Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first few signs should have been blatantly more obvious, especially to Tech.

According to Hunter’s recounting of the mission at the time, Omega had appeased the Ordo moon dragon without having to resort to force. He had said that he found it odd, how a kid like her who had hardly been off Kamino for a week was able to connect with a carnivorous reptile so easily. Tech was inclined to agree. It was, in fact, extremely odd.

Wrecker insisted the kid was just ‘good with creatures’, but he was the only one among them who could buy - let alone convince himself - that that was true in any semblance of the word.

Echo raised the question as to whether or not it was just a lucky guess; Omega told them that the dragon had been satiated when gifted her flashlight, which served as a replacement for the electrical energy it had craved. ‘Maybe she just noticed the two were alike enough.’ That’s what he had said.

Despite his skepticism on the matter, Tech admitted that Echo made a good point, and, far too tired after the day’s unexpected turn of events to dwell on it much longer, chose to accept that as a plausible explanation.

Even so, he filed it away in his mind for a later time.

Then it happened a second time.

Wrecker was the one (and likely only capable among them) who managed to convince Muchi of his superiority and gain her favor. And yet, while she did in fact obey him as if regarding him as her ‘alpha’, she also, for whatever odd reason, took to Omega.

Rancors, while smart creatures in their own right, lack the ability to make any sort of connection between two people. As far as Muchi knew, Omega and Wrecker had nothing to do with one another.

That was when Tech started to become suspicious that something was up; not that something was wrong, per se, but unusual. Off.

And it isn’t like it’s an odd string of coincidences that, together, make it look like there’s something to be said for the seamless relationships she’s able to form with the various life forms they’ve encountered since leaving Kamino.

On multiple missions now, she has connected with other sentients, too. Trace and Rafa, Hera, and most recently, by some miracle, Roland Durand. It makes little sense to him how Omega, having almost no experience in positive interactions with others, was able to win the favor of a criminal who deals in spice.

And then there was the moment, however brief, when Roland addressed his pet.

Ruby. That’s what he called her.

He’s heard that name before, and not only that, but in regards to the same exact lizard.

Today has been the tipping point, the wake up call that Tech has unknowingly needed.

Omega is different, just like the rest of them, and at the same time, not like them at all.

Tech prides himself in his ability to closely observe people and things for prolonged periods of time. His constant desire to learn and expand his knowledge often outweighs his frequent need to stay busy, and in the case of Omega, he has thus far been able to do both at once.

Omega has swiftly taken a liking to assisting him with his work, and he finds that having an enthusiastic assistant who asks dozens of questions that he is beyond thrilled to answer is, well… fun.

In spending so much time with her, he’s begun to notice all of her habits, likes, dislikes, and general attitude, as well as how to determine her mood, despite that being an area that she herself struggles in.

That is why it cuts him so deeply that he took so long, too long, to discern the cause of her… heightened intuition.

How had he not noticed it sooner?

“Something on your mind, Goggles?”

Tech, lost in his own thoughts for Maker only knows how long now, picks his head up from where it has been resting in his palm. His arm is asleep, he realizes, elbow numb from putting all of his weight on it.

Across the bar where he’s made himself comfortable, Cid stares at him curiously, eyes boring into his soul.

He acknowledges her question with a curt wave, a shake of his head.

Cid rolls her eyes. “So what? You talk all the time, and I can’t get you to shut it, but when I ask you a question, loth cat got your tongue?”

Tech sighs, glancing behind him. At the only occupied dejarik table, Omega sits across from Echo, the two of them engaged in what appears to be an intense game. Wrecker is cheering her on, Hunter leaning against the wall and observing quietly. Echo is focused, but his pieces have dwindled down significantly from the starting number.

It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, Omega has already won. She has yet to lose a game, even against ‘professional’ gamblers and con artists; grown men with decades of experience.

Yet another mystery that lends itself to his conclusion that something is fundamentally different about her.

“If you must know,” he answers her in a low voice, because as distracted as his siblings seem to be, he would loathe them to overhear. “I believe that I have overlooked what may be a dangerous truth. I fear that my oversight will end up being of harm to us.”

Cid narrows her eyes, scanning him over. “Cryptic, are we? I can keep a secret, you know.”

Tech frowns, looking down at the empty glass in front of him, then back at her.

After extending an offer of drinks as thanks for what their squad had done today, Cid poured four shots of her strongest alcohol. Wrecker and Echo, battling exhaustion and craving an adrenaline rush, downed their drinks before Tech even got to sit. Though, his didn’t last much longer. Hunter was the only one to politely but firmly refuse any alcohol, glancing at Omega and quietly remarking that it was for the best that someone abstained this evening.

Tech is a heavyweight. It takes a lot for him to get drunk, as is the case for most clones. Even so, he chose to leave it at two shots while his brothers continued to indulge a little while longer. Hunter made a good point in that the way they handle alcohol is going to have to change in accordance with Omega’s presence.

He isn’t drunk, nor even remotely affected by the minute amount of alcohol in his system, but…

“I do not believe that it is of any significance to you.”

To his brief relief, Cid just shrugs, taking his empty glass from in front of him and depositing it haphazardly into a bucket of filthy dishes on the floor. It clatters against the other glasses and Tech winces.

“Ironic, considering everything your lot gets up to seems to end up being my problem. Whatever you say,” she replies gruffly. “But if it’s about the special kid you fellas got over there, I would say something to the rest of them sooner than later.”

‘Special kid’. What is that supposed to mean? If Cid has the same suspicions that he does, then he suddenly feels an even stronger urge to hide them. Tech bites back a reaction. “What are you referring to?”

Bluntly and without a moment’s hesitation, Cid leans forward, her face suddenly very close to his own. “Whatever it is that’s going on up in that little brain of hers.”

So she does know, to some extent. At least, she has her own suspicions, but no proof; nothing that she can use against them.

Tech remains nonreactive. “I am not sure we have the same idea.”

“You’re not a bad liar, but I’ve seen a lot of liars over the years. You can’t fool me.”

“Perhaps you are not as good at picking out a lie as you may think.”

“Perhaps. But that’s a force sensitive kid if I’ve ever seen one.”

Tech’s breath hitches, his heart stopping in his chest. The last thing he expected her to do was make the accusation outright, let alone say those two words together. And at such a high volume. Anyone could overhear.

Too nonplussed, speechless for once in his life, he whips around to eye his siblings, easing slightly upon seeing that none of them seemed to have heard what Cid had said.

Echo’s pieces have been reduced to only one, while Omega still has three of her own in play. The look on his brother’s face tells him that he already knows he’s lost, but he intends to stick it out rather than give up; she deserves the feeling of a sweet victory coming to fruition, rather than to have it handed to her.

Hunter glances in the direction of the bar, and to Tech’s dismay, they make eye contact. For a moment, Hunter simply stares as though to say ‘I know something is up’. Or maybe that is no more than Tech’s dreadful imagination. Either way, Hunter then gives him a bemused look and a small wave before refocusing on the end of the dejarik game before him.

“Do not make such accusations,” he hisses, turning back towards Cid.

But Cid, feeling entirely unthreatened and almost amused, returns a blank expression. “Look Goggles. You may have been with the Republic officially, fightin’ with Jedi and all that, but I have a feelin’ I know ‘em better than you do,” she says, leaning back against the shelf behind her. “The difference between my experience and yours is that when they came around here, a lot of em didn’t want anyone to know who they were. They tried to hide it.”

Tech raises a brow. “If you are suggesting that we were are aware of something that we have not told you-“

“Cool your jets. I’m not accusing you of anything,” she cuts him off. “I’m just sayin’ that I can identify the subtleties better than most, and that kid possesses one too many for me not to suspect something.” She shifts, and the shelf rattles behind her. “You know, I wasn’t too pleased when she came on in here and knew who I was without needin’ to try.”

In a way, he’s actually glad that she has reminded him of that. In overlooking Omega’s… odd capabilities, he has also overlooked this particular point: it’s true that Omega was the one who could identify Cid when they first came looking for her, and she seemed to have done so effortlessly.

Cid doesn’t wait for him to comment. “Only other people who came in here making claims like that were Jedi. They always knew. It was uncomfortable,” she remarks, looking slightly irritated. “That’s a feeling you get used to, but you never forget.

“That kid has some kind of connection to the force, whatever it is. Trust me on that. I can see the denial in your face, but no matter how you look at it, Goggles… she’s something real special.”

It’s true that Tech has considered other explanations as to why Omega has been able to do all that she has shown them in these last few months. Maybe it was denial like Cid said, or maybe it‘s because his brain is fundamentally wired to consider every possible scenario in any situation. Regardless, he put off the theory of force sensitivity being present in Omega for as long as he could.

At first, he wondered if perhaps she possesses heightened senses like Hunter. It would make sense, after all, in the event that she had been used as a test subject for the end result of his enhancements, or if Nala Sé wanted to see the difference between those abilities in male and female. But if that were the case, abnormalities would have immediately been present when he analyzed her genetic profile.

