega dreamt of nothing at all.
But sleep… was a traitor. Unable to hurt, unable to haunt, it betrayed her still, tossing her back to where her suffering would be greater…
Abruptly, Omega awoke, and all at once, her senses returned - like a crack of lightning.
Hot, loud, white, PAIN.
Her head erupted, as if her skull was being split open along its suture lines. She opened her mouth to cry out, but failed to draw breath against the tension of her abdomen. It was unbelievable. All she could do was gasp, teeth clamped together, nails buried into the flesh of her palms.
She didn't know what this was, but she knew what it wasn't, and it wasn't just a bump on the head… She needed help, and she needed it fast.
Hunter!
Lifting herself from the bed, in of itself, was like trying to claw free from a shallow grave, invisible gravel and rock holding her down as she fought to make an escape. She scarcely made it down the ladder without slipping, her fingers growing senseless and unfeeling. Blindly, she staggered toward the cockpit, knowing by some instinct he must be there.
One...foot. In front...of the other…
As she reached the threshold of the gangway, she heard him, but he still sounded impossibly far.
"Omega…" his voice drawn out in a low warning. "What're you doing out of bed?"
Her heart was pounding in her throat now, smothered under the confines of her ribs, unable to push the blood against gravity. A dizzying haze was creeping up her neck, and she knew she wasn't going to make it.
With a final effort, she cracked her eyes open, wide enough to catch sight of Hunter as he swivelled in the co-pilot's chair to face her. Just as he leapt urgently to his feet, the blue light of hyperspace behind him scorched suns and stars into her vision.
"'untah…" she gasped.
Darkness consumed all, bright supernovas giving way to an endless black void. Her legs buckled, and air rushed against her skin as she fell. The pounding of boots on steel was the last thing she heard, and then...
There was nothing.
---
Ah, welcome, friends, to my shameless, self-pandering sicfic.
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E10 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
"Okay".
Omega's voice called to him through the curtain. Although the word itself signalled permission to enter, its tone seemed to carry another message entirely. Quiet and tight. Irritated and yet despondent. It said 'yes', but also 'no'. It said 'please come near', but also 'not too close'.
A single word, yet a thousand meanings.
Hunter had no idea what to make of it.
Ascending the ladder, he tugged the curtain aside to see Omega in her freshly pressed pyjamas, settling herself onto the cushioned floor of the Gunner's mount. She lay on her back, hands resting on her stomach, gazing blankly up at the ceiling. Hunter took the blanket piled at her feet and drew it over her, up to her shoulders. She didn't move. She didn't snuggle into it. She just let it happen.
"Alright. Got everything you need?" he asked her softly, smoothing down its edges and tucking them around her.
Without a word, Omega inclined her head, never once breaking eye contact with whatever-it-was she was so determinedly staring at. Even though he was leaning over her, she refused to look at him.
Hunter frowned.
To the unwary observer, she would have appeared at rest; still and placid as petrified stone. But Hunter could tell differently. No. She was utterly buzzing. Vibrating against the ship with barely contained potential energy; a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap at any disturbance. The gross disparity between what he could see and what he could feel was...unnerving.
Something was definitely not quite right.
Defaulting to typical tactics, Hunter surveyed the scene, picking it apart for clues as if it were foreign terrain he needed to navigate.
The first thing he noticed was that her posture was all wrong. Very rarely did she sleep on her back like this, stiff and rigid like a board. Usually, she was either curled up or sprawled out like a Tooka in the sun. Speaking of which…something else was missing from the picture. Glancing up, he found both Lula and her Trooper doll resting against the base of the Gunner's chair, untouched and unasked for. That was wrong too.
And there was more. A slight…puffy, darkness around her eyes, like the gathering of storm clouds. As if detecting his scrutiny, she snapped them shut, denying him whatever evidence may have been hidden within them.
Hunter sat back, bewildered. Enhanced as he was, all the signs were clear as day, but they were forming a track he couldn't figure out how to follow. A slow burn of frustration rose in his chest like reflux. He felt utterly incompetent.
And he despised it.
He was the squadron leader. He was supposed to know what to do. With his brothers, the right words, the right gestures, they always came so easily. Why would this be any different?
Hunter's keen eyes caught sight of her lower lip as it quivered. It was so subtle, so minute. Though scarcely a ripple on the otherwise calm surface of her exterior, he could sense the tumultuous current, hidden deeper below, that had caused it.
Do something!
Compelled by some unfamiliar instinct, Hunter reached forward, and slowly combed his fingers through her hair.
He blinked, surprising himself by it. He had never done that to anyone before. But, it felt right.
For a split second, she leaned ever-so-slightly into his touch, but then her eyebrows pinched upwards, as if to paradoxically communicate pain. Abruptly, she twisted away from him, tossing onto her side.
Horrified, Hunter yanked his hand away, afraid he may have accidentally harmed her somehow, the burn behind his ribs fanning into a wildfire and scorching an agonising ache along its path as it spread in all directions from his centre.
Something was wrong, and she wasn't telling him.
Hunter decided that it meant…whatever the cause, was probably his fault.
Blindly, he groped for words to say and found none, like a starved man searching for rations in cupboards long emptied and bare. Having nothing else to offer, he heard himself finally break the silence with a tersely muttered, "G'night, kid".
Pathetic…
Internally spitting vile expletives at his own cowardice, he flicked off her fairy lights. Even as the room plummeted into partial darkness, he could still see her with perfect clarity. Curled onto her side, she was staring out at the slivers of hyperspace that peeked through the gaps of her blinds.
Vaguely, he wondered if she was wishing she was somewhere else…
The idea of it stung like Bacta on a fresh wound. Did she even know how valued she was? How much she meant to them all? Briefly, he wrestled with the urge to lean down and press a kiss to her temple. No, he reasoned. He'd already blundered up enough…like the fool that he was.
"Sleep well," he told her, the natural gravel to his voice a good disguise for his shame.
Then he left. Pulling the curtain closed and forcing himself to walk away, the space widening between them. An awful grimace contorted his features as he felt himself abandoning her with each step he took.
---
When Hunter entered the cockpit, Tech was already there, sitting by the main comms, sorting through a protracted list of data.
Hunter collapsed bodily into the co-pilot's chair with a wearisome grunt and Tech spared him a cursory glance over the rim of his datapad, the sound of it enough to momentarily interrupt his focus.
"What is it?" Tech asked.
Hunter swivelled his chair to face him, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Tech, have you…noticed anything, with Omega?" he asked haltingly.
Tech's attention returned to his datapad, clearly unimpressed by the ambiguous question. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific, Sergeant," he returned flatly.
"Something's off with her," Hunter grumbled conspiratorially, dipping his head, "but I'm not sure what".
Tech lowered the datapad and hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose she has been especially participatory lately, perhaps unusually so," he offered.
Hunter raised an eyebrow at him.
"Not that I have minded," Tech amended, with a mild hint of defensiveness. "She is an excellent assistant". He paused. "However, it could be argued that she has recently demonstrated a certain… reluctance… to stray beyond arm's reach for any length of time".
Hunter considered the observation and found that he agreed with it. At all waking hours, Omega had been sticking to them like a hungry Vashkan dac to honey. If one of them was too busy, or doing something she couldn't also partake in, she would rotate onto the arm of one of the other Batchers.
"Think that means something's up?" Hunter probed, desperate for someone else's input.
"I am uncertain," Tech admitted. "Omega has always demonstrated keen engagement in the squad's activities. It could simply indicate she is becoming more comfortable around us". Tech pinched his chin with his forefinger and thumb, and glowered with thought. "That being said, her behaviour could also be consistent with some form of separation anxiety".
Hunter looked up at him with surprise. "Separation anxiety?"
Tech nodded matter-of-factly. "It is not an entirely improbable theory. Omega's childhood could hardly be described as stable".
Hunter's face darkened with the shadow of guilt, and Tech frowned at his misstep. The dangers Omega had been subjected to in their company was known to be a sore topic.
"I am referring to her upbringing on Kamino, Hunter, prior to our involvement," he clarified. "Given what we now know regarding her importance to the Kaminoan's cloning operation, I imagine she was kept under close watch. In fact, it is doubtful that they afforded her any degree of autonomy".
Hunter shook his head, unconvinced. "But Tech, we're cloned soldiers. We were built to fight wars. None of us were raised with independence in mind".
"Yes, but we," Tech gestured between the pair of them, "were engineered with growth acceleration. To allow for this, a far greater extent of our maturity and cognitive development was predetermined genetically, and the rest made up for with intensified training. The Kaminoans had to design us that way, otherwise, the Grand Army of the Republic would have consisted of adult men armed with the skills and reasoning capabilities of ten-year-olds," Tech patiently explained.
"Omega, by contrast, has no such modifications. Consequently, her brain is still immature at this age, and her life experiences will be far more influential in the unique development of her behaviour".
Hunter's brow furrowed with the information overload. "What does all of that mean, Tech?"
Tech deadpanned him. "It means you really ought to read a book on parenting".
Hunter stared, mouth slightly agape.
"I shall send you one".
---
Hunter's eyes opened a crack as consciousness returned to him. He was slumped in the co-pilot's chair, arms folded, legs splayed and braced against the floor, Holopad switched off and balanced precariously on his thigh. Squinting against the harsh glare of hyperspace and the flickering glow of the console, he sought out the chrono and sighed.
Yep. He had dozed off while on watch.
Unlike Tech, whose indomitable focus allowed him to leisurely peruse terabits of data for hours on end, reading long documents tended to make Hunter drowsy. Not that the book of Tech's recommendation had been dull. On the contrary, it was very interesting. Or, at least the first page had been - he hadn't made it much further before exhaustion had evidently forced him to discard the attempt.
Groaning, he eased himself more upright, setting the Holopad aside and rubbing his chest where the still-healing blaster wound - courtesy of Cad Bane - complained at his movement. He leaned forward to check the Marauder's systems and nodded with satisfaction. Everything was normal, and they were still on course.
Working his fingers into the tight muscles of his neck, he winced. Very often he fell asleep upright like this, but it never did him any favours. Desperately needing to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, he drew himself to his feet and opened the cockpit door.
Standing at the entrance to the gangway, he could see Tech asleep in the common room, hands empty of work, goggles removed, and a blanket tucked around him. Somewhat out of the ordinary, but he took no significance from it. Hunter had found him this way the last three sleep cycles in a row.
Ambling past, he made for the refresher with eyes half-closed, eager to splash some cold water over his face.
The door was open. Not needing the lights to see, he didn't bother turning them on, but he did notice something amiss immediately. In fact, two somethings. There was a puddle of water at his feet, and a cup discarded on the floor near the back wall. He stooped to collect it. It was then that he became aware of the smell. Faint, but perceptible - to him at least - and instantly recognisable. He clicked his tongue with sympathy.
Echo must've had a rough cycle.
Taking the cup with him, he returned to the common area and rifled around the storage compartments for the medkit. Having selected a few choice drugs and some electrolyte gel, he went to the racks to check on Echo's condition. As he climbed the rungs and peered over the edge of the top bunk, he was utterly unprepared for the sight that met him.
Echo was sound asleep, backed almost against the wall, lying half on his stomach and half on his side. He actually looked comfortable, as though he hadn't just spent part of his cycle bent over the vac tube. Then, he spotted it. Barely visible at the mouth of the blanket that covered him… a shock of blonde hair.
Oh.