There were none.

He then considered the possibility that, because she was a medical assistant to Nala Sé by all official accounts, that perhaps she had gained a gentleness that came from handling patients. Unfortunately, that theory was nipped in the bud rather quickly, as official files he has uncovered (stolen) over time made no mention of Omega having any real experience with patients.

In the reports, it appears over and over again as though Omega almost never even left Nala Sé’s lab, wherever in Tipoca City that is.

A different monster for a different day, he helpfully supplies his own mind.

And then he went for many days and many nights, using his watches in the cockpit as time to privately study the possibilities that lead to Omega’s behavior.

Laying out all that he has noticed, all he has gathered over the months, he had suspected that he came to a conclusion. A conclusion that he vehemently pushed away, praying to the Maker that it wasn’t true. That he was forgetting some other, more plausible cause.

But hearing that name today, Ruby, made his head spin.

‘I don’t think Ruby likes this very much!’ She had told them, eyes darting around the rattling ship’s hull.

Wrecker had stared at her in disbelief, disgusted by the lizard. ‘You named that thing?’

Even if he was too busy trying to stay alive at the time, this would have, by itself, meant nothing to him. But then, just hours earlier…

‘Ruby?’

‘She’s my prized pet.’

‘What are you doing with her?’

‘I paid. Cid delivered.’

The exchange between Omega and Roland would have, under any other circumstances, meant nothing.

But to Tech, it was the final piece of the puzzle; the key to Omega’s insights.

Why did Roland immediately understand whom (or what) Omega was acknowledging when she addressed his lizard? Why didn’t he correct her when she called it Ruby? Why did he continue to address his long-time pet as such, when the name that she used was one that she had supposedly come up with all on her own?

Roland wouldn’t have changed the name of his pet right on the spot. He had no reason to, especially not to appease Omega. What care does he have for children, let alone keeping them happy? None. He has none.

No. It wasn’t that Omega named ‘that thing’, but that ‘that thing’ had told her what to call it.

Months of observation and consideration manifest into one coherent thought, and his hands suddenly feel cold. Numb.

All of the creatures, the unlikely friendships, the connections, the uncharacteristic and unexplainable knack for strategy despite her lack of military training. And her intuition. Oh, the things she seems to be able to notice, the little details that she can pick out of crowds.

The ability to just know, and to follow her gut because she is entirely confident that her gut is right.

And so often has it been.

Tech looks wearily to Cid. “You cannot say a word,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice low and even. “I am almost certain that Omega is not aware of this herself, and I have yet to collect concrete, physical evidence to support this discovery. There… is still a chance that I am wrong.”

“You don’t seem like the type to be wrong very often,” Cid replies. “And I know for a fact that I’m not.”

How humble of her.

“Regardless, this puts her in a lot of danger. You must understand that. It is like you said yourself. You saw the Jedi differently than we did. We saw what the execution was like,” he argues solemnly. “Even if Omega is not a Jedi…” he adds, unable to finish the thought, though he’s sure that Cid understands. “I do not want to have to ask a favor of you, but there are lengths that I am willing to go to in order-“

Cid holds her hand up, the universal gesture telling him to stop. “Despite how I feel about the rest of ya-“ and Tech scowls. “I like Tiny. If it’ll put her in danger, then nobody’ll be hearing anything from me.”

In any other circumstance, Tech would be nothing if not untrusting. While Cid has proven herself to be sincere enough thus far, and kept their identities a secret as best as possible, she isn’t exactly a strictly dedicated woman. He can’t say he blames her in any regard; in her line of work, alliances and loyalties are a rarity. They’re as skeptical of her as she is of them, and they all get along just fine for it.

But when it comes to Omega, he does believe that she means what she says.

Apparently, they have some kind of connection.

Omega has a knack for it, after all.

Tech adjusts his goggles, shooting her a stern look. “You must promise me-“

“Yeah yeah. Your secret is safe with me,” she answers dismissively. “But you can’t sit on this information for yourself. The rest of those knuckleheads need to know.”

“They may not understand without physical proof,” he argues, frowning. “Or, more precisely, they may not want to believe it, and I lack the means to test for midichlorians-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Her gaze is rock hard. “You wanna protect the kid, then you gotta take the right steps to prepare for what might come. Nothing can stay a secret forever.”

The brutal truth takes a hold of his heart, seizing his chest in a vice grip. He knows he doesn’t show it as well as the others do, and he isn’t nearly as good at child rearing, but he does care for Omega. He loves Omega as his sister, unconditionally, just like he loves his brothers, and he wants more than anything to protect her.

The Galaxy is a dangerous place for a force user, and Omega is already considered to be a fugitive, a criminal, in the eyes of the Empire. If… no, since she’s force sensitive, too, she’s a prime target no matter what. Cid is right; if the others aren’t aware, how can any of them be properly prepared for every possible scenario in which she might be put in danger?

He exhales sharply. One step at a time. First, he needs to find the necessary proof of her ability.

“I will do what is required to keep her safe.”

For once, he thinks he may actually see Cid flash him a smile. “Good.” Then she looks over his shoulder, and it’s gone. “Speak of the devil-“

Tech spins around on the bar stool to find Hunter coming up behind him, Omega securely in his arms and holding onto his bicep. She looks exhausted, a far cry from the bubbling energy that she exhibited the last time he had turned around to look at her, hyper focused on her game with Echo.

“Everything alright over here?” Hunter asks, stopping next to the counter, Omega shifting to face Tech as best as she can from her spot against her older brother’s (or more appropriately buir, but Tech isn’t going to say as much right now) chest.

Tech nods shortly. “Everything is fine.”

Omega gives him a bright smile. “I beat Echo,” she tells him proudly. “Hunter said Echo was really good at dejarik, but I beat ‘im anyway!”

Tech returns her look of joy as best as he can. He’s far from in the best mood, but for her, he has to put on a good look at the moment. “I had no doubts that you would. You are quite skilled.”

His little sister beams bigger, laying her head on Hunter’s shoulder where her hands were, and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. “I wanna play with you too next time.”

“I look forward to it.”

Hunter adjusts Omega, shifting her more to one side. “We’re gonna head back to the ship. This one is getting tired,” he says, smirking. “Game adrenaline finally wore off.”

In protest, Omega nudges him, though not unkindly. “‘m not.”

And then she yawns, her body blatantly betraying her.

“Sure,” Hunter teases, rolling his eyes playfully. “You wanna come back with us? Wrecker and Echo-“ he nods his head in their direction. “-are gonna stay a little longer and play a game of their own.”

Tech contemplates the offer for a moment, but decides against going back to the Marauder just yet. Omega has a hard time getting into bed when she knows that something is going on, and the more of her brothers present, the more there is for her to be interested in. She needs the rest after today. If Hunter can get her to settle down before the rest of them return, that would be for the best.

“I will make sure that the other two get back in one piece. In the meantime, I will stay here and read up more on irlings,” he offers. It’s only a half truth.

He will make sure they all get back to the ship, that part is true.

He catches Cid’s knowingly skeptical look out of the corner of his eye, opting to ignore it.

“Good thinking,” Hunter chuckles, and Omega yawns again, dozing off on his shoulder. “We’ll be off then.”

He takes a step towards the door, and Omega lifts her head weakly. “G’night Tech, g’night Cid,” she mumbles, giving a small wave.

“Goodnight Miss Omega. Sleep well.”
“Night kid.”

From the dejarik table, Wrecker and Echo call after them distractedly, “Night guys,” as the table comes to life with a renewed set of pieces and Echo flips a credit for first move.

By the way Wrecker grumbles, it is apparent that Echo won.

Tech watches Hunter carry Omega carefully up the steps leading out of the parlor. His seemingly natural parental instincts have him carrying her with a gentleness that he possesses only for her. The way she fits so effortlessly in his arms makes Tech’s heart ache and melt simultaneously.

She’s so small, so young, and in so much danger.

But she has the love and care of her brothers, and that of a father, to protect her.

Force sensitivity or not, that will never change; that urge to protect has only grown.

Once they cross the threshold of the bar and move out into the streets of Ord Mantell, Tech removes his datapad from his belt.

His mission, his search for answers as to how to help Omega, and proof to confirm his suspicions once and for all, begins now.

“If you wouldn’t mind-“ he starts, looking up to Cid.

But she beat him to the punch, leaning forward and placing a glass full of clear liquid that he knows will burn his throat down in front of him.

“You look like you're gonna need this.”

Chapter Text

The next few days seem to get away from Tech.

He devotes himself to his research, burying his nose in hundreds upon hundreds of files that he borrowed (stole) from Nala Sé, and before he realizes just how much he’s already consumed, it’s been a whole four days since he spoke with Cid.

The squad chooses to lay low and take it easy for a little while, an executive decision made by Hunter on the grounds that the run in with the gundarks followed by a drug deal and a hostage situation has wiped them all out. He’s right; everyone is exhausted, Omega in particular, and with the credits they made as a result of their diligence, they can realistically afford the break for once.

Normally, Tech would argue that pushing themselves to continue working through their depleted energy would result in an ultimately more sustainable payoff. However, normally, Tech isn’t caught up in such critical research.

Everything he does, he does with purpose, but this is about Omega, and Omega… she is their purpose now.

Every waking moment that Hunter isn’t forcing him to eat and drink, Tech spends reading. He consumes nearly three quarters of Nala Sé’s reports in the first two days, only slowing down when he finds himself neck deep into a series of lengthy files concerning the various blood tests the Kaminoans have performed over the last decade.

He hopes to find something that mentions midichlorians, or the use of Jedi (or Sith, though he puts that particular thought out of mind) blood, but is unable to uncover any within the first half of the records. The most recent he’s just finished dates back five years ago, when Omega was roughly three or four by his calculations.

It stands to reason that any fundamental alterations to her blood that were not made prior to her decanting would have been made within the first few months of her life so as to prevent issues later on as best as possible. But that does not seem to be the case.

All hope is not lost. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway. He still has thousands of pages to review, and is motivated by Omega’s excited giggles when Wrecker lifts her with one hand, and the pitter patter of her feet against the floor whenever Echo calls for her help with a repair.

He’s motivated by the looks she gives Hunter, young eyes filled with adoration and wonder; love.

He’s motivated when she comes up beside him and tries to look over his shoulder, innocently asking about what he’s reading.

‘I am reading about the basic functions of the sentient human body.’ And it isn’t a total lie.

Luckily, sans Omega, none of his siblings try to ask him what he’s reading up on, or as Wrecker tends to say, ‘Whatcha lookin at’. Unlike their sister, they grew up around Tech, and witnessed him read for days at a time about miscellaneous mundane things for his own enjoyment. Not to mention that they usually just aren’t interested, because whatever the topic is, they are typically much less invested in random facts or data than he is.

Although, he is one-hundred percent certain that they will be very interested in what he finds at the end of this seemingly never ending tunnel of information.

He reaches a set of briefly written notes mentioning blood samples extracted from Omega sometime a few years ago, scanning them over. While he finds them to be unimportant at their surface, he knows better by now; shifting to a second screen, - the one he’s been using for taking extensive notes - he copies the information.

“Tech?”

Tech nearly launches his pad across the cockpit, flailing in surprise when Omega comes up behind him and not so gently (but with no ill intent, he’s sure) taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

She gasps at his sudden jolt, pressing her hands over her mouth. Tech hurries to press the screen of the pad flush up against his chest, flicking it off before she can catch a glimpse and ask any questions. Chances are, with how far hunched over the screen he was, she hasn’t seen anything.

“I’m sorry!” she yelps, though the giggle rising in her throat is poorly hidden. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Inhaling sharply, Tech flashes a weary smile. “Do not worry, I was engrossed in my work and did not hear you approach,” he replies, placing the datapad on the console in front of him. “Is there something you need?”

But his sudden scuffle with the datapad seems to have garnered her attention despite his hopes that she would simply pass it off as having frightened him, and not because there was anything of interest that he was looking at.

She glances over his shoulder, blinking.

“What were you doing?”

The question is innocent enough. Omega is naturally curious, always eager and willing to learn. If there’s some kind of secret, let alone one involving her, she’ll only want to know more, and that is something he cannot have.

Tech clears his throat, meeting her gaze steadily with his own. “I was busying myself with Imperial ship manuals,” he lies. “With our own ship up to date, I have not had much to keep myself busy with in our unexpected down time.”

He feels guilty lying to her, it makes stomach lurch and his chest ache; a necessary burden he must bear. It will all be for the best in the end.

Omega hums quietly, as if contemplating his response. Maybe she can tell that he’s lying to her. Is that an ability that she has? Can she read explicit lies?

If she can, she doesn’t say anything.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she grabs his arm and tugs lightly. “Well- I need your help! It’s really important!”

Tech raises a brow. Seeming to remember her mission, the reason she came to find him to begin with, she almost sounds worried all of a sudden, a very different look on her face than she had had just moments ago, amused by the way he startled.

“Is something the matter?” he asks carefully, getting the idea to scan her over for injuries. “You are not in any danger, are you?”

“N-No, not like that!” she replies, pulling the sleeve of his blacks with more force than the last time. “But I found something and I don’t know what it is.”

Ah, a simple case of her blooming curiosity getting the better of her. It’s a frequent occurrence, one that Tech and his brothers have quickly grown accustomed to. It’s usually an easy situation to handle; offer an explanation that satiates her need to understand, and who better for the task than Tech (at least, that’s what the others always say).

He huffs a laugh and pushes himself up out of the pilot’s chair, reaching behind him for his datapad. “Show me the way.”

Immediately, Omega starts pulling him along, her significantly smaller stride making it difficult for Tech not to trip over her or himself. She hurries forward at her own pace, through the ship’s hull, past Wrecker napping in the seat beside the navicomputer, and out towards the open ramp of the Havoc Marauder.

He has to be extra mindful when she’s leading him down the stairs, terrified of what may happen if he were to trip and fall now, toppling her over and probably hurting her under his weight.

“Where are we-“

“Just come on!”

At the bottom of the ramp, before he has an opportunity to take the last step down, Omega stops without any warning, releasing his hand and crouching in the reddish dirt of the docking bay hangar.

“Look!”

Tech, dazed and little confused, watches as she presses one hand into the dirt, wincing at the thought of how filthy she’s going to get doing that, and uses the other to point to a spot on the ground.

Slowly, so as not to kick her by mistake, Tech plants his feet in the ground and moves to her side farthest from the ramp, kneeling down in the dirt next to her.

Laying on the flat surface, just an inch or so from her hand, is a small, round, dark green insect. It’s hardly the size of her index finger in comparison, the creature upside down and flailing on its back, small legs kicking aimlessly as if trying to find purchase on an invisible surface above it.

“Ah, I see,” he nods, pushing his googles up his nose. “That is what is called a bitz bug, a common type of beetle found Galaxy wide. It is a harmless creature that tends to rest on small branches or inside the deep crevices of old buildings.”

Omega looks up at him, listening intently as always. “I thought beetuls were big bugs?”

“Not beetul, beetle,” he clarifies, clearing his throat and enunciating the last few syllables. “T-L-E, as opposed to T-U-L. A beetle, T-L-E, is a class of insect.”

Her lips form a circle in a silent ‘oooh’ of understanding. “It can’t hurt you?” she questions further, eyes wide and blinking quickly.

He shakes his head, frowning slightly. “No, it cannot. Why? Did you touch it?”

Not that anything bad would become of her or the beetle if she has touched it, but something about Omega gaining a habit of touching insects she can’t identify frightens him.

To his relief, she tilts her head to one side and smiles. “Nope! But now I can!”

Bewildered, Tech furrows his brows. “Why do you want to touch it?”

Her answer comes before he’s barely finished his inquiry. “It’s stuck, see!” She gestures to its endlessly wiggling legs. “It can’t get back up.”

Well, actually… it can get back up.

Still rather confused, he leans closer to his sister, - and to the bug - shuffling his knees in the dirt. “You intend to help it stand again?”

“Yup!” she grins proudly, childish innocence shining in her eyes.

“Omega, insects of this nature do not require outside assistance in the event that they fall over,” he explains, trying to be gentle. He can’t wrap his head around the apparently very strong desire to help the bug to its feet.

His sister frowns deeply, forehead creasing with disappointment. “But- aren’t we supposed to help things in need? The bitz bug is stuck!”

Ah, of course; Omega has, since the beginning, the tendency to blur the line between helping others in need, and giving unwanted or potentially unsafe assistance to creatures they have encountered in their travels. Not strangers, due to the unfortunate lesson she learned in interacting with unknown sentients alone, but plenty of little animals.

On more than one occasion, Hunter has had to pull her hands away from feral street cats or wild creatures with large teeth.

“It may be stuck, but it is wired with the full ability to find its footing eventually. Helping it may stunt any self reliance that it still needs to learn.”

Omega’s lips fold into a full blown pout, the kind that Hunter often gets during sleep shifts. “But- it’s scared, Tech!”

Trying his best to keep his cool, because he knows that her outbursts of emotion are something she can’t yet control at her young age, he breathes deeply through his nose. “I highly doubt that it feels any fear-“

“It does.” she argues stubbornly, crossing her arms firmly over her chest, squeezing her hand closed. “Don’t you see how scared it is?”

And then it clicks. Maybe the delay in his processing is due to how much he’s been reading for the past few days putting some strain on his eyes. Maybe it’s because he just isn’t as good at understanding Omega’s feelings as Hunter is. Regardless, he finally manages to make the connection.