Cautiously, Hunter pinched at the quilt and peeled it back slowly, revealing a tiny clone nestled under Echo's arm, folded cosily against his bare chest. Her face slackened with deep sleep, her torso rising and falling calmly. The buzz of anxious energy was gone and she looked more relaxed than he'd seen her in days. Hunter's face softened with equal parts relief and sorrow.
Deciding it was better not to wake them, he gingerly fixed the blanket and withdrew. With both feet grounded on the deck, he stood there, dumbly, his back to the racks.
Good, he told himself, this is good.
The floor hummed beneath his feet. The air, stagnant and thick against his skin. Staring at the wall, he felt his jaw slowly clench, his face harden, his hands scrunch into fists. An uncomfortable pressure was mounting up his abdomen, warm with something akin to anger.
No. No. This was good.
Of course it was good. He should feel glad that she had finally found some comfort...
So why... why did he feel so kriffing useless?
He hung his head.
Because, she hadn't found it...with him.
---
Echo pinched his eyes with his fingers, hoping to relieve some of the strain that was pent up behind them. The rotation had been long. Protracted periods star travel were not uncommon, but they were yet to reach Ord Mantell following their jaunt to the Lido system, and not for the first time, tensions on the ship were running high.
For some reason or another, Hunter was in a foul mood, and it was glaringly apparent. Thus, Echo found himself rather occupied, taking it upon himself to herd the rest of the squad around such that Hunter could have whatever space he needed. Attempting to keep Wrecker from raising his voice, preventing Tech from blundering into Hunter's warpath whenever he needed to fetch something, and providing Omega with endless distractions had kept him exceptionally busy indeed.
With Tech and Wrecker beginning to hunker down for their sleep cycles, Echo's next task was to get Omega ready for bed, and that turned out to be an ordeal and a half. Something about the way she looked at him as if he had betrayed her, the way she reluctantly brushed her teeth, the way she trembled as he tucked her in, the way she gripped his hand and begged him not to leave...
She was terrified, and now Echo understood why. So there he sat on the lip of the Gunner's mount, stoic and worn, the burden of that awful knowledge combined with the weight of his responsibility causing him to slouch somewhat as he quietly reassured her, over and over. He would come back to check on her. It was going to be alright.
After a long while, after her own fatigue had numbed the pang of her anxiety, she finally let him go.
And now, there was only one job left for him to do. Eyeballing the cockpit, he sighed with tired determination and steeled himself.
"Hunter".
Echo watched him swing the co-pilot's chair around to meet his gaze. Karking hell did he look sour…
"Sure you don't wanna hit the bunks? I can take this shift," he offered genuinely.
"I'm fine," Hunter declined a little shortly. "You get some rest".
Echo frowned but nodded, knowing better than to push it. He turned to leave.
"Echo".
Echo stopped before the mouth of the doorway at his Sergeant's call and pivoted, eyebrows raised.
The look Hunter fixed him with was downright piercing. "Have you noticed anything odd… with Omega lately?"
Echo froze. To anyone else, the sudden tightening of his muscles would have been undetectable, expertly concealed by Echo's rigid posture and implacable discipline. But this wasn't just anyone. This was Hunter, and Echo knew all too well that he had nowhere to hide in the path of his gaze. In spite of his momentary hesitation, he recovered with admirable finesse.
"Absolutely," he replied coolly, folding his arms and leaning back to rest casually against the doorframe. "She's not eating enough. She keeps passing off half her of rations to Wrecker when she thinks I'm not looking".
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
Echo shrugged nonchalantly. "It's been quite recent. Figured it was because of the junk food Wrecker buys her. I've told him about fifty times to cut back on the Mantell Mix. Have you tried it? That stuff is pure sugar".
Hunter narrowed his eyes slightly. Echo could tell he was listening to the thrum of his heartbeat, trying to decide if he was telling the whole truth. He worked to keep his face stony, and his breathing even.
"Right… Is that all?" Hunter prompted.
Shit.
Like a Nexu caught in a trap, Echo met Hunter's stare unflinchingly as he weighed his options. He couldn't lie; nor did he want to lie, but he also couldn't divulge everything that he knew. Eventually, he settled on an answer that respected his loyalty to Hunter without depreciating his vow to Omega.
"She's having nightmares," he admitted finally. Hunter frowned, clearly processing the new intel carefully, turning it over in his mind and letting it fill in the gaps.
"What of?" he pushed.
Shit-fuck.
There was no way he could answer this one. Pushing past the biting sensation of guilt, Echo stood his ground, his face hardening with defiance. After a moment of silence, it was clear he would be offering nothing further.
Hunter rose from his chair and started moving towards the door. "I'm going to go talk to her".
Echo stepped directly into his path and blocked him in, a firm hand on his chest.
"No, don't".
And with that, Echo watched as a fine thread snapped behind Hunter's eyes. Evidently, it had been the only thing holding back a kriffing tidal wave.
"No?" Hunter repeated, indignantly. "No? Echo, all of this," he jabbed an accusatory finger at him, "was YOUR idea".
Hunter glanced hastily over Echo's shoulder, probably to see if the others had overheard his outburst, before dropping his voice dangerously low and leaning close to Echo's frigid face.
"Do you really think she'd be having nightmares if we hadn't told her why Lama Su is after her?" he hissed.
Echo felt his own composure splinter like a twig crushed under Hunter's boot. Seething at the insinuation, Echo physically pushed Hunter back into the cockpit and mashed his scomp against the control panel, causing the doors to snap shut behind them.
Cut off from the rest of the ship, he held nothing back. "She had every right to know, Hunter," he snarled. "We don't keep things from the squad".
"Exactly," Hunter sneered vehemently, and Echo caught the full brunt of his meaning as if he had been tossed a grenade. Clearly, Hunter had known more than he had let on, but it hardly mattered. Echo shook his head, scowling Hunter down with bold ferocity.
"This is different and you know it!" he retorted. "We don't know what set this off. Got no idea what she might've seen on Bora Vio, what that Bounty Hunter might've told her. We have NO CLUE what she's been through".
"Which is why we should find out". Hunter shoved past Echo forcefully, jostling him with the bulk of his shoulder.
"This isn't about you, Hunter," Echo spat at his retreating back. "Don't punish her just because you feel helpless".
Hunter stopped dead at the door, his hand hovering over the switch release.
Echo sensed his chance and he knew he had only one shot at it. Hunter was utterly oblivious to the fact that he was about to dump the depths of his own insecurities atop a kid already struggling to keep her head above the waterline.
"If you confront her now," he said carefully, "she'll go on the defensive, and it might take even longer before she opens up".
Hunter didn't move.
"This isn't something you can rush," he said, pleadingly. "We have to let her come to us, on her own terms, when she's ready".
The tension in the room was so dense that Echo could cut it with a blunt-edged spoon if he tried.
"Hunter". Echo's voice deepened with resolve. "You have to trust me on this one".
A beat passed, and then, Hunter heaved a sigh. Heavy, and drawn, his head tipping forward and his arm dropping to the side. It was not in anger, nor was it in defeat. Rather, it was the sigh of a man who knew he had done wrong, and… was willing to accept it. Slowly, he turned and offered Echo a grimaced expression that was as apologetic as it was conciliatory.
"You're right," he exhaled, "you're right..."
He shifted his weight and gestured openly. "So then, what do you suggest we do… in the meantime?"
Echo felt a half-hitched smile soften his features. This was part of what made Hunter such an exceptional Sergeant. Despite his roughened exterior and intimidating demeanour, he was ultimately a peacemaker. Usually, the very first to figure out when something was awry and the very last to raise his voice; even when the rest of them were being childish, insufferable buffoons.
Though many may have regarded him as the 'face' of Clone Force 99, in truth, he was more its backbone. And even if his rank was now little more than a meaningless title bestowed upon him by a Republic now dead and buried, there was a good reason why he still commanded their deference.
He was nothing if not inexorably and unequivocally dependable.
So, to learn that their newest and littlest Batcher hadn't confided in him during her moment of need... it must have broken something in the poor man.
Echo clapped his hand onto Hunter's shoulder. "It's nothing you've done, Hunter," he assured. "She's not used to having a support system. We need to make sure she feels part of the squad. She needs to know that we're here for her".
Hunter nodded slowly, his eyes lowered.
"Trust your instincts, Hunter," he urged warmly, giving Hunter's shoulder a companionable squeeze. "If you look out for her, just like you look out for us, then you'll see - when she needs you the most, she will come find you".
---
The common room was dark, and yet despite his weariness, Echo couldn't sleep. He was waiting. It had only been a few rotations since his exchange with Hunter, but he had a very good feeling that his advice was about to prove its merit.
From his position on the top bunk, he listened as the cockpit door slid open, and although he couldn't see through the gloom, he easily recognised the sound of the Omega's feet tippy tapping across the deck, followed by the characteristic plink-plunk of her climbing the ladder to the Gunner's mount.
There were a few shuffling noises, fabric being dragged over fabric, and then silence.
She had been in the cockpit with Hunter for close to an hour, their hushed conversation muffled beyond comprehension behind the durasteel doors, forcing Echo to merely speculate what they had discussed. But now, with nothing but the thin curtain dividing them, when Omega began to whisper aloud, nothing prevented the sound of her voice from reaching him.
"Trooper," she breathed, "do you know what Hunter just told me?"
There was a pause.
"He said...that we are never going back to Kamino".
Echo closed his eyes and smiled to himself. What a relief... Silently, he wondered how much she had shared with him, and made a mental note to find out from Hunter later. Then, the sound of a few soft sniffles scattered his thoughts, and his face fell.
She was crying.
"I don't know," she told the doll, as if it had asked her a question, "w-why… 'm still s-scared?"
She choked the words out, and Echo frowned miserably. Just as he was about to go get her, there was a rattling as her curtain was pulled back on its rail. The bunk vibrated as Omega clambered up the pegs to the top rack.
He watched expectantly as she appeared over the edge, obviously looking to see if he was awake. Without saying anything, Echo shuffled over, making room and lifting up his flesh arm to hold open his blanket. Wordlessly, she filled that space, crawling onto the make-shift mattress and underneath his arm, which he draped over her as she settled into position. With her back snuggled against his chest, he could feel her whole body trembling with the effort to contain further sobs. Echo shushed her soothingly as he rubbed his thumb along her arm, softly scribing shapes.
Before long, he could feel her relaxing, the tension dissipating from her frame. Remembering something he had seen Hunter do once, he craned his neck to press his lips to the back of her head, and she murmured sleepily in response.
"Did he promise?" he muttered into her hair.
"Mm," she managed, her words slightly slurred as sweeter dreams swooped in to claim her, gently, this time. "'e…promis'd".
Echo hummed deeply with satisfaction, closing his own eyes easily.
Finally, he felt like he could rest.
"Good," he said quietly to himself. "That's good".
WOW. Here we are. Well then.
THANK YOU so much for reading The Space In Between: Hushed Whispers arc!
Let me know if you've had a good time sipping those fluffachinos and angstpressos.
*Cracks knuckles* My caf machine is juuuust warming up...
In the quiet peace of hyperspace, Omega discovers she isn't the only one fighting old battles.
Set between S1E9 and S1E10
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E10 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
Echo's eyes shot open, pupils blown wide, sucking light into his brain as feverishly as he sucked air into his lungs. Both, desperate attempts to extinguish all traces of sleep from his mind and body.
His limbs acted on their own accord, organic muscles and mechanical coils springing together under the command of chemical electricity, causing him to snap upright onto his knees from his face down position. He tried to gain his bearings, but white dots poked holes in his vision and he felt the room pitch to the side. Collapsing heavily onto his elbows, he shut his eyes against the sickening sway and gripped the blankets beneath him with one hand, as though they offered safety against being thrown to the floor.
Plunged back into the darkness behind his eyelids, his other senses kicked into overdrive. A prickling sensation danced across the bare skin of his torso as the sheen of sweat that covered him evaporated. It was like a shower of ice shards, and it left a coldness in its wake as it spread; a coldness that caught the breath in his throat and held it there with dangerous depravity.
His insides lurched, and he knew he had less than seconds.
Vaulting down from the top bunk, he lunged for the refresher and threw himself over the vac tube just as he retched. Blindly, he felt air and fluid escape him in equal measures, and he coughed and spluttered in the aftermath. Barely two seconds passed before his shoulders jerked forward again, his guts strangling themselves with wanton abandon. The toned muscles of his abdomen contracted with such strength that, for a few awful moments, he couldn't even draw breath against it and there was nothing at all except for that tight, visceral pain.
That…and the cold.
Weakly, his fingers fumbled to find purchase on the smooth steel bowl as he rode through the waves of nausea, feeling them break across his back like the ocean raging over rocks. He moaned softly at its ruthlessness, the swell of it seemingly without end…
"Echo…?"
A small voice chirruped from the doorway, slicing through his stupor. He flicked his head up, startled by the sound of it, but hissed as the bright 'fresher lights bit into his eyes, forcing him to slump back towards the relative sanctuary of the vac tube.
"Kid," he huffed breathlessly, "why're you up? Y'should be in bed".
Her bare feet slapped faintly on the floor as she rushed to his side.
"So should you!" she cried with concern. A tiny hand pressed against the blade of his shoulder. "Echo, what's wrong?"
"I'm...fine," he managed.
"No, you're not!"
Helpless to prevent it, his stomach wrung itself empty once again and he shuddered with the exertion.
"Oh, no… Echo…"
In a comforting gesture, she began to sweep her palm across his back, and although it was kind, Echo grimaced at it. He could feel it. The hesitation. The tentativeness of her touch. With each cyclical motion, it was obvious. She was taking care to avoid the metal ports that punctuated the length of his backbone.
Something deep in his neural circuitry clicked into place, and his jaw tightened. Omega had never seen these implants before. Perhaps, she hadn't even known they were there until now. The feel of them usually concealed beneath the rigidity of his armour, their sharp contours masked by the darkness of his blacks.
He sighed miserably.
What a monstrous thing he must look to her.
In the wake of his rescue, the Kaminoans had worked tirelessly to either replace or remove as much of the Techno Union's handiwork as possible. Implants made redundant were surgically extracted, though, not without a cost. Even in their absence, they marred him, hideous scars shadowing where they once were. Unfortunately, not all the external fixtures could be safely extricated, even though they served little purpose now. Wired directly into his central nervous system, the metal ports that adorned his skull and spine had to remain. Each one, a relentless reminder of the elegant way in which the Separatists had taken from him that which he did not want to give…
For a moment he was lost, his body aching all over with the memory, and then Omega lightly jostled him, rousing him from his daze.
"Echo, are you sick? I-I didn't think clones could get sick".
He groaned, turning his head away from her slightly.
"It's nothing, kid". A large part of him wished she would leave, so she didn't see him like this. A small part of him hoped she would stay…
"It doesn't look like nothing".
"It's…just the pain meds I take. For when my cybernetics hurt".
"Pain meds?"
"Alphatomidine. Tech keeps some on hand for me". Technically true. "But, sometimes it makes me nauseous". Technically, a lie.
"Wait here, I'll get you some water," she offered before trotting away. Muttering a curse, Echo eased himself up into a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall, eyes still clenched shut as he focused on swallowing his own stomach.
"Here," Omega said softly, holding out a metal cup. Echo shakily accepted it, but, sapped of its strength, his hand had seemingly forgotten how to function. As soon as Omega let it go, it slipped from his grip and plummeted to the floor, spilling water everywhere and hitting the lino with a CLANG.
The sound rang through Echo's auditory processors as though a bomb had gone off next to his head. The twang of each bounce blurring into a constant, high-pitched whine that persisted even after Omega finally captured the cup. His eyes flew open in panic and he clutched at his head as the white noise overwhelmed his senses. It spread everywhere, pins and needles buzzing through his phantom limbs, and he started to hyperventilate against the threat of impending oblivion.
In front of him, Omega was mouthing words he couldn't hear, holding her hands out to him as if to stop him from rising, her face pinched with distress. He tried to reach for her, to steady himself on something, to feel anything at all besides the cold spreading from his centre, but suddenly she was gone and his hand swiped through nothing but air.
Echo's vision went black.
Why…
Why did he feel so cold?
The whine had morphed into a low, metallic drone. A facsimile of his voice. Chanting to a robotic rhythm. Repeating a string of data. Over and over. His numerical designation. He was beaming it into space. A beacon. A signal.
An echo.
If somebody was there... If anyone still cared…
He was alive.
He was…still…alive…
"Echo? Echo!"
The voice was muffled, as if calling to him from behind a wall. He reached out again, fully expecting to feel the frozen interior of his prison made of brass, but instead, there were two small hands latching onto his, and he instinctually pulled that lifeline closer.
"Echo?"
The voice was clearer. It was closer. He forced his eyes open and was met with Omega's anxious gaze. She had turned off the lights, such that the soft lines of her face were now only dimly lit by the glow filtering in from the doorway.
"I'm here," she assured, and he suddenly became aware of how firmly he was gripping her, how he had dragged her so close she was barely three inches from his face. He let go immediately.
Mortified, his mouth opened to apologise, but the words were thick in his throat, his head spinning from the sensory whiplash. Clapping his hand to his forehead, he stared dizzily down at the floor between his knees and struggled to tame his ragged breathing.
Omega knelt down so that he could see her in his periphery, and gestured to the floor next to him. "Can I sit here?"
He nodded, unable to retain air long enough for speech, and felt her settle herself beside him. For a few minutes, she simply sat there with him, present but not intruding, offering nothing but a quiet sort of company.
And it helped.
Slowly, the tightness in his chest began to ease, allowing for deeper excursions. With some relief he dropped his arm and sat back, leaning against the wall, breathing through his nose, his senses refocusing as the haze of hyperventilation dissipated. Gazing beyond the open doorway, he noticed the blue glow of hyperspace, shimmering from somewhere astern. It draped the interior of the ship in a deep cerulean blue that rippled like a sheet of transparent silk in the breeze. Beneath him, there was the rumble of the engines, resonating through the floor with a cadence that was comforting in its familiarity. Behind him, there was the wall, pressed flush against his bare skin, solid and cold.
Echo frowned.
Cold.
He grimaced, feeling the bile creep up his throat as the nausea returned like a rising tide, but before it could overwhelm him, there was a new feeling. One he did not recognise. Soft and warm. Delicate but deliberate. He looked down.
It was Omega's tiny hand, slipping into his.
Once cupped snugly in his palm, she gently pulled his whole arm closer, guiding it into her lap. There, she used the fingers of her other hand to idly sketch shapes onto his skin. The sensation of it surprised him. With featherlight brushstrokes, she was decorating him, invisible drawings and secret words. As if she had painted him a map to dry land, he could feel that ocean of anguish grow more distant with each passing moment.
"Echo," he heard her say quietly, "what's really the matter?"
His brow furrowed. "I...already told you, it's the--".
Omega was shaking her head. "Alphatomidine only causes nausea and vomiting in the first few months of use, Echo. I know you've been on it for years". She said it like a statement; there was no hint of accusation, nor blame in her voice.
And yet, he felt the blistering heat of guilt. She had caught him out in his lie, and he had no excuse. Echo said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he gave her hand a squeeze and hoped it sufficed as both an answer and an apology.
Despite it all, he was glad…that she had stayed.
Her little fingers tugged on his thumb as her small voice spoke through the stillness.
"What did you dream of?"
Echo blinked, mouth slightly agape. It caught him completely off guard. The way she had said it, so …knowingly. He couldn't believe it. Was he really that transparent? Flesh and blood, metal and machinery, and yet, as see-through as glass?
He sighed defeatedly, and it was apparently all she needed to hear.
"What was it like?" she asked. Her tone was lowered but casual, as if she was merely requesting some data stored in his neural network; unrelated information that did not pertain to him at all.
It made it easier to answer.
He stared straight ahead with lidded eyes. "Cold," he said impassively. "It was...cold".
"Was it dark?"
"Sometimes. Mostly it was all just numbers and words. Other times, I was...somewhere else entirely". His head bowed as the cacophony of blaster fire and explosions ghosted his hearing, and somewhere underneath it all, the sound of a brother screaming his name.
"Was it...lonely?". The hollowness of her voice drew him back, and he frowned, tilting his head to the side to appraise her. Eyes lowered, she was gazing at the floor, slowly etching squiggles over the back of his hand. He rested his head against the wall.
"Yeah," he sighed, finally. "It was lonely…"
Her touch trailed up his arm and he felt her trace circles around a raised scar that marked where a tube used to be, near the crook of his elbow.
"Did they have you...plugged into machines?".
"Yes," he responded tightly. "Most of them were to keep me alive. Some of them...were for other things...". He decided she didn't need to know the specifics of what the Separatists used him for.
"Did they hurt you?"
He huffed a short, humourless laugh. "Tech would tell you that they actually saved me. That the only reason I even survived is because of what they did," he uttered indigently. Then he heaved a sigh, using his scomp arm to gesture to himself. "If 'survived' is what you could really call this...".
He felt her fingers twitch with sympathy, but her voice remained slackened. It was almost monotonous, as if to distance them both from the questions and their answers, such that they could be shared without it hurting.
"Were you awake, when they did this to you?"
Echo's brow furrowed with genuine concentration. "I'm...not sure. There are snippets...but I don't know if it's because they were turning me on and off like a lightbulb, or if it's because I've just... decided not to remember it all".
She looked up at him. "Do the others know?"
He shrugged. "Sort of. They were the ones that pulled me out. They're aware that this still happens from time to time, and they're all pretty good about it, but, I haven't talked much… about what happened, and I think they know better than to ask".
"Why not?"
Echo sighed. "Clones were engineered to withstand the heat of battle, verd'ika, the horrors of war. We were built to not break". He swallowed. "Those that did…were usually deemed defective and...decommissioned..."
His voice trailed off, and for a few long moments, he was unable to go on, mouth suddenly dry. His heart pounded deafeningly in his head, like the steady beating of a drum, like the slow falling…of dominos.
"I suppose…" he continued finally, "it's just in our nature. We tend to fix what we can, and hide what we can't".
"And what if you can't… hide it anymore?"
Echo looked at her. Suddenly, he realised perhaps they weren't talking about him anymore. Perhaps, they never had been. There was something hiding there, in the placidness of her face. He chose his next words carefully.
"Then, you rely on your squad, Omega. We protect our own".
Omega ceased her soft sketching on his skin and withdrew her hands entirely. For a second, he thought she was going to stand up and leave, but instead she hugged her legs to her chest and tucked her chin behind her knees.
"What if...you lose your squad?" she mumbled timidly.
Suddenly, it all pieced together, and Echo cursed at the delay of his recognition.
"Verd'ika," he muttered urgently, "what did you dream of?"