What if Omega is right? What if this insect the size of her fingernail does in fact feel some level of distress or anxiety in its current position? For one thing, it’s on its back. For another, two significantly larger unknown shadows are looming above it, bathing it in darkness. It stands to reason that, perhaps, him and Omega may be contributing to its this fear that she insists it’s feeling.

More importantly, however, Tech wonders if the reason that Omega is so adamant about her intuition is because it isn’t intuition at all, but plain fact.

As much as he hesitates to view the situation through the lens of data collection, this may be an opportune moment to gain a further understanding; how does her force sensitivity feel to her? What does it tell her, and through what means? In other words, is she communicating with the insect?

As softly and calmly as he can manage because, again, he is not nearly as skilled as Hunter is at this sort of thing, he asks her “What about the beetle tells you that it is afraid?”

Omega looks at him as though he’s gained another head; as if it’s obvious.

“It just- it’s moving around like it’s trying to get back up… and-“ she sighs frustratedly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t know. I just… kinda know? It feels like- I mean, I know it must be scared like this. It’s like it’s kinda trying to tell me it’s scared.”

So it’s the insect, he notes to himself, that she believes is communicating its needs to her directly, much like Ruby must have. She explains it to him as though the beetle could talk.

Good to know.

“I see,” he responds softly, moving his hand to his belt and plucking a flathead tool from the front pouch. “Here. Use this to flip the bitz bug back to its feet. It is a method preferable to picking it up with your own hands.”

Because it’s dirty, and nobody knows where the bug has been. But he bites his tongue and leaves that part out.

Omega’s eyes light up as he offers her the tool, glistening with joy. “Really? But I thought-“

“You make a compelling argument,” he tells her, and that’s mostly true. It’s also the fact that, if this connection with living beings is indeed a primary result of force sensitivity, then he’s afraid that preventing her from acting on her instincts in ultimately harmless situations may prove a hindrance to learning more.

Suppression of her ability could have potentially damaging results.

With an excited gasp, she snatches the tool out of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. She holds it in between two fingers, leans closer still to the insect on the ground, and gently shimmies the flat side of the tool underneath it.

It takes a careful nudge, eyes narrowed in concentration, and nothing more to flip the bug over. The moment that its small legs find the ground, it begins crawling away at a fast pace before taking to the air, flying up right past Omega’s nose.

His sister giggles and falls back from her crouch into sitting on the dirt, beaming with pride.

“Now it can go home!”

Tech sighs, taking the tool from her hand. “Yes, I suppose it can.”

He’s unable to hide the smile creeping up his lips, the stress of his high stakes research momentarily forgotten.

Over his shoulder, the crunch of heavy pairs of feet marching across uneven ground suddenly catches both of their attentions. Omega whirls around, scuffing her pants in the dirt and causing a small cloud to fly up around her knees.

“You’re back!”

Hunter and Echo, each one of them carrying a few small crates of what should be important supplies - water, rations, first aid material - in their hands. Echo balances his on his palm, holding it upright with the scomp hand, while Hunter ungracefully cradles an armful.

“Yup, got everything we need for at least two weeks,” Echo announces, cocking his head up. “What’re you two doing in the dirt?”

Tech opens his mouth to reply, but Omega beats him to it, jumping to her feet and kicking up another cloud of rotten dirt in the process. “I found a bug!” she informs them.

Tech can practically see the alarm bells go off briefly in Hunter’s mind, turning to him ready to ask what kind of bug and whether or not it was a safe discovery. Anticipating this reaction, Tech quickly calms his nerves.

“A bitz bug. Harmless. However, it was trapped on its back, and Omega ventured to assist it.”

Moving towards Echo to help him with his load, his sister nods fervently. “Mhm! I flipped it over and it flew away.”

She makes a big, vague gesture with her arms in the direction it had gone.

Echo allows her to take the topmost crate, and Hunter’s skepticism turns to affection. “Oh yeah, that so?” he asks as Omega takes a crate from him as well. This frees up one of his hands, which he extends to gently ruffle her already messy head of thick hair. “Good job, kid.”

If as much is even possible, Omega’s grin widens, and Tech wonders if it hurts her cheeks to smile so big.

Does it really matter as long as she’s safe and happy?

His siblings make it to the ramp, Echo going first as is the often unspoken courtesy when their lives are not in danger. Omega follows, practically bouncing, and Hunter distantly brings up the rear.

“You need help gettin’ up?” he teases, and Tech only rolls his eyes.

“I will join you inside in a moment.”

The trio ascends the ramp in full, and the familiar sounds of Wrecker waking up from a long and impromptu nap rattle the ship. Omega squeals something about getting up, calling him a ‘sleepy head’, and Wrecker rumbles a laugh before replying with some quip about needing his beauty rest.

As exhausted as he feels having done such extensive research already, Tech knows that he’s far from finished. He won’t ever be until he knows the truth behind Omega’s ‘enhancement’ and has gained a solid enough understanding of the force for the rest of them to be able to help and protect her. It is their duty.

Seeing her so happy, so young and naïve, it gives him a renewed energy; motivation to keep plowing forward and find answers to what exactly Omega is dealing with - what all of them are dealing with - and how best to handle it.

Heaving himself off the ground and brushing his hands on his legs, Tech sighs, glancing at the datapad attached to his belt.

He is going to find answers. He has to.

Chapter Text

The confirmation that Omega’s connection to the force seems to be deeply influenced by her own feelings as well as the feelings of those around her proves helpful in comparison to his other findings thus far. While he had already found files and notes that lent proof to his hypothesis, this particular data put much of what he’s uncovered into a clearer perspective.

Unfortunately, Tech finds himself unable to get much research done in the days that follow his latest discovery.

Hunter is captured, Omega is in distress, and when they finally manage to reunite, Kamino falls, trapping them inside with Crosshair following a mentally taxing ordeal that nobody could have anticipated. The escape takes nearly two days, and at the end of it all, Crosshair chooses not to go with them.

Needless to say, his research is put on hold for the sake of protecting his family and keeping them as together as such could possibly be under the current circumstances.

After escaping the wet, suffocating prison, Hunter suggests that they lay low on a moon not far from Kamino to recoup before they attempt to make the journey back to Ord Mantell.

Nobody puts up an argument. Not even Echo, who normally detests the idea of ‘recovery time’ after battle.

The Marauder, covered by a canopy of trees, dark sky overhead sparkling with dim stars, Tech thinks his worries may finally be fading away. Omega is fast asleep with Hunter, the pair of ‘buir’ and ‘ad'ika’ as the brothers tease - even though it’s entirely true, and Hunter is unable to deny as much - sharing his bunk. They have been every night for the last week following Omega’s intended offhand complaint that she’s struggling with sleep

She tells them that she’s cold, but they all know from their own experience that she’s having nightmares, exhibiting all of the telltale signs; jittery, cautious, constantly droopy.

Echo is lying down on his own bunk, though Tech doubts that he’s asleep; he’s been staying awake longer before getting any rest with Omega in the room, concerned that she may be downplaying her nightmares due to the fact that she hasn’t admitted to them. Tech suspects that he may be trying to covertly ascertain the severity of such nightmares, but has yet to do so.

Nobody knows nightmares better than Echo does.

As for Wrecker, Tech isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing other than the fact that he is outside and nearby. He can hear his heavy footsteps crunching in the leaves. His educated guess is that his brother is either collecting logs, - both to exercise with and to use as firewood - or simply pacing. It has always been Wrecker’s way of coping, Tech has observed, to wander in relative silence.

He isn’t sure he understands how it helps, but as long as it works for Wrecker. That’s what Hunter always says.

As for Tech, he has taken up the seat in the gunner’s mount since Omega is sleeping elsewhere, and has yet to move. It’s been roughly three standard hours since he and his siblings split off, and he has done nothing but read.

Now that everything is calm again, relatively speaking, he has picked up where he left off in his research. Last he had time to, he finished running over blood samples and compared his notes to what he gathered about Omega via her personal account. Granted, she was unaware that he had questioned her further about her feelings toward the insect for the purpose of data collection, but she gave him the answer he needed nonetheless.

According to what he already knows, one’s force abilities being controlled primarily by their feelings is often a sign of a lean towards the dark side. As alarming as it may sound, he is not at all concerned: plenty of Jedi throughout history have been emotionally driven and turned out just fine in the end. Not to mention that the effects of her connections have been consistently positive in nature.

Besides, she has no outside influences to draw her in either direction. That is likely for the best.

As he scrolls through records of Jedi who were, sometime in the last decade, still padawans, he inadvertently hums reactively to any interesting information that he uncovers.

He’s currently in the process of looking for any unique occurrences of the force being emotionally charged while in use by a Jedi in training; someone without extensive experience. One in particular that he’s reading up on now, a boy by the name of Bardan Jusik, possessed the rare ability to not only heal with the force, but to erase unpleasant or painful memories from others’ minds.