She sunk her face deeper into her own embrace and said nothing. Echo felt hot coals settle in his chest. How could he have been so kriffing careless? So caught up in the throes of his own pathetic despair, he had done nothing at all as Omega sat there, dutifully stitching him back up while she herself was coming apart at the seams.
His mind raced to sort through the catalogue of every possible nightmarish subject, every heart-stopping moment, every terrifying encounter with beast or man, Imperial or otherwise. Karking hell, there were a lot of them, despite the relatively short amount of time she had spent in their care.
"Kamino".
"What?" Echo tilted his head with surprise, as if to correct a wire that had been dislodged, certain he had heard it wrong.
"It was Kamino," she said again, her voice muffled slightly behind her knees. "It's always...Kamino".
Echo paused, his brain scrambling for comprehension. Immediately, he wondered if she was homesick. He could understand that. But then, he realised, that he hadn't actually considered what her childhood on Kamino had entailed, and that it may well have differed greatly from his own.
"What was it like?" he asked slowly.
She took a breath. "It was...cold".
Echo glared at the floor, his face tight with focus as he recognised the path she had laid at his feet. He decided to follow it. "And…it was dark?" he ventured.
She visibly paled. "Most of the time," she whispered.
"And…you were alone?"
She turned her head away from him, managing a tiny nod before she could squeeze the words out. "Yes," she quietly gasped. "For so long".
Echo felt his heart sink like a stone in water. How did they not know about any of this?
"I wasn't for a little bit," she continued, "But, then…they were taken away…and I had to stay behind". Her voice was broken by a tiny sob.
Echo glowered with consternation as he thought about it. She had been on Kamino her whole life. He wondered what it had been like. Watching all the clones, coming and going, year after year. More and more cadets. Each one, growing up, joining a squad, and moving on without her, with no promise of ever coming back.
Then the road his mind travelled grew darker.
But why?
Why had he never seen her there before? Where was she being kept? Kaminoan hallways were characteristically clinical, white and blindingly well-lit; not dark. What dark places were there on Tipoca City? And then beyond that, why was she unaltered? No growth acceleration. No combat training as far as he could tell. What was she for, if not to be another cog in the gears of war?
He thought back to her list of questions, and felt his blood precipitate to ice.
Though he intended to ask it softly, he failed to fully disguise the sharp edge in his tone. "Omega, did they hurt you?"
It was the way she closed her eyes, oh-so-slowly.
He knew.
Maker, no.
That look. It was the face of someone carrying a wordless wound. The kind of hurt that was never said aloud because speaking of it would make it real, and pretending that it wasn't…was the only way to cope.
He thought back on their conversation, analysing the interaction. Even if she couldn't verbalise it, he knew she was trying to tell him something…
Then it hit him. The hints materialising before him like a breadcrumb trail, left on the track she had paved.
Reaching out, he hooked his pinky finger under the hem of her sleeve and ever so gently, he began to pull it up, gradually revealing the skin of her arm. She didn't resist. In fact, she let go of her legs and leaned against the wall, staring straight ahead with half closed eyes, allowing him to draw back the fabric until it bunched over her bicep. Delicately, he took her forearm in the palm of his hand and rotated it.
In the soft inside of her elbow, he saw them. Scars. Multiple. Unlike his own, they weren't raised, or red, or vicious. They were tiny, like circular divots. Miniscule craters where tired skin had given up trying to heal completely after years of repeated intrusion. The products of perfectly precise punctures.
The hot coals in his chest met the frozen chill in his veins, and he felt himself fill with boiling steam. His rage was ready to explode.
Those fucking long-necks. What have they done?
"Were you awake," he strained, "when they did this to you?"
"Yes". She looked down, her face a mixture of confusion and fear. "No... S-sometimes? I-I'm not sure".
"What else did they do to you?" he growled. He couldn't help it, he was livid. Beyond livid. Quickly, her knees pressed back against her chest protectively as she hid her face away, shaking her head.
Kriff.
He kicked himself internally. In his haste and his fury, he had stepped out of bounds, deviating from the pattern and breaking their unspoken contract.
Recovering himself, he became aware that her arm was still limp and submissive in his grasp. Though she had retreated, either from the anger in his voice or from the answer to his question, she hadn't actually pulled away from him. Her reflex of self-preservation blemished by some kind of...obedience.
Echo's brow furrowed with the implication. Omega was NOT one he would typically describe as obedient. No. She was fiery and headstrong. Sure, she always respected the directives given by her brothers, even when she didn't agree, but she still formed her own opinions, which she never shied away from expressing.
This was unlike her.
This was blind, and unbidden. This was obedience of a fearful sort, the kind that was taught, such as, on the point of a blade.
Gritting his teeth as to keep his composure, he carefully smoothed down her sleeve and let go, allowing her to reclaim her arm and curl it around herself.
"Omega," he said with a deliberate softness, "do the others know?"
"No," she gasped, "please don't tell them".
"Why not?"
"I don't w-want to be...H-he already tried to--" Echo listened to her fight it, watched the panic on her face as thorny words sliced up the soft tissues of her throat. She couldn't force them out. Finally, she gave up with an exhausted sigh. "It...doesn't matter".
"And what if you can't hide it anymore?"
She seemed to think about it for a moment before finally bringing her eyes up to meet his. They were red, brimmed with tears, and they were strained, weary from the struggle. "Then... I hope... I can rely on my squad?"
Echo felt an enormous weight press upon him. She was asking him for a promise. For his confidence.
He did NOT like the idea of keeping secrets from the group, but, he knew all too well the sheer energy and courage it had taken for her to admit to - what he could tell - was barely the surface of her suffering. To go to the others behind her back, even with the best of intentions, would be to betray her trust.
And clearly, her trust had already seen its fair share of abuse.
"Of course, verd'ika," he sighed. "Of course you can".
She let out a breath she was holding, and suddenly, she looked as though she hadn't slept in all her years. Unable to fight away the gloom any longer, Echo could see the light in her eyes fading fast. Her body seemed to slump, every ounce of her willpower utterly spent.
Echo eased himself off the wall and into a crouch, bending down to sweep his arms underneath her.
"Come on," he breathed softly, lifting her as he stood. Holding her sideways against him, his flesh arm cradled her back, his scomp arm hooked under her knees.
Weakly, she pawed at his collarbone. "No," she begged, "please don't put me back. I-I don't want to go back".
"Don't worry, I won't," he assured.
He carried her from the 'fresher. Though the words uttered within its walls were left behind, the weight of them stayed with him, far heavier than the small clone in his arms. And yet, he still walked tall, resolute and straight-backed.
It was a burden he was willing to bear, if only to ease hers, just a little.
---
Well, that was a bit of a thing and a half, wasn't it?
Did I punch your heart? Then punch that Heart button, dear friend.
After certain events on Bora Vio, Omega finds herself haunted by something she thought she had buried...
Set between S1E9 and S1E10
**SPOILER WARNING: Some references to pre-S1E10 events**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
"Come, Omega".
The voice drifted to her through the darkness, slow and soft. Like a great swath of velvet, floating through the void on some untouchable breeze. It curled around her, brushing across her cheek with a caress that was gentle and familiar. She breathed in contently as it draped about her shoulders, wrapping her in a warm embrace.
A blanket to banish all the bad things.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and her head began to hum with a sleepy haze. Lulled by its comforting weight, she was too numb to notice the way its hold around her was tightening…
"Come away from there, now," it cooed.
Her face creased slightly with drowsy confusion.
But why?
Her thoughts were sluggish, her mind filled with fog. Vaguely, she felt herself being dragged, the way a mother might steer a straying child. As her feet moved clumsily, something was lost from her touch; the sensation of her palms being peeled from the smooth surface of glass.
Now there was nothing. Nothing except the velvet, everywhere and all around.
So…why did she feel so alone?
"It is time for them to go".
Panic cut through the daze in her head with a knife of realisation.
Oh, no.
She didn't want this. She didn't want this AT ALL. She tried to yank the blanket off her, but its tender embrace twisted into rigid restraint.
"You are staying here".
No. NO.
She began to rip at it. She had to get it OFF her. Seething at her retaliation, it began to writhe over her, attempting to smother her into submission. As if flung into a churning sea of satin, she spluttered and flailed against it, desperately fighting to stay afloat.
Anguish snapped inside her like a metal coil wound too tight, and she howled at the darkness. "NO! I WANT TO GO WITH THEM! WHY CAN'T I GO WITH THEM?"
A wave of cold silk swept over her head, submerging her. Shock rocketed up her spine as she felt it rush into her opened mouth and plunge down her throat. She gasped involuntarily, and nothing but fabric inflated her lungs. Her chest seared with agony.
She was drowning.
Gripped now with hopeless abandon, she tore at it, her fingernails splintering as they raked across unyielding fibres. Impatient with her defiance, it knocked her over and pinned her down with brutal ease, the vastness of it unending, the weight of it overwhelming. The seams that pressed against her frayed, allowing loosened threads to weave into needle-like points that poked into her flesh with careless cruelty.
She froze at the threat, tears streaming down her face. They were everywhere, all over, and they promised a hot, piercing sort of pain.
Her hands trembled as she forced herself to let go, blood oozing from her fingertips. Eyes squeezed shut, she willed herself to stay still, perfectly, perfectly still, but, her body was betraying her. Tremoring with the terror of anticipation, she hoped the numbness would reclaim her. She hoped for obliviousness, for a drug-induced miasma, anything. But even as the burning in her chest reached unbearable, she somehow knew not even suffocation would offer an escape.
After an excruciating delay, the voice finally answered, drifting lazily around her. Slow, and soft. Light and unburdened. Like a great swath of velvet, totally unconcerned by the child bleeding on its fringes and choking on its hem.
"You already know why," it said.
Thousands of razor-sharp points split open her skin, and Omega wished she had the air to scream.
---
Omega glanced at the chrono. Three more hours.
She moved her piece on the board. The board, of course, being Gonky's head. And the move, interestingly, being the absolute worst move she could make. She enjoyed playing games with Wrecker, but unbeknownst to him, this was her favoured terrain, and he was utterly outmatched. Just as he had used a smoke grenade when training her to disarm explosives, she, too, was pulling her tactical punches. For now, at least.
Wrecker grinned at her apparent 'blunder' and made a relatively decent counter-move. She sucked air through her teeth with mock dismay.
"Oh, rats," she muttered, folding her arms and cupping her face with one hand, feigning a look of deep concentration.
"HA!" Wrecker slapped his knee triumphantly at her reaction. "Betcha didn't see THAT coming!"
Omega smirked behind her hand. As she was deciding by which route she would allow Wrecker to win, Echo approached, two ration bars in his hand.
"Chow time," he announced.
"Aw, YEAH! I'm starvin'!" Wrecker leapt from his seat and snatched up his portion enthusiastically, demolishing it in one go and grunting with pleasure.
Omega accepted the remaining ration bar with a little less gusto. Just looking at it made her stomach churn uneasily; she really didn't feel like eating. Unfortunately, she could feel the heat of Echo's expectant gaze and realised he was waiting on her.
Stars…
Mustering considerable effort, she bit off the end and chewed mechanically.
"Mm," she vocalised with false satisfaction, lifting her face to show him a mask of delight that she hoped was convincing.
Apparently appeased, Echo turned, headed for the cockpit. Keeping her eyes on his back, Omega broke off a small section from the other end of the ration bar and thrust the large, middle portion out towards Wrecker. He opened his mouth wide to loudly express his excitement but Omega silenced him, pressing her finger against her lips and jerking her head urgently in Echo's direction.
Mouthing an exaggerated 'oh', Wrecker took the hint. Gingerly, he accepted the rest of her ration bar, and then immediately stuffed it into his mouth quietly as he could. Meaning, of course, not quietly at all.
Omega grimaced as Echo stopped dead in his tracks, swivelling his head to eye them suspiciously. Wrecker put on a rather over-the-top air of innocence, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head while Omega made a show of eating the last morsel of her meal.
"Mm, famks, Echo!" she said, mouth full, returning her attention to the game as if nothing was amiss. On the edge of her peripheral vision, she watched Echo hesitate, but he said nothing as he left.
Once gone, she exhaled with relief and fixed Wrecker with a scolding look. He chuckled and gave a rather sheepish shrug.
Maybe she'd let him lose the match, after all.
---
She took a fleeting look at the chrono… Two more hours.
"Omega, could you pass me the--".
Before he could finish, Omega placed the welder in Tech's open hand. He hummed appreciatively and brought it up through the tangle of wires hanging above them to reach the motherboard. It sizzled where he pressed its stylus against metal.
They were both lying on their backs, crammed together underneath the Marauder's flight console. The underside panel had been removed, granting them access to the inner circuitry of the navigation computer. Omega couldn't lay side-by-side with Tech because the breadth of his shoulder would keep her from seeing up into the narrow compartment. So, she had wiggled herself into an oblique angle, the crown of her head practically pressed against his ear.
He lowered the welder.
"Now I need the--".
Omega took the welder and replaced it with the oscilloscope attachment. He glanced at it in his hand and, again, hummed pleasantly at her unerring aptitude.
"Here," Omega offered, reaching up to hold the mass of cables to one side as Tech attempted to manoeuvre it into place.
"Take care not to touch the dynoram," he warned. "It is live, and if you are electrocuted, I will never hear the end of it". The comment was made with equal parts sarcasm and seriousness. Omega giggled.
"Hunter would kill you," she playfully teased.
"Indeed," he replied, dryly, "that is, assuming neither Echo nor Wrecker got to me first. Or any of the other life-forms you have seemingly endeared yourself to. In fact, Hunter may have to wait in line, as there would undoubtably be a queue".
"I better not touch the dynoram, then".
"Please don't".
Omega grinned.
Tech clipped the electrodes into place and checked the readout on his datapad. "Excellent, the auxiliary power supply has been restored".
Working in tandem, they stuffed the wires back in before closing the compartment; Tech held the panel steady in its frame while Omega used a power tool to bolt it in place.
"Perfect," he said, shuffling out from under the console. He offered Omega his hand as she crawled out after him, and he pulled her easily to her feet.
"Alright! What's next on the list?" she asked eagerly, dusting off her tunic.
"Actually, that is the last of the maintenance for today," he told her as he packed away his tools.
"Oh," she vocalised, obviously deflated. "So, what are you going to do now?"
"I was going to catalogue our most recent combat data".
"Can I help?"
He looked down at her. "It…isn't really a two-person task," he said, a little apologetically.
"Oh". Omega watched him awkwardly as he stowed his tool kit. Wringing her hands together with mounting restlessness, she cast her eyes around the room in the hope she'd spot something to occupy herself with. Seeing nothing, she returned her gaze to Tech, who had settled himself in the chair next to the central comms and was busily typing on his datapad.
"I-I guess I'll go see what the others are doing…" she muttered quietly to his back.
Head bowed, she wondered if he even noticed her leave.
---
Omega stared at the chrono. One more hour.
Lying in Wrecker's lap, she tried to focus on the Holoshow they were watching. It was a cooking competition program. Wrecker was certainly enjoying it, making comments about how good the food looked and which dishes he'd like to eat (unsurprisingly, all of them), and laughing heartily at the absurd degree of mayhem that ensued when things inevitably didn't go to plan. One contestant's Devaronian souffle had emerged from the oven 'not quite fluffy enough'. The way the amateur chef was staring at it, eyes wide, hands pressed into the sides of his horrified face, one might assume the souffle had just spoken to him and now he was questioning his own sanity.
At the very least, Omega was grateful for the distraction it offered; Wrecker seemed utterly oblivious to her own plight. While she could feel the deep rumbles of his stomach against her back, likely enticed by the delicious display, her own was bubbling with nauseating apprehension. It felt like she had swallowed several spoons, and they were trying to dig their way out, scraping languidly against the walls of her guts. It was unbelievably uncomfortable.
Good.
Hunter strolled into the room from the gangway and Omega determinedly avoided his eye contact.
"Alright, you two, your sleep cycles are up".
Omega whined in unison with Wrecker as Hunter switched off the Holoshow.
"Aw, c'mon, Sarge, at least let us finish the episode!" Wrecker moaned.
Hunter shook his head. "Not up for debate," he stated. "Omega, go brush your teeth".
"But, Hunter, I'm not even--"
"Teeth. Bed. Now." he ordered.
She made a sour face like she'd been forced to suck an unripe meiloorun, and hopped off Wrecker's lap with an audible huff. They watched her stalk toward the refresher, shoulders hitched high and tiny hands bunched into fists, the door hissing closed behind her.
As soon as she was hidden in the private confines of the 'fresher, her façade faltered and she dug her fingers into her hairline. The indignation melted away, like wet paint in the rain, and she sagged against the cold metal wall, her body buckling under the gravity of her own anxiety. Vaguely, she could hear Wrecker and Hunter arguing, their voices vibrating through the durasteel.
"The kid's been through hell and back," she heard Hunter saying, "what she needs is rest".
"We are resting!" Wrecker retorted.
"Wrecker, I meant sleep. Can't you tell she's exhausted?".
"Hmph, she seems fine to me," he grumbled.
At the mention of sleep, Omega felt her diaphragm contract against her will, drawing in an involuntary sob. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she begged her legs to bear her weight as she moved to the basin, stepping up on a stool so she could reach the sink. Quickly, she turned the tap on and hung her head over it as hot tears pooled in front of her vision. She hoped the noise would drown out the sound of her sniffling. The last thing she needed right now was for Hunter to know she was crying.
When she finally looked up, she found herself staring blearily at her own haggard image in the mirror. Was that even her? She frowned at the redness of her eyes, and the dark circles blooming on the skin beneath them.
When will this stop?
There was a knock at the door and she visibly jumped.
"Omega," Hunter crooned, "c'mon, hurry it up, kiddo".
She glowered at him through the wall, but knew he wasn't the real subject of her frustration…
Despite her best efforts to draw out the process of brushing her teeth, Hunter eventually tired of her procrastination and fetched her from the 'fresher, escorting her to the Gunner's mount. He waited patiently outside the curtain for her to change into pyjamas before climbing the ladder to tuck her into bed.
"Alright. Got everything you need?" he asked, pulling the standard-issue GAR blanket up to her chin. She nodded wordlessly, not looking at him. There was a moment of terse stillness and she could sense Hunter frowning over her.
Oh, no. He knows. He can tell.
She closed her eyes, attempting to hide whatever clues he might be able to see there. Then there was the gentle feeling of his fingers as he carded them through her hair, and she nearly wept at the softness of his touch, the concern of his gesture. Afraid he would leave but terrified he might stay, she shifted away from him and onto her side. His hand retreated from her as though it had been stung, and she ground her teeth against a pang of regret.
"G'night, kid," she heard him say reservedly.
There was a flicking sound as he turned off her fairy lights, and she watched the room sideways as it was thrown into semi-darkness, the blue of hyperspace cut into thin ribbons by the slats of her blinds.
"Sleep well".
He drew the curtain behind him and she listened to him walk away, the space between them growing wider. A miserable pout warped her features as she felt his absence more keenly with each step he took.
If only he understood…she couldn't do that at all.
---
Omega waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. She stared up at the ceiling, watching it ripple with the rivulets of passing systems.
Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. When the pain that gripped her empty insides was no longer sufficient to keep her awake, she quietly clambered to her feet. Time for Plan B.
Clutching at her own sleeves, she stood in the centre of the room, leaning slightly against the back of the Gunner's chair.
An hour. Two hours. There she remained, standing doggedly against encroaching unconsciousness. Every now and then, her head drooped against her chest and her legs caved at the knees, but the sensation of slipping drew her back from the edge.
Three hours. Four. Omega groaned quietly as she straightened yet again. She was tired. She was tired of being tired. Tired of the struggle, of the fight. She wanted to just give up, she wanted to fall into that void and sleep forever. But the knowledge of what lingered there...in that beckoning darkness. The thing that waited for her…
Against her will, the world faded away.
Omega hit the floor with a soft thwack, her jaw snapping shut as it impacted her mattress, forcing her teeth to sink into the soft flesh of her tongue. She jolted upright with the pain and tasted coppery blood.
Maker…
She rubbed her eyes. She couldn't go on like this. How many hours had it been? She just wanted the cycle to be over already so that she didn't have to be alone anymore. Making some excuse to herself about stretching out sore limbs, she peeked out from behind her curtain and surveyed the common area. No one seemed to stir.
Taking Lula with her, she descended the ladder and padded barefoot to the set of racks immediately to her left. Wrecker was sprawled on the bottom bunk, his blanket discarded on the floor. Just as she did every cycle, she gingerly tucked Lula into the crook of his elbow. As if he could sense its presence, even through the layers of his slumber, Wrecker curled over a little to press his face against it. Omega smiled softly. It meant more to her than he knew…
She looked up. From this angle, she could see blankets spilling over the sides of the top bunk, but not its occupant. She guessed it was Echo. His cybernetics made lying on a hard flat surface uncomfortable, so he usually slept atop whatever mound of bedding he could build in order to soften the contact. Often, he complained about how he missed his hammock from Kamino.
Continuing her patrol, she came across Tech, slouched in one of the chairs by the common room console, silhouetted by the light of the screen he had left on. He was fast asleep, snoring quietly, a gadget in his hand. He did this a lot. Tech could rarely be corralled onto a bunk, usually because he just couldn't stand to put a project down half-finished. Omega regarded him for a moment. It was one of the rare times in which he looked truly calm, his awakened face almost constantly taut with stringent focus. Deftly she managed to pry the whatever-it-was from his loose grip and lay it down. Then, she retrieved Wrecker's blanket from the floor and gently draped it over him as best she could, standing on tippy toes to slip the goggles off his face. She nodded to herself with some satisfaction. That was better.
Reluctantly leaving Tech behind, she moved further down the gangway. The door to the cockpit was closed and she pressed her hands and face against the durasteel. Behind it, she heard nothing at all. Hunter must be in there. Whether awake or dozing, she couldn't tell. He could do both silently.
Resting her forehead against the cold metal, she lingered there, almost wishing he would sense her. Briefly, she thought about going in, but her muscles spasmed in protest. Exhaling with exasperation at her own baffling stubbornness, she turned around and managed to take three steps back the way she came before she stopped. The distance between her and the Gunner's mount stretched out dizzily and she paled at the prospect of returning to it.
A guttural retching noise unexpectedly cut through the quiet, and she blinked with surprise. It was followed by muted coughing, and she realised it was coming from the refresher. Omega crept towards it and listened by the door. There was nothing for several seconds, and then she heard an unmistakable gasping sound. Glancing at the control panel, she could see it hadn't been locked, and without thinking, she reached for the release switch. With a barely perceptible hiss, the door slid open, and the bright light of the 'fresher interior spiked at her fatigued eyes intrusively. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her head, she tentatively took a step inside and squinted against the glare.