It doesn’t sound like something that Omega can do, but it is certainly motivated by feeling, and so he copies the information down to refer back to later.

Tech has had no luck with any of Nala Sé’s extremely cryptic reports. Almost nothing about Omega seems to exist in her straightforward records, aside from a handful of checkup sheets and blood sample charts from over the years that mentioned nothing about the force, midichlorians, or anything in between.

Yet unable to decipher the code she used to take a chunk of her notes regarding her most prominent research, he’s moved on to (stolen) Jedi temple records that he hopes may at least explain Omega’s abilities displayed thus far.

Apparently, Bardan Jusik also had a tendency to follow his feelings in most scenarios, a fact that his Master, a man by the name of Arligan Zey, seemed to note with contempt. Jusik had a history of being close with a group of clone commandos, and supposedly resigned from the Jedi Order due to what Zey wrote were “fundamental differences in ideology”.

“Ironic,” Tech mutters.

Even if Nala Sé made it extremely difficult for those who are not privy to her information to understand it, he is still making headway, or at least he thinks he is. He has multiple recorded instances of Jedi who have experience communicating with creatures via telepathy and intuition, as well as Jusik’s file to refer back to. Better to know something than nothing, at least for now, especially considering how limited his knowledge of the force really is.

He’s put aside every file with Omega’s name, or scarcely used early development designation (simply A2, which he can infer stands for Alpha Two), for later observation.

Every detail matters, and he intends to be more thorough than he ever has been.

Reaching the end of Jusik’s file, Tech runs a hand down his face, closing his eyes and plucking his goggles off of his nose, letting them rest on his forehead. He can’t stop, not until…

Not until they can keep Omega safe. Not until he knows everything.

Whatever Nala Sé did (or maybe what she didn’t do, maybe it was an accident), it redefined science. If it were anything else, anyone else, he would be impressed. But it isn’t. It’s Omega. She did something to Omega. What did she do? How is it physically possible to artificially produce a force sensitive being?

Midichlorians are naturally occurring, often performing what many refer to as miracles. Controlling them, creating them, is by all accounts not possible.

Wait.

Tech’s eyes shoot open, and he scrambles to find the notes he’s saved on the datapad.

Artificial midichlorians aren’t possible.

A transfusion post-decanting would be physically destructive.

And Jango Fett obviously wasn’t force sensitive in the slightest.

But what if…

There. Right at the top of his notes, one of the first files to catch his attention weeks ago: a data sheet dated back approximately eight years ago, written entirely in code with the exception of two words in the header.

‘Fluid compound’.

At the time, he put it aside because it was coded. Code, in the case of Kaminoans, equates to being of the utmost importance. But he hadn’t thought much else of it, other than the idea that it may come in handy later.

There’s not much to be said about cloning the blood of a force sensitive individual, but taking their blood? Borrowing it? That’s just as possible as it would be with any other living being.

So what would, in theory, occur in the event that Jango’s blood, ideal for cloning, had been compounded with blood containing a strong midichlorian presence? Hence, the fluid compound. What if that blood was created before the body that it was intended for? One step at a time, as it were. And what if the blood wasn’t curated to fit the vessel like that of the clone soldiers, but the vessel curated to fit the specifically unique new blood that resulted from the experiment?

What if, in theory, the vessel that the blood was given to was never entirely artificial in nature to begin with?

Chapter Text

Tech places his goggles back over his eyes.

The world around him suddenly feels as though it’s moving in slow motion, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is going. The pieces are falling neatly into place.

At least, as neat as they can be while the file remains coded. There’s this overwhelming feeling in his chest that this must be it; this particular file is the answer. His proof? There is none, and his theory could be wrong. But he doubts as much, because he’s running out of possible explanations for a question that can only have so many feasible answers. He’ll know once he finds the cipher holding him back.

Tech will crack it.

He has to.

There is no such thing as a code without a key, and so long as he can find and gain an understanding of that key, then none of Nala Sé’s reports are safe in his possession much longer. It’s only a matter of time, and he can feel himself closing in on the truth.

Suddenly, Wrecker’s heavy footsteps announce his reentry to the Marauder, the ship shaking briefly under his added weight, followed by the clattering and whirring of the ramp being closed behind him. He grumbles and sputters to himself, stumbling towards the refresher.

Tech rotates the chair of the mount to face the rest of the ship behind him just in time to watch Wrecker loudly disappear behind the rattling ‘fresher door.

He sighs, clicking the datapad off for the time being, eternally paranoid that someone will look over his shoulder, and slides out of his perch, taking one step at a time down the short ladder. He’s hit with the feeling of cool air on his back, a stark contrast from the warmth of the gunner's mount.

Standing up now, he feels his exhaustion crash over him like a wave of cold water. If only he could go forever without sleep, a wish he’s had since he and his brothers were still cadets. But he knows enough about the clone body to understand why rest matters, even if he often chooses not to get as much as he should be.

Now, fully recovered from the events of Kamino, he is instead being overtaken by his research, lack of sleep quickly catching up to him. He’ll be no use to anyone if he’s too tired.

That being said, the bunk room doesn’t have the space for four to sleep at once. The small compartment to the side - more like a closet than any kind of real room - is fit with three bunks: two on the wall parallel to the door, one on top of the other, and a third on the adjacent wall, slightly smaller than the others. With sleep cycles, every one of them usually uses a different bunk depending on the time of night or whose turn is when.

But taking a break means that sleep cycles are messed up. Years ago, before Echo and Omega came along, it was never an issue. They so rarely all slept at once that three bunks was just fine, and if they needed to, Tech, being small and compact, would share with Crosshair who is tall and lanky. When Echo joined, he always got the first chance at an empty bunk despite his protests. Then Wrecker or Crosshair, while Hunter and Tech would sleep in the cockpit. Soldiers are trained to sleep in odd places, and it isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as many expect it to be.

In this case, however, nobody can share with Wrecker because he’s too large, or Echo because he needs the space with his prosthetics. Omega could share with Tech, but then Hunter would have nowhere to go, and she would likely wake up wondering out of habit where her buir has gotten off to.

Contemplating his best option, Tech hears the refresher door rattle open again, and Wrecker emerges groggily.

“What’re ya still doin up and around?” he asks, knitting his brows. “You ain’t still readin’ are ya?”

Tech glances up at his brother, drawing his lips into a thin line. “I was just concluding my… reading for the night,” he answers slowly. “I will be going to sleep shortly.”

Wrecker nods, rubbing the back of his head. “A’right, you take the bunk.”

Scowling, Tech stares in disbelief. “Nonsense. The chairs are far too small for you to get adequate rest. I will be fine.”

Wrecker crosses his arms over his chest, opening his mouth to argue further, his good eye twitching, but he’s cut off by a sudden shuffling in the bunk room that catches both of their attention.

“…at happened? Everything okay…?”

Echo’s low voice says something to someone in the bunks, and both Wrecker and Tech look away from one another, moving swiftly to the door. Tech can sense a sudden urgency in the air, and it makes his stomach do somersaults. He can take a guess, but he quite hopes it’s wrong. The door opens for them automatically with a low whoosh.

Sitting up in his bunk, leaning over the side and looking at the floor is Echo, frowning deeply as he watches the scene before them.

Tech follows his gaze, his chest clenching.

Hunter is on the floor, legs crossed and head down, Omega lying limply in his lap. If her body wasn’t shaking, back heaving with nearly silent sobs, one would think she’s asleep. Her nose is buried into the crook of Hunter’s neck, tiny hands clinging to the sleeves of his blacks.

Her buir holds her close to his chest, one hand around her shoulders, the other across the bottom of her back. “Shhhh, you’re okay,” he whispers, voice gentler and softer than Tech has ever heard it before.

Omega sniffles harshly, hiccuping, trying to say something that none of them seem to be able to make any sense of.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Hunter continues trying to soothe her, sounding almost desperate. The waver in his voice is more apparent than he wants it to be, no doubt, but for her, he’s trying his best.

It makes Tech’s heart hurt, seeing Omega in such a state. He’s seen her cry, seen her break down, seen her vulnerable and feeling isolated, scared. But he doesn’t think it will ever get any easier. It’s too much to take, to see his little sister broken and in pain.

He feels powerless to help her, not as good at providing comfort as he wishes he was. The undeniable fact is that out of them all, he is the least equipped to handle high stakes emotional situations, and even more so now knowing what he does about her capacity to feel.

That knowledge suddenly feels heavier on his shoulders than it already has.

“I- I w-want it ta- go a-away,” she chokes out, fists around his blacks visibly tightening, white knuckled.

Hunter holds her closer, if that much is even physically possible. “Want what to go away, ad'ika?”