Her heart sank at the sight that greeted her.
"Echo…?"
---
GREETINGS FRIENDS, I bring tidings from WHUMPVILLE.
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
Hunter could see everything. Every scuff mark that blemished the floor. He could tell which ones were old, left behind by the standard-issue boots of troopers long gone, and which ones were new, etched into the durasteel by scurrying claws.
He could hear everything. Every metallic ache and moan of the cruiser as it continued to settle, forlornly, into its permanent, planetary grave.
He could smell everything. The overwhelming tang of rust that grew like mould on the skeletons of starships, and underneath that, the much more subtle organic rot of those that once inhabited them.
Nothing could escape Hunter's scrutiny. For him, the world and all its features were compressed, flattened and stretched tight, like the skin of a drum, and laid bare before him to read as easily as a map.
And yet, as he roamed that med bay, he had never before felt so utterly lost. Like he couldn't find a way out of that room. Like he couldn't discern up from down.
His head pounded with the sensory overload. Ever-present, unrelenting. But all of it, useless and irrelevant. The only feeling that mattered right now was the tempo of Omega's heart, palpable on his sternum as he held her against his unarmoured torso. The sturdy beat of his own pulse nearly overpowered it, but it was definitely there. Warm, and fluttering, a small bird caged within her ribs.
Hunter moved about the space, following some invisible, repetitive path. Although the way he cradled Omega was strong and unfaltering, he was treading with the trepidation of someone attempting to carry a candle against the wind; a task that presented such a fine line between protection and…suffocation.
The pacing had been Echo's suggestion, apparently it was supposed to be calming. And Tech had flat out refused to hand her over until Hunter had agreed to remove his upper armour plates first. But any misgivings he had initially harboured were quickly assuaged as the techniques demonstrated their merit. Omega had barely stirred once.
Getting Wrecker back to the med bay and onto the gurney had taken Rex and Hunter nearly half an hour. That boy weighed an absolute solid fucking tonne. Laying there on his back, his stillness was… unnerving. Eyes closed, face slack. Wrecker was never this still. The blue glow of the surgical chamber ahead made his skin look pale…
Hunter decided to turn away.
"I believe the pod has been appropriately calibrated," Tech announced, straightening from behind the console and adjusting his goggles. "We can initiate the procedure".
"Do it," Hunter commanded. Behind him, Tech keyed in the start sequence and the tray squeaked in complaint as rusty wheels drew it into the mouth of the pod, carrying Wrecker along with it.
Scattered throughout the room, the Batch stood in stiff silence. Hunter in the corner with Omega, Tech by the control panel, Echo beside the machine, and Rex near the doorway. Even standing apart, their thoughts were gathering in the same place. They could be about to lose their brother. And if this didn't work, then they could even be on the precipice of losing themselves, and each other.
If that happened, Omega would be left here.
Hunter groaned inwardly at the retrospection. She had literally said that to him. And he, ever the fool, had been so quick to offer her assurances. Promises that, now, he didn't know if he could keep. If they couldn't get the chips out, or if the procedure killed them in the process, then, either way, he would break them. And Omega would be alone, or…worse.
Hunter felt his stomach twist.
"Hunter?" As though his suffering had summoned her, there was a tiny voice against his collarbone.
Quickly, he settled on a crate and rested her in his lap. Omega sat upright, clinging to his blacks with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. By the Stars, they looked so red and sore. Then, she lifted her face to him, and…
Oh…
She looked…hollow. As though she had just returned from the edge of some dark, nameless place. A place that had threatened to claim everything, and nearly succeeded. A place that all of them knew.
"Hey, kiddo". He brushed the hair from her face. "How're you feeling?"
There was a long pause as she gazed towards the medical pod, Wrecker's boots visible at its opening. Within her line of sight, Tech and Echo busied themselves, watching her only from the corners of their eyes. The last thing they wanted was to overwhelm her.
"Is Wrecker okay?". Though her voice crackled, the question was sincere. After everything that had happened, after Wrecker had nearly killed her. Hunter marvelled at it. It was pure, unabashed forgiveness.
"He's going to be fine, Omega, I promise". Kriffing hell, he just couldn't help himself, could he?
She looked back at him and Hunter barely managed to disguise his wince as she placed her hand on the side of his neck, shadowing where Wrecker's rather massive hand had been, far too recently. Had she noticed the bruising?
"What about you?" she asked, her face creased with worry. "Doesn't this hurt?" He allowed himself a dry chuckle, taking her little hand in his.
"I'll be fine too," he assured, "I've survived much worse".
"We should put some Bacta on it," she mumbled. But before she could slip out of his grasp, Tech was there, kneeling beside them both with a medkit. Omega looked pleased with the convenience, right up until she realised that he was probably not there for Hunter.
"Miss Omega". Tech rested a gloved hand on her arm and tilted his head at her. "Might I suggest that before you start looking after us, we take a moment to look after you? Now that you are awake, I would like to quickly check you over, to ascertain that you have not been injured".
She blinked at him. As soon as he said it, shards of pain began to poke into her awareness, worming their way to the foreground of her sensorium. She looked away before bobbing her head in acquiescence, seemingly a little reluctant. At this, Tech risked a surreptitious glance over her head at Hunter, who returned the look knowingly. They were both acutely aware of the blood staining the back of her clothes.
Across the room, Echo leaned against the wall, arms folded, standing sentinel from a distance as Tech opened up the medkit and began organising its contents.
He kept his tone casual. "Tell me, are you experiencing pain anywhere?"
"My knees," she answered, settling her eyes upon floor, "a-and my back. I think I scraped against something when I… w-when he…" she trailed off, unable to finish. A ripple of panic disrupted Tech's I-have-everything-under-control expression. This was a complication he hadn't anticipated, and he did not have it under control.
Gratefully, Hunter swooped in. "It's okay, kid," he whispered immediately, giving her hand a little squeeze. She released a trembling breath.
Tech computed the data in nanoseconds and frowned deeply beneath the burden of comprehension. It was one of them that had done this to her... Comforting her might be okay, but this was different. It was likely going to be unpleasant. She had to know she was safe, or he could risk being more harm than help.
"Omega," Tech exhaled, turning to offer his full attention. "We are here for you. No one is going to hurt you anymore". He stated it like a fact, though it did not escape his internal logic that, technically, none of them had been successfully de-chipped yet.
Omega swallowed thickly and directed a few meek nods towards her own feet, as though trying to convince herself. "I-I know," she managed. Then, when Tech didn't move, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her gaze open and unfaltering. "I trust you".
The serious lines of Tech's face softened, giving way to the subtlest of smiles. The sensation that bloomed in his chest at her words was as lovely as it was short-lived. Like some beautiful, rare flower, blossoming in the immediate path of a raging wildfire. Before he could savour its sweetness, the dual implication of her statement hit him like an earthquake aftershock. And it shook him to his core.
He had asked for it - for her trust - like he might have asked her to pass him a tool he needed while working. But, deep down, he had done so in the vague hope that she was just going to point, and laugh, and show him that he was already holding what he needed.
But no. He had asked, and she had left to go someplace. And when she returned, clutching that precious thing, she had placed it in his hands without hesitation. Looking down upon it in his grasp, he could see that it was whole, but only because...she had stuck it back together with tape and glue.
They had broken it. And yet, she had still offered it to him, so freely, and for some reason, that hurt even worse.
With great force of will, Tech compartmentalised his anguish. He put it in a box, with a date and a label, and stashed it away. There would be time to deconstruct it later. Right now, he needed to focus. He realised Omega was looking at him like she had wounded him, so he tweaked his lips into a reassuring smile, though it was only skin deep.
"Let's start by examining your knees," he suggested gently. "May I roll up your trousers?"
Omega nodded, then leaned sideways to rest bodily against Hunter, who curled his arm around her. Absentmindedly, her fingers fiddled with the sleeve of his blacks while Tech eased off her boots and began rolling up her pants. He paused every now and again, assessing her face for any change of expression, concerned for her comfort. But besides looking a little dazed and bewildered, she didn't react. Having exposed her knees, he hummed thoughtfully - they were red, cut and grazed. After a brief examination, he was satisfied that the damage was superficial.
"Some mild abrasions and contusions," he reported. "I am going to apply some Bacta, is that alright, Omega?"
Another nod. She tugged at a stray thread. Tech prepared two Bacta patches and applied them with trained accuracy. Omega flinched with the initial contact, but as the cold gel soaked into her skin, the discomfort buzzed away and was replaced by a pleasant tingling.
"Good job, kid," Hunter praised warmly, kneading her upper arm with his hand while Tech fixed her trousers.
"Now, then, how about this sore on your back?" Tech inquired. "Where does it hurt?"
"It's sort of in the middle, right he--AH!" she twisted her arm around to gesture but doing so pulled something taut; like barbed wire woven under her ribs. Now she was frozen in place, too afraid to move, her face creased with the pain.
Tech reached up to adjust her posture, delicately moving her arm back to a resting position. She whimpered as her upper body straightened.
"Can I have a look?" he asked softly. She nodded vigorously this time, her nose still crinkled, eyes screwed tight, wordlessly begging him to make the pain stop. "Hunter," Tech murmured in a lowered tone, "lean her forward for me, please".
Hunter brought his arm up in front of her and Omega gingerly folded herself over it, pressing her face into his unarmoured bicep. His other hand stayed rested over her shoulders. Slowly, Hunter rocked her forward until she was nearly bent double. With the greatest care, Tech started to peel up the hem of her tunic. Her fingernails plunged into Hunter's arm and she hissed through her teeth as dried blood - adherent to the fabric - separated painfully from her skin. Tech paused his progression.
"You're doing great," Hunter soothed, rubbing a small line in between her shoulder blades with his thumb, hoping it might distract her.
"Mmhmm," she gritted, the sound muffled by his arm.
Once her posture had eased a little, Tech proceeded cautiously, folding the garment up until he had fully revealed the jagged, bloody gash that ran parallel to her spine, from the bottom of her ribs down to the waistband of her leggings.
"Oh, dear, ad'ika," Tech sighed. Omega nuzzled even more firmly into Hunter's embrace and stifled a sob. "Hold this for me," he instructed, rolling up the excess material so that Hunter could pin it out of the way with the hand at her shoulder. As Tech turned to the medkit, Hunter craned his neck to see, and bristled. It was a woeful sight. She was painted red.
"I am going to have to clean and dress this," Tech told her apologetically, shuffling medical implements around. "It may hurt a little, but try to sit still. I promise it will feel much better afterwards".
Omega inhaled deeply as if steeling herself. "Okay," she whispered. It was laced with fear but delivered with courage. Hunter leaned in a little closer and pressed his lips to the back of her head.
Equipped with sterile gauze, mild antiseptic soap, and the meticulous work ethic he applied to any task, Tech's brow furrowed with concentration as he began cleaning the blood from her skin. Swiping gently down the laceration, Omega squirmed, withdrawing ever so slightly from his touch.
"I am sorry, ad'ika," he breathed morosely.
"Hang in there, kid," Hunter murmured into her hair, "we're nearly done". He felt her stiffen in his grasp, holding herself perfectly still as Tech continued his ministrations. But even as she perched there, dogged and resolute, Hunter could hear her grinding her teeth. Whether it hurt or was just frightening, he couldn't tell.
Now that he could assess it properly, Tech was content that the scratch was not deep and did not require stitches. He took the tube of Bacta from the medkit and dispensed a precise volume onto his thumb. Steadying his hand on her, and using as little pressure as possible, he smoothed the gel up the length of the cut in one quick motion. The immediate, intense sting made Omega arch her back and cry out, but Hunter was there, squeezing her a little closer as she groaned against the sharp pain.
A few moments passed, and…finally, relief.
The cold burn subsided into a deep heat that seeped into her muscles, dulling the ache, and washing over her body like a wave of warmed honey. Hunter exhaled quietly as he felt her practically melt in his arms.
"Does that feel better?" Tech asked.
"Mmhmm," she sighed, blissfully this time.
Once Tech had applied a sticky bandage over the Bacta, he rolled her tunic back down, nodding with satisfaction as she sat up and tested her new range of motion.
"All finished. That was very well done, Omega".
She timidly looked between the two of them. "So, is it…my turn now?". There was quiet hopefulness in her tone.
Tech tilted his head at her. "Your turn to what?"
Omega gawped, as if astounded he needed to ask. "To look after you! All of you got hurt! I want to help…"
Tech allowed himself a wry chuckle. None of them had been seriously injured in the skirmish, and he was about to tell her as much, but the words died in his throat. There was this look on her face, one that conveyed something far more profound than simple obligation. It wasn't about necessity. It was about need. A need to be useful. To be valuable.
To be wanted.
Tech recognised it immediately.
He smiled at her. "Very well".
And with that, her eyes lit up. Like the stretch of stars into silvery threads and the press of planets, close but not touching; not even the glow of hyperspace could compare to their brightness.
Smile widening, Tech lent her a hand to hop off Hunter's lap.
"Okay, sit here," she directed eagerly, gesturing to the ground in front of her. Tech obeyed, shifting off his knee and into a cross-legged position. She stood in front of him and placed her hands on either side of his face, tilting it this way and that as she examined him for cuts or bruises.
"Tell me, are you experiencing pain anywhere?" she asked seriously. Tech laughed under his breath at her mimicry.
"I shall admit to a slight headache," he replied truthfully.
She stepped back to consider him, scrunching up her face the way she did when she was thinking, and holding a curled finger to pursed lips the way that Tech did when he was thinking. "Hm, we should check for a concussion," she mumbled, before holding out a finger at arm's length in front of him. "Follow me with your eyes, but don't move your head!"
She began to slowly drag her arm, up and down, side to side. Tech easily tracked her movements, smothering a grin as Hunter huffed a breathy chuckle.
"Good! Now I'm going to ask you some questions to check for memory loss". She motioned towards Hunter. "What's his name?"
"That's…Hunter," he answered with patient amusement.
"And what's my name?"
"Omega".
"Do you remember where we are?"
"We are on a Venator-class star cruiser, on the north-eastern continent of Bracca".
"And how did we get here?"
"I flew us here, on the Havoc Marauder, which is parked approximately 5.27 klicks directly south-south-west of our current position".
She nodded several times. "I don't think you're concussed, Tech, but probably we should still wake you up every few hours on your next sleep cycle, just to be safe".
"A very astute suggestion," Tech said sitting back, genuinely impressed. "You appear to be quite the proficient medic".
There it was again. Hyperspace in her eyes. Her irises galaxies of their own.
"Looks like you have some competition on your hands, Tech," Echo teased from across the room. "If Omega keeps this up, you could be out of a job".
Tech leaned past Omega to fix Echo with a glare. "Well, I suppose it is a good thing, then, that I perform a number of useful functions," he retorted back. Echo and Rex laughed, a pleasant sound that bounced around room, as if the walls themselves were joining in.
"Oh, no, don't worry, Tech!" Omega exclaimed with dismay, "I promise not to take your job".
Hunter craned forward to cup her shoulder. "None of us are replaceable, kid. We may be a squad, and we all play our parts, but we're also family".
Omega stared, mouth slightly agape. Rapidly, she glanced between each of them. Hunter offered an encouraging smile, while Tech nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Rex stepped forward to clap a hand to Echo's shoulder, and they both grinned.
Family.
Omega beamed, radiating with a joy that seemed to warm the very air. And for a time, none of them felt the cold.
---
Barely five minutes out of the tube, and Omega was already asleep on him. Only half upright in the chair, her head and arms slumped over his enormous vambrace. It didn't look particularly comfortable, but none of them had any intention of moving her.
Unfortunately for them, the procedure had only reached its conclusion after she had very dutifully covered every scratch and welt she could lay hands on with Bacta and a bandage. By the time she was through with them, the four of them were more reminiscent of walking sticker books than soliders. Was it a terrible waste of precious Bacta? Probably. Did the Batch care? Not in the slightest.
They were proud as hell of their kid.
Tech and Hunter had nearly dozed off themselves when Wrecker's hand finally began to lift from its place on the table. The arm that carried it was strong, thick with muscles like iron-wrought cables, but its owner knew its strength. Its power. And when he reached to stroke Omega's hair, the touch was tamed, tempered; raw destructive capability reduced to the gentlest of gestures.
He had never intended for it to be otherwise.
"Hey, kid, why the long face?"
---
And that's the end of The Space in Between: Chaos & Control arc.
Continue the adventure in the next arc, Hushed Whispers; set after Ep. 9: Bounty Lost!
The Bad Batch quietly contends with the aftershocks of Wrecker's rampage.
**SPOILER WARNING: S1E7 (Battle Scars)**
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
The first sense to return was his hearing. It began with a strange ringing sound, precipitating on the edges of his awareness like ice on the hull of a ship. It seemed far away, what was it? An alarm? No, that wasn't right. Still lost in the haze of semi-consciousness, Hunter lazily considered the noise. Although it floundered, it followed a loose pattern, lilting and hollow like some baleful song. It was fuzzy at first, but became sharper as his head cleared. It was almost… childlike.
His eyes snapped open and the corridor exploded into focus.
Omega.
It all flooded back, in synchrony with a surge of adrenaline that drove Hunter to his feet in less than a second, despite the protesting ache in his muscles.
"Woah-woah-woah, at ease, Sergeant". A hand landed on his pauldron and Hunter pivoted, striking the contact away and ducking into a battle-ready stance, his vibroknife pulled halfway out of its scabbard. There was a beat of tension before he recognised the figure.
"Rex!" He stood down, sheathing his blade. "What happened? Where's Wrecker? And Omega?"
"They're safe," Rex assured, raising his hands in a placating manner. "I managed to stun Wrecker," there was a pause, "before he could do anything".
Hunter frowned.
Before he could do anything?
He did not like the implication.
"Omega is with Echo," Tech quickly clarified, and Hunter clocked him to his right as he stood up from a crouch, datapad in hand. No doubt he had been monitoring Hunter's vitals. "They are in the medical bay".
The wailing sound was still there, ebbing in his periphery, abrading his nerves with fiery friction. Something was wrong.
"Is she okay?" he demanded, his tone close to threatening.
Rex and Tech exchanged a nervous glance, open-mouthed but voiceless, neither one knowing exactly how to respond. She wasn't necessarily hurt, per se, but…
"Tell me. Everything".
-----
Echo wandered the med bay, eyes fixed upon the floor, narrowed with focus. From a distance, the way he paced could have been mistakable for a march; each movement steady and deliberate, calculated with an ARC-trooper's level of precision. But, up close, the true cadence of his gait became apparent. It was, in fact, not rigid at all, nor was it regulation.
No. It was soft. It was gentle.
With each step, he let himself sink slightly, as though the ground he walked on was pillowy, rising and falling smoothly as he followed through. Upon reaching the end of his line, he swivelled, drifting along a wide curve before repeating his track.
It was almost a dance. A slow Waltz that promised: everything was okay.
Everything was decidedly not okay.
Omega's cheek was pressed flush against the bare skin of his neck, and he could feel the damp of her tears.
Near-death experiences were nothing new to the Bad Batch. Heck, they were an inescapable facet of life. A cup of caf with breakfast, team debrief, work out for a bit if there's time, almost die before noon, maybe a game of dejarik afterwards, then hit the bunks. Rinse and repeat. Members of Clone Force 99 did not pale at the sight of death. They preferred instead to merely flip the cocky bastard off each time they deigned to rocket by at breakneck speed. It was practically a hobby.
Echo, on the other hand, was far more…intimately acquainted. Death was not just a stranger he had passed in the street, nor a bedfellow once enjoyed and never seen again. No. Death had staked its claim on Echo. Death had taken him home. And he, in turn, had paid his toll in full. But then, he had been brought back. Slowly. Painfully. Kicking and screaming with limbs that weren't there as he was dragged from the depths of nine hells.
No one was as familiar with death as Echo was.
Omega had already experienced more than a handful of close calls since joining them (a statistic that Tech actively kept track of, to no one's appreciation). But today was different. Today, for the first time, she had been forced to stare directly into the face of Death. And when Death stared back, it had been wearing the face of a friend.
One of their faces.
Who would she see when the nightmares came? Which clone would it be, standing over her with a blaster in hand? The thought of it sat with sickening weight in Echo's centre, like an enormous frozen boulder. It made his prosthetics ache with chill, everywhere the metal met skin.
Grimacing with the discomfort, he forced himself to persevere with his walk, relying on well-practised endurance. He did not want this for her - this hurt. She was too young, too innocent. Somehow seemingly untouched from the war that had demanded from the clones not only their existence, but also their end.
His arm around her tightened almost imperceptibly. Perhaps, if he held her a little closer, she wouldn't have to know that kind of cold.
There was nothing Echo despised more…than the cold.
-----
By the time Hunter and Tech arrived at the med bay, Omega's cries had given way to breathless spluttering, but even the sound of it could not have prepared them for the sight. There she was, this tiny thing clinging to Echo like he was the only real thing left in the galaxy.
From the doorway, they watched Echo sway her to music they couldn't hear, stepping to the rhythm of choreography they didn't know. It was haunting, in its ambivalence. The beauty of it drowned by the cruelty of its requirement.
Noticing the arrival of his Sergeant, Echo slowed to a stop. He acknowledged Hunter with curt nod, but there was no comfort to be found in the hard lines of his face. The three of them stood there, facing each other across the room. Without a word uttered between them, everything that needed saying was shared in that silence.
What the fuck do we do now?
Hunter exhaled before squaring himself. They were here for a reason, and they still had a job to do. He still had a job to do. The one had been engineered for.
Keep the Batch together.
He wasn't going to lose anyone else. Never again.
"Form up", he ordered quietly, and the Batch organised into a huddle. Hunter watched Echo cradle the back of Omega's neck as he moved, keeping her secure against his shoulder. Maker, she looked so small against him. "Sit-rep".
"Wrecker is still down the hallway, where Rex stunned him," Echo supplied, quietly.
"How long do we have before he wakes up, Tech?"
"Approximately three hours," Tech stated, inspecting data on his datapad. "I've already given him an additional sedative, as a precaution".
"Alright, we need to get Wrecker back here and get that chip out".
"The surgical pod still requires some calibration," Tech reminded, motioning towards it.
"I can help with that," Echo offered.
"Alright. Echo, you finish setting up the pod. Rex and I will get Wrecker. Tech, look after Omega". They all nodded.
Hunter retrieved and sheathed his blaster, donned his helmet, and gestured for Rex to lead the way.