Ad'ika. It slips out so naturally, as if he isn’t calling her his own child, his little one, a Mandalorian term that means so much in so few syllables, so readily. As if he’s been doing it his whole life. As if the term of love and endearment doesn’t carry the weight of the world for Omega. At any other moment, it would turn heads, maybe earn him a gentle tease if she was out of earshot. Now, it only serves to squeeze hearts.

“Bad dreams,” she breathes, hiccuping again and again, soaking Hunter’s collar.

Echo stands up from the edge of the bed, looking just as pained and shaken as Tech feels. Wrecker makes a small sad noise beside him, shuffling restlessly. Tech gets the feeling that he wants to move forward to help, but just like the rest of them, doesn’t have any idea how despite being the most tactile among them.

Hunter looks up from Omega briefly to communicate with his brothers, his shaken frown creasing his forehead. ‘Ideas?’ he mouths, making eye contact with Tech. He’s asking for a solution, something to help calm her down.

Tech nods his head slowly. ‘Melatonin.’

On the floor, suddenly squirming anxiously, Omega turns so that one side of her face becomes visible to her brothers, forcefully choking down a sob. “N-No s-sleeping pills,” she begs quietly, apprehension thick in her voice. “I- I’ll s-stop crying I- I promise-“

The silence that follows her plea is deafening.

All of his brothers hear it, notice it, think it. Omega wasn’t watching Tech. She couldn’t have seen his lips move. He made no noise. Hunter’s question, maybe; maybe she felt it from his chest, or the faint sound of his mouth near her ear.

But not Tech. She shouldn’t have known what Tech said, too overwhelmed up by her evidently overbearing emotion to have possibly guessed.

At least, to the rest of them she shouldn’t have. But Tech, he knows, and he can’t say a thing.

Not only that, but the panic in her voice at the mere suggestion of medication, and the desperate promise to stop, to shove her pain down and hide it away, worried that she’s burdening them?

He can’t take it.

He suspects none of them can, and would wager to guess that they will be having a private discussion about it in the near future.

“Omega, no,” Hunter replies, words nearly audibly catching in his throat. “Kid, you’re allowed to… to cry. As much as you need to, okay? Take your time. We gotcha. We want to help you.”

She hardly need hear more, burying her face back into his shoulder and letting caught up cries escape in pained gasps.

Somewhere behind him, - or maybe to one side, Tech isn’t entirely sure - Echo mutters something about going to get her some water, and Wrecker follows, most likely to retrieve Lula from the gunner’s mount.

Standing there, watching, helpless, Tech moves ever so slowly towards his brother and sister on the floor.

“Is there anything that I can do?” he asks, blinking owlishly.

Hunter nods, smoothing over the top of Omega’s hair with one hand. “Y-Yeah. Come take her for a second. I need to get her off the floor.”

Without requiring further instruction, Tech takes one large step forward and leans down, arms open wide.

He has very little experience with this kind of thing, but now is not the time to let his discomfort control him. He won’t ever learn if he doesn’t try.

Tentatively, reluctantly, Hunter lifts Omega up from his chest, the little girl making no indication that she doesn’t want this, curling in on herself as Tech hoists her up in his arms.

It feels… weird… to hold her against his chest the way that Hunter always does. Not bad, not at all, but… weird. He cannot think of any better way to describe it other than… weird.

But it’s a good kind of weird. Or… it would be, maybe, if she wasn’t in such distress. Her body is shivering under his touch, slowing tears falling onto his shoulder and soaking through his blacks.

He wonders briefly if she’s only accepting being held by him, the least forward of her brothers, because she’s too vulnerable to resist.

But… no. She presses into him, grips him the way she did Hunter: like her life depends on it. Like if she lets go, she’ll die. Like he’s the most important person in the galaxy.

Hunter maneuvers himself onto the bed, sitting over the edge for a moment before swinging his legs up and leaning against the backboard. He airs out the thin blanket, holding it to one side.

“Put her here,” he instructs, tapping his lap.

In a rare moment of… vulnerability? Protectiveness? Tech hesitates, blinking and placing a hand on the back of Omega’s head, hand in her hair, finding some semblance of comfort in her corporeality.

He quickly snaps out of it, however, moving forward, bending his head so as not to hit it on the bunk above.

Omega sniffles harshly, allowing herself to be passed between her brothers again. She’d almost be limp, if it wasn’t for her strong fists holding on to whoever it is is holding her back.

The second she lands in Hunter’s grasp, she melts into a puddle of blonde hair, sinking into his lap. He pulls the blanket over her, and suddenly Tech notices how small she is, wrapped up in what can barely be compared to a real, genuine blanket.

“I- don’t wanna g-go back to s-sleep yet,” she pleads, looking up at him through messy bangs plastered to her cheeks by dried tears.

“You don’t have to,” Hunter answers, biting his bottom lip. “Just… rest. For now. You don’t need to fall asleep.”

She glances at Tech from under the blanket, frowning deeply, eyes glossy and dim. He tries to offer her a small smile, unable to muster any true reassurance.

By the way she shifts, burying herself under the blanket as if to get comfortable, he wonders if she knows that he’s trying his best; that he wants to help.

Can she sense it?

“How did you find yourselves on the floor?” Tech inquires, both out of curiosity and concern, trying not to sound unkind or judgmental as he knows he often inadvertently does.

Fortunately, Hunter doesn’t seem to take any offense, nor Omega. Though Tech isn’t sure Omega is listening much anymore, clinging to Hunter and rubbing roughly at her watery eyes. “She jolted. Hit me awake, rolled out of bed. Echo was asleep, but it woke him up, too. Good thing is that it doesn’t look like she hurt herself, but I’d appreciate if-“

“I will give her a scan come morning,” he answers briskly, already trying to give her a visual once over to ensure she is unharmed.

Watching Omega, observing the way she finds solace in Hunter, plagued by the nightmares she has yet to fully confide in them, Tech wonders what it is she sees. She’s so young, too young. What is it that she sees that is the cause of this distress?

When he and his brothers were her age, they experienced nightmares of their own. They aren’t strangers to haunting images of blood and death, trained soldiers from day one. But Omega isn’t a soldier. She’s just a child; their little sister. Technically older or not, it doesn’t matter. Omega is just a little girl. She wasn’t trained for this.

And even if she had been, even while they were, it will never make it less awful, nor deserved.

Tech wonders, too, if Omega’s connection to the force influences her nightmares. Does it make them worse? Do they feel more real? Does it make it harder to escape?

Do her strong connections, her attachments, to the people around her shape the horrors that dance across her vision while she sleeps?

The discernible sound of Echo’s prosthetics moving across the floor is something that he becomes acutely aware of as they approach him from behind. Wrecker’s poor attempts at moving around quietly aren’t far to follow.

“Cold water,” Echo announces, holding up a round flask that is likely the first thing he could find to hold a drink. Around here, Tech isn’t really surprised. “If anything… happens again. It always helps me snap back to it, a’right?”

He hangs it on the end of the bunk by its strap, dangling and clanging against the edge as it finds its balance.

Omega nods, lips neutral in what Tech thinks is probably her best effort at a look of gratitude. “Thank you Echo,” she murmurs, clearly exhausted.

He smiles wearily in return. “You got it, kid.”

Wrecker, no doubt getting impatient by now, nearly surges forward. “I gotcha Lula from yer room,” he booms, and when everybody else winces at his volume, he doesn’t notice, focused solely on Omega, who has no such reaction.

He extends his hand with the limp doll resting gently in his palm. Despite his loudness, he remains soft as ever with their little sister. Omega snakes her arm out from under the blanket and accepts Lula tightly in one hand, pressing her against her cheek while Hunter keeps the blanket from falling off her shoulders.

Wrecker looks rightfully pleased with himself, though nervous all the same.

“T-Thank you, guys,” she whispers, voice squeaking as more tears threaten to spill over, collecting in a pool around her lashes.

Hunter adjusts her where she lays across him, then begins to nonchalantly run a hand through her hair in what Tech identifies as a method of calming. “We’re here for ya, ‘Mega. Just try and get some rest, even if you aren’t sleeping.”

Wrecker and Echo hum their agreement, but Tech feels himself unable to add or to agree. Not because he doesn’t, but because he notices the way she starts to relax under Hunter’s touch, cuddling into him and more or less hugging his side the way that she gets closer in her search for comfort.

She looks so small, even smaller than she had curled up on the floor sobbing until she wasn’t making any more noise.

And that’s because she is. She is small. She’s just a kid.

Just. A. Kid.

“I will leave you to rest,” he says softly, his gaze meeting Hunter’s. “It will be more beneficial for you to take ease the less people there are present. It is easy to feel worn out after such an ordeal.” When she gives him a look, a look that plainly asks ‘don’t go too far’, he quickly adds “Do not worry. We will remain on the other side of the wall.”

‘We’ meaning Wrecker and Echo too, and luckily they’ve already taken the hint. He knows that they want to stay here, as does he, as does she, but from a purely scientific perspective, it is proven that less possible distractions when one is trying to recover is for the best. He can see plainly her body’s desire to go back to sleep, even if the idea frightens her. Sleep will come easiest if she’s with the one she finds the most comfort in.

It’s best to leave Hunter to do what he has come to do best. Help their little sister, his ad'ika. The sooner he does, the sooner they can all get to trying to help her for the future once she’s recovered.

Hunter nods in thankful understanding, and as Tech turns on one heel to lead his brothers out and give their vod some space, a mumble - barely above a whisper - says something gently after them.

“G’night,”

He feels a warm smile creep up his lips. “Goodnight Omega,” her brothers reply in near perfect unison.

She’s going to be okay, Tech tells himself. She’s strong like that, and she has her brothers to protect her.

No matter where Tech’s research leads him next, she is going to be okay. They all will.

Chapter Text

Nala Sé’s coded files are cleverly covered up, Tech has to give her that.

She is (was?) nothing if not thorough, utilizing letters and symbols from Aurebesh, old Bothese, and ancient Kaminese text to conceal her data, effectively covering all her bases. It takes Tech almost five days to crack and translate the report.

He tries almost six dozen coding formats and charts, everything from the most basic of ciphers to twelve step processes. It takes him until the third day to realize that the answer key is of Kaminoan creation, tailored to the cloning program specifically. Upon further perusal, he discovers that it was created by Nala Sé herself in collaboration with whoever it was who commissioned the clones back when the whole ordeal began; a way of safe, unique communication between them.

Only three answer keys seem to have ever existed; one locked behind an involved encryption among Sé’s mess of files, one belonging to the commissioner, and one held by Lama Su. Of course, the encryption is nothing Tech isn’t capable of breaking, although it does take a delicate hand and precise rumination to successfully infiltrate.

After locating and copying the key in full onto a piece of loose flimsi he has to dig through his footlocker to find, he also copies the file to his own private folder on the datapad. Better safe than sorry, especially now, after all this time.

He’s closing in on the truth. He can feel it in his gut.

Tech rarely feels anything in his gut.

It’s odd, really, how it feels to be so near the truth yet so uncertain of the success his research will yield after all this time. The chance of failure, of coming up empty, is a feeling that neither he nor his brothers are particularly used to just yet, but the stakes are too high for him to allow himself to seriously consider that potential failure.

Failure is not an option.

The minute humming of the datapad, the buzzing of the bright blue screen rings in his ears. Beside his hand, propped up on the navicomputer console, the flimsi covered in Nala Sé’s cipher shifts under his little finger holding it in place. His eyes are tired from the constant flicking between the vastly different surfaces, processing and translating information on two fronts.

He’s been like this, hunched over and alone in the Marauder for two standard hours, give or take, waiting with bated breath for his siblings to return, mind moving too fast for his hand to keep up.

As far as he knows, they may be a while still, out to get a job from Cid and then restock the ship for the first time in two weeks. He got the impression, however, that Omega’s boundless energy that had her hopping down the ramp would cause more than the usual half a dozen detours.

After an adequate night’s rest and an additional day of downtime, Omega began to bounce back from her nightmare. She was visibly embarrassed, but her brothers have done their utmost since to assist her, and she’s been back to her bubbly, curious self much to their collective relief.

Reassured that all is well, - or, as well as it can be - Hunter reassessed their situation, and announced that it was high time they worked their way back to Ord Mantell. It has provided Tech with ample time to find the aforementioned code translation, then read, process, and file away every last critical discovery.

The key to Nala Sé’s expertly crafted code, as Tech has found, is the precise curves and corners of each letter. Many symbols closely resemble others used within the cipher, and if he weren’t so good at paying attention to detail, he surely would be looking at gibberish.

But Tech. Tech is a genius. He has always been a genius, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing at all in this whole massive galaxy that he isn’t capable of if he truly tries.

That said, he has cracked roughly one third of the file in question over the two hours thus far that his siblings have been absent. The tricky aspect of needing a certain amount of workspace to spread out and look between multiple pieces of text is that any one of his siblings can catch a glimpse enough to question his work.

In this instance, that will not do.

Nobody can know until he can provide answers; until he can make this hard to swallow truth easier to keep down.

Waiting for the moment has left him extremely restless, unable to do much in the way of learning without first understanding the whole of the report. What he has so far isn’t all that much to go off of, either, but it’s progress.

The file begins like any other.

‘Cloning Project.
Chief Scientist Nala Sé.’

Two brief lines of introduction, confirmation that the author is the Kaminoan in question.

It proceeds in vague fashion. ‘Update on the successful fluid compound as requested by [redacted: information not found].’

Whoever her commissioner was, their name is gone. Why, he can guess as much, but how, he is relatively unsure. The data appears corrupt, and he suspects that that was on purpose.

‘Day Two Hundred Seven: 05:45 Hours.’ Two hundred and seven days. That is approximately how long until the climax of Sé’s… whatever this was. He doubts that it matters much when it happened, but he isn’t so foolish as to go disregarding any word of what he uncovers.

Then it begins to get truly interesting; telling. ‘I am shocked but pleased to report that the vessel is responding positively to the blood infusions. While still an infant, the subject has made no attempt to fight the compound containing Fett’s DNA and samples of [redacted] blood, nor has it fallen ill as a result.’

He finds some disgusting comfort in the fact that his theory… was actually correct. As far as he knows, picking through what he’s found, the key was in the blood: blood that was primarily Jango Fett’s, but contained some component from a secondary party. A compound. The blood was compounded.

Just as importantly, Sé was supposedly caught off guard by her own success. It was already easy to infer that she was met with failure before managing to implement force sensitivity, but for the method of her madness to surprise even her?

But that is the question that still remains, isn’t it? Is this report about a force sensitive clone?

It gives him an uneasy feeling that builds in his stomach and rises to his throat.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Tech pinches his nose. Exhausted. He feels exhausted.

But this is for Omega. It’s all for Omega. He has to push through it.

Now that he’s committed several symbols and their synonymous symbols in other languages to memory, he hopes to progress at a rate sufficient for completing the decoding before his siblings return.

Moving on to the next chunk of text in the report, he allows his eyes to flit over the screen line by line.

“…fetus… healthy… biological sex… anomaly…” he rattles off the most important words as he goes, mumbling to himself and narrowing his eyes in focus.

Where is it? Where is the mention of the force? Of Jedi? Sith? Sensitivity?

Anything.

“…female… age… decanting…”

Despite knowing better than to count anything out as ‘vital’, he’s starting to get the impression that much of the length of the report is unnecessary pretentiousness for the sake of covering all her bases in professionalism. As much as his brothers have always reminded him that he doesn’t need to talk with so many ‘big words’, even he is annoyed by how overblown it is.

“…rejected… genetic… unfit soldier… living… force…”

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, feeling how it creases as his lips tighten and frown deepens, the words falling out of his mouth sit idly in the air waiting to be processed. If only he could keep up with himself. His brain most often moves much quicker than anyone else’s, but it’s a rare occurrence that he has a hard time keeping up with himself.

Running the hand down his face, he repeats the words back to himself.

“…rejected…” What is it that was or was not rejected again?

“…genetic…” Right, the cause of this whole ordeal: genes.

“…unfit soldier…” Well, he doesn’t find himself surprised. This report specifically states that accelerated aging was removed from the formula used, just another fact of it all that points to Omega.

“…living…” Yes, she is living. And Tech is more than glad for it.

“…force.” The force. The whole reason for this report. The whole reason that Tech is reading it now. The ability that Omega no doubt possesses but he lacks the proof to explain. If only it were mentioned by name, somewhere, anywhere in the report.

Perhaps one of the other terms Sé was using to describe various other aspects of the clone in question were actually code within a code, some additional method of defense and-

Wait.

Tech breathes sharply through his nose, eyes darting to the screen.

“…Force,” he murmurs, pressing his finger under the word right in front of him on the page.

He feels his heart soar with triumph and hope as he zeros in on the text and reads from ‘force’ down, clenching and unclenching his other fist in a repeated, apprehensive motion.

‘The vessel demonstrates a connection to the living force. Repeated tests have returned to me stating that it has a rather high midichlorian count. The midichlorians have not been dispelled or rejected and laid to waste. As far as I am concerned, the vessel’s concentration is guaranteed to show a viable connection with the living force and an ability to wield it.’

Staring wide eyed and at a loss for all coherent thought, Tech feels himself heave a breath as his chest tightens.

Curbing his disbelief, he forced himself to keep reading despite the unsettled feeling deep in his gut.

‘File Edit: Made: Day Two Hundred Seven: 23:14 Hours.