Tech turned to Echo. Omega's breathing had devolved into small, uncontrolled hiccups. Somehow, she looked both tense and limp at the same time, her cheek pressed uncaringly against hard plastoid, and her fist affixed to the lip of his cuirass in a white-knuckled grip. After considering her for a moment, Tech set down his datapad and moved to unclasp his chest plate.
"What in dank farrik are you doing?" Echo asked flatly.
"Testing a theory," Tech responded with typical candidness.
Having shed his upper body armour pieces, he approached Echo with arms outstretched, and made little grabby motions with his hands. Echo fixed him with a dubious look, eyebrow raised.
"Sure you can handle this?" he questioned with unmasked scepticism, his eyes flicking towards her.
Tech dropped the gesture and huffed with exasperation. "I know what I am doing," he insisted.
That statement, Echo thought, seemed debatable. Comforting a child, or anyone really, did not seem to fit within Tech's usual purview of expertise. However, when it came to subjects that were either of interest or practical value, no one was as quick a study as Tech. As long as he set his mind upon it, there were few facts that could evade his comprehension, few skills that could elude his mastery. His ingenuity was an undeniable asset to the team, of course, but it also made him rather insufferable at times. Usually Echo didn't mind, though, and he was happy to entrust Tech with close to anything, including his own life. But, in this moment, he was surprised by how defensive he felt, how reluctant he was to let go.
Brow furrowed behind yellow-tinted goggles and mouth pressed in a hard line of determination, Tech repeated the grabby motions. Echo rolled his eyes and relented with a sigh.
"Just…be careful," he warned in a lowered tone, stepping forward until Omega was nearly pressed between them. "She's fragile right now".
"I am nothing if not careful," Tech replied softly, "especially with fragile things".
Hooking one hand under her armpit, and scooping underneath her with the other, they worked in tandem to shift Omega onto Tech. She stirred briefly in the transaction, mumbling a non-verbal protest as Echo was lost from her grip. Then, her fingers found the soft fabric of Tech's blacks as she was brought against him, and she gratefully took hold, nestling her forehead against his neck. There was a beat as they waited for her to settle. When she started to tremble again, Tech responded immediately, reaching up to resume slow, cyclical motions over her shoulder blades as he had observed Echo doing to great effect.
Stepping away, Echo nodded appreciatively. He had to admit it - she did look much more comfortable without the hard plastoid armour in the way. Then he frowned, and squinted. There was something on her back he hadn't noticed before. A crimson streak discolouring the white panel of her tunic.
"Yes," Tech acknowledged darkly, having tracked his stare. "I am aware. Do not be concerned, I am going to take care of it".
Echo nodded tersely at his brother, and watched them for a few more moments before moving to crouch by the control console. Scomping in with his cybernetic, he listened, a little distractedly, as the machinery hummed to life on his command.
Ch. 1-3 (Chaos & Control): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 4-6 (Hushed Whispers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Ch. 7-? (Fears & Fevers): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Coming Soon
"You're all TRAITORS!"
The canister exploded. Wrecker twisted to his knees and coughed smoke from his lungs. He reared back up as Hunter, Echo and Rex rushed for the doorway, grunting with dissatisfaction as they evaded his aim. From where she hid, Omega watched Wrecker pursue with wicked intent, firing more shots down the hallway before barrelling after them. As soon as he was out of sight, she emerged, scurrying in a low to crouch towards Tech's prone figure.
"Tech?" she whispered urgently, gripping his arm.
A metal panel was pinning down his right side. Once a cabinet door, now broken clean off its hinges, it was inches thick, yet cratered and warped; a horrific testament to how hard Tech had been thrown against it.
Carefully, Omega pushed it aside, glancing nervously behind her as it scraped none-too-quietly against the floor.
"Tech?" she pleaded again, shaking his shoulder. No response. She swallowed, fighting down the hot, acidic bile that was rising in her throat. Somewhere not far away, the sounds of fighting continued. Yelling. Blaster shots. Metal against metal, plastoid against plastoid.
Stay calm, you can't help him if you panic now.
She pressed her small hand against Tech's jugular furrow, knowing exactly where, and leaned her cheek close to his face. The slow and steady thrum of his pulse against her fingers, the deep and even exhales brushing her ear, though encouraging, threw her own fluttering heartbeat and shallow panting into sharp relief. She had dealt with injured clones before, but not in the field, not in the midst of a firefight, and not by herself.
You can do this.
Setting her face with determination, she moved on autopilot, muscles retracing memories of medical drills practised endlessly on her watery home-world. She reached over to his far leg and propped it up so that it was bent at the knee. Gripping his blacks, she pulled it towards her and over his other leg, so that Tech rolled onto his hip. Then, she leaned over his chest to grab his arm and heaved, grunting with effort as she shifted him onto his side and into the recovery position. Peering over at the back of his head, there wasn't any blood.
"It's going to be okay, Tech," she said shakily, reaching to hold his limp hand, more to comfort herself than anyone else.
Another loud bang rattled the walls, and Omega jumped, the pulse of adrenaline like a shockwave of electricity. She reached the doorway in three strides, just in time to see Hunter collapse to his knees at the end of the passage. Wrecker stepped forward, grabbing Hunter by the back of the cuirass and hurling him against the wall with a sickening thud. He wrapped both hands around Hunter's neck, and squeezed.
Wrecker's blaster was on the ground, not too far away.
"All clones in violation of Order 66 shall be terminated".
Obscured behind Wrecker's hulking form, she couldn't even see Hunter, but his choked gasps were plainly audible. She pulled the trigger and yelped as the recoil bucked her elbow.
Wrecker's head turned, slowly, dragging his white eye from the smouldering hole in the wall to the smouldering gun in Omega's hands. Without even blinking, he cracked Hunter's head against the wall and let him go.
Omega watched him crumple to the ground, and not get up. Her mouth went dry as every thought evaporated from her mind.
Wrecker stalked towards her. The way he moved was slow, deliberate, as if she were nothing more than a mouse he intended to step on. She felt the blood drain from her face as it darkened beneath his shadow. Desperately, she searched his face, but there was no recognition there. Nothing but cold, empty purpose. The hallway swung wildly as she turned to run, feet scrambling just to keep herself upright as her centre of gravity pitched forward with vertigo.
Where are the others??
The footfalls behind her were loud, and heavy. She careened around the corner and felt her stomach lurch. A dead-end. But, wait! There was a gap under a door, maybe big enough for her to fit through? She threw herself to her knees, shoved the blaster underneath, and glanced over her shoulder just as Wrecker lunged for her. Omega dived for it, gasping as a jagged piece of metal scraped painfully against the back of her ribs, flipping over in time to catch sight of Wrecker's scowl.
Fighting to catch her breath, she assessed her new surroundings. There was no other way out of this room. She needed to hide, now.
A deafening screech, metal grating against metal, accompanied Wrecker's bellow as he forced the door open. From where she crouched, she listened, quiet with horror, as he moved about the room, his footsteps like the pacemaker of her heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Somewhere on the ceiling, exposed wires were crossed, electric circuits misfiring and producing flashes of light and showers of sparks. Thump. Thump. Her back felt hot and itchy, was she bleeding? Thump. Thump. More sounds of metal being bent carelessly out of shape. A womp rat scurried by, frightfully absconding from its own hiding place.
For an agonising moment, there was silence. Unable to stand it, she craned forward to peek towards the door, but the corridor stood empty, lights flickering overhead.
Where--?
The hairs on her neck stood on end and she looked up just as her cover was torn away. Wrecker's ominous gaze fell upon her, and she scrambled backwards.
"This isn't you, Wrecker," she cried as he squared himself towards her, "it's the inhibitor chip!"
"Conspiring with traitors makes you guilty of treason". His voice was low, and dripping with murder. Her back met solid steel, spreading cold dread through her like liquid nitrogen. Wrecker stepped closer.
"Please, stop!". Her voice cracked as she lifted the nose of the blaster towards her brother. "I don't want to hurt you!"
The sputtering lights cast sharp-edged shadows over his face, and he loomed closer still. Her eyes grew wide. He wasn't going to stop.
Though her finger trembled at the trigger, her brain couldn't command it. Her threat as empty as The Dune Sea; hinged on a hope. A hope that maybe Wrecker was still in there, that maybe she could still reach him. But then, the blaster was wrenched from her grasp and reversed on her. Staring down its black, bottomless barrel, she felt that hope evaporate. Not warmly, like steam rising off a cup of caff. No. It was a cool feeling, like rubbing alcohol on exposed skin.
"But Wrecker, I'm your friend". She heard herself say it, but it sounded small, quiet, as if from far away. Having accepted what was to come, her mind was retreating someplace, somewhere deep and untouchable.
That was it.
She had actually accepted it.
Accepted…that she was about to die.
"Good soldiers..."
And that he...was the one who was going to kill her.
"…follow orders".
Reflexively, she threw her arms over her head and waited for the end. For the burning heat, for the searing agony, for the bitter cold.
But… there was nothing. No sound. No pain.
Perhaps… she was already dead?
Then, there was a pressure on her shoulder and she jerked with the shock, her still-held breath escaping in a horrified shudder. Though, it wasn't pain, she realised, it was a hand, and the touch was gentle.
She felt another hand squeeze her other shoulder and her head snapped up, her eyes flew open. It was Rex, kneeling before her, looking at her with a harrowed expression that said it all.
Suddenly, her throat opened and she sucked in air like she had been in the vacuum of space. She went to speak, to ask what happened, but all that came out was a guttural sob. And then, it was like something broke inside her, and she couldn't stop. Rex pulled her in, and she latched instinctively onto his armour, burying her face in his neck as she howled.
"It's okay, kid, it's okay," Rex said, trying to keep his voice even. "It's over now, you're okay."
She was decompressing. Rex had seen this a thousand times before in the war, consoled many of his brothers this way. But Omega was different. She was a child. How much could someone so small endure? Her fragile frame was utterly convulsing in his arms as she bawled. It felt like trying to comfort a figurine of glass, that if he held her too tightly, she might shatter.
Omega could hear and see nothing. All she could perceive was a great heaving sensation in her centre; a twisted knot that was furling and unfurling furiously. Not even the sounds of her own tortured wails reached the edge of her senses. When Rex scooped her up, it was like she had suddenly become weightless, and now she was adrift in the darkness of space. Screaming into nothing, and hearing no one scream back.
Then, there came an echo.
Her cries hitched in her throat as she felt a different hand on her back. This one was firm, steadying, not tentative. Her eyes cracked open, but the field of her vision was narrow. A black and red chest plate. A crudely painted skull on the left.
Echo.
She twisted her body towards him, reaching out and letting herself be transferred from one clone to another. Her face sought out the base of his neck as he shifted her into his arms, supporting her in the crook of his right elbow. Shuddering with a visceral kind of violence, her tears continued, promising to drown all of Bracca in a watery grave. The hand at her back began to move in slow circles.
"It's alright, Omega, I've got you".
She didn't hear it as much as she felt it; the resonance of his voice. Through the opaque fog of her despair, Echo seemed to just…materialise beneath her.
They were floating in space together now.
She forced herself to focus on him. What could she feel? How much of him was there?
There was the warmth of his breath in her hair. The scratchiness of his stubbled jawline. The rhythmic motion of his palm on her back. Her breathing slowed. She realised his smell had become a familiar thing. It was like engine oil mixed with sea salt. Like the crashing of ocean waves against Tipoca City… Like the gentle rocking of a hammock… Her face softened. Everything was falling away into the void around her. She didn't mind, though. She let it go. She didn't need it.