It appears that the living force existing in the midichlorian concentrated blood given to the vessel has played a role in the development. Multiple anomalies have occurred within its genetic makeup, resulting in a total absorption by Fett’s DNA. All traces of a genetic connection to [redacted] have vanished, but the midichlorians remain intact. This is most unexpected, but far from unwelcome.’

His gut twists, fist tightening, mind pounding on the confines of his skull.

He can see it, the bottom of the page, the end of the report, the culmination of all of his digging. The confirmation of his hypothesis staring him in the face.

‘The vessel is, by all accounts except one, yet another identical clone of Fett. As such, it will be referred to as Alpha Two until more is known of its role. Force sensitivity is definite.

‘File Edit: Made: Day Four Hundred and Fifty Two: Due to conflict between designations Alpha and Alpha Two, subject will be renamed Omega.’

Tech pushes himself away from the console with a swift kick of his foot against the floor; it’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing the datapad. The chair turns a rough ninety degrees, flimsi flying up in the air and somewhere else in the hull that he doesn’t pay any mind.

It’s hard to get a reaction out of Tech. Always observant, always prepared. He has firm control over his emotions, more so than all of his siblings combined. He knows how to rationalize before he acts, to put logic before impulse and feeling. He rarely acts out of sentiment, knowing better than most what kind of harm could come of it. But now, with the stakes laid out in front of him?

He feels as though he could cry, and he wouldn’t try to stop it.

Maybe it’s the nature of the report. Maybe it’s the implications that lie between the lines. Maybe it’s because he’s holding the answer in his hands. Maybe it’s because of the weight of the truth, one he has yet to share with his brothers; with his sister. Maybe it’s because it’s felt so long, been so exhausting, that he feels a wave of relief wash over him.

Maybe it’s all of them and everything in between.

Tolerating the shuddering breaths wracking his body, he squeezes his eyes shut.

Make it make sense, Tech. That’s what he tells himself, stealing his resolve.

Much of it is as he suspected. Nala Sé was tasked with duplicating force sensitivity in a self created being, and the solution supposedly lie in utilizing the blood of a strong force user.

But the blood compounded with Jango Fett’s - the living force inside of it - took to bending the experiment at its own whim, sensing, desiring the comfort of its host: of Omega. According to Sé, the cloning process was largely out of her control. ‘Anomalies’ is what she called it, unable to explain the results in any way other than the will of the force.

The force is unexplainable by science, the foundation of explanation as a concept, but simultaneously an undeniable fact of life. And the force took over, identified potential within Omega’s tiny body, and did as it pleased.

This is not the only cited case of the force creating for itself. That is the only comfort he finds, knowing that, at the very least, this aspect is not a danger to Omega.

Jango’s clone, but female, and with the power to bend the universe in her palms.

His sister, his little sister, bestowed the power to bend the universe with her own two hands, and she doesn’t even know it.

A power she uses to talk to insects and lizards.

Everything finally sinking in, settling in his stomach and making sense in his mind, Tech slumps in his chair and allows himself to shed a tear.

Chapter Text

His timing couldn’t have been better.

Managing to regain his composure, Tech readjusts himself in the seat and removes his goggles to rub at his eyes.

For once in his life, he’s at a complete loss, unsure of what to do. Nowhere in his mind, not even buried under all the rubble and clutter of years of learning and observing, does he have any idea of what to do.

His brothers need to know. Hunter. Hunter needs to know. Hunter… he’ll know what to do. He always does. Or, he always figures it out at least. That’s what he does. He’s the one in charge. Their sergeant. Their oldest brother. Omega’s buir. He’ll know.

He has to.

Tech centers his breathing, rubs a little harder at his eyes, and stares forward blankly. He can’t see a thing without his goggles. It hurts his eyes.

“We’re baaaack!”

Just then, Omega’s voice floats through the open ramp of the Marauder, and Tech briskly returns his goggles to their place on his nose.

Several pairs of footsteps come pounding up the ramp, shaking the hull and effectively knocking the datapad off balance on the console, clattering to the floor with a thud that earns a wince. He leans over to pick it up…

…and suddenly, without so much as a warning to announce the presence of the perpetrator so close behind him, a large hand comes down hard against his back.

Maker above, it fucking hurts, like a brick struck his spine.

Wrecker - undoubtedly the culprit, who else would it be - roars behind him. “‘Mega gotcha somethin’!”

Tech jumps, almost losing his grip on the datapad and smacking the top of his head on the edge of the console in front of him. He grunts in discomfort, squeezing the pad in his hand, grappling with every reflex in his body that’s screaming at him to whip around and smack Wrecker in return.

That certainly wouldn’t end well for any of the parties involved.

He hears the collective gasps of Wrecker and Omega as they seem to ascertain the weight of the former’s mistake. Meanwhile Hunter and Echo continue forward without direct acknowledgement. He can imagine the smirk Echo definitely isn’t even trying to hide right now, regardless of the fact that Tech can’t see it.

“Whooops…” Wrecker hisses, pulling back his hand with regretful speed.

Sighing and straightening himself, he turns to find his brother and sister standing stiffly in place. Wrecker appears pensive and apologetic, while Omega’s hands hide in part the way her mouth hangs open in shock.

“Are you okay!” she asks, looking as startled as he feels. Her eyes dart over his figure, flickering with worry.

Shaking off the pain as best as he can, Tech shoots the pair of them a weary look. “What will it take for the two of you to stop risking sending me into cardiac arrest every time that you approach?” he asks, mostly teasing but simultaneously scarily serious. “A simple announcement of your presence and a tap will do just fine.”

They both glance sheepishly to the side, and Tech takes the opportunity to subtly flick the switch of the datapad. The dim blue light in the corner of his eye disappears.

Omega shuffles her feet. “Well, we got you something though!” she offers with a wry grin, nudging Wrecker. Only then does Tech notice the small package in his brother’s other hand; the hand that didn’t nearly break his spine.

Wrecker holds it out with a smile that mirrors Omega. Tech isn’t sure whether it makes Omega look more adult, or Wrecker look more childish, but it earns a small smile of his own regardless. They sure are a pair, that much is certain.

The package is thin and wrapped thickly in a plain white paper, the kind that people most often use to protect fragile goods in transport crates. It crinkles when Wrecker moves it around in his palm, impatiently urging Tech to open it up. Meanwhile, Omega’s eyes bore into him expectantly.

He’s powerless to the whims of their innocent desperation.

Sighing, absentmindedly placing the datapad screen-down on the empty chair, Tech wonders halfheartedly what may be inside. He takes it with an uncharacteristically light hand, raising a brow at his siblings.

“I do not remember asking you to retrieve anything for me,” he remarks, though not unkindly.

Omega rocks back on her heels. “It’s a gift!”

Tech holds the ‘gift’ in both hands and blinks owlishly. “What brought this on?” he asks, not trying to sound ungrateful by any means, but certainly not used to receiving gifts, either.

“She sayin’ ‘we’, but it was all ‘er idea!” Wrecker declares, laying a hand - one thousand times gentler than the one he had almost winded Tech with - on her shoulder and shaking her lightly. The little girl blushes furiously.

“I- um- just wanted to- uh-“ she sputters, clearly embarrassed for being given the credit, and the attention that follows. “I’ve never given anyone a gift before but Echo said it’s something people do to say thanks.”

She looks terribly nervous, fiddling with the hem of her tunic, eyes darting around the room. She has no reason to be, especially about something like this. But Tech understands better than most how uncomfortable it can feel when you’re unsure of how someone may react to something you’ve said or done. He’s only been dealing with it for his entire life.

Unsure of himself just as much as she is now, he decides to steel himself and take the approach he’s seen Hunter use effectively time and time again. Clutching the package, the gift, in both hands, Tech slowly crouches down to Omega’s level, bringing them face to face.

“Would you like me to open it now?” he asks, and she nods sharply, staring red-faced at her feet.

And so he does.

Carefully, as if he’s a surgeon playing with a brother’s heart, he unwraps the paper one side at a time. There’s a lack of any kind of adhesive holding it in place, simply kept together by a tight fold on either end. It only takes him a few seconds to remove it in full and reveal the contents.

In the center of the wrapping is a tool: a simple and clean hexdriver, clearly brand new, the silver handle glittering under the overhead lights in the hull. The sharp edge is covered in a thin foam to protect it, but even so he can tell how smooth it is, never having been used before.

He discards the wrapping on the floor and holds the hexdriver up to his face, closely observing it. “I do appreciate it,” he remarks, nodding. “As you are surely aware, my own is rather old. It is a difficult tool to work with.”

Omega looks up at him through her bangs. “That’s why I picked it out for you,” she replies, chewing her lip but smiling all the same before adding “…with Echo’s help.”

“How thoughtful,” he answers softly, her cheeks growing redder and redder with each passing second. He lowers the hexdriver to look at her in full. “However, I am not quite sure what it is that you have to be thanking me for, more so than the others.”

More so than Hunter, is what he really means. She’s given them all small things before, nuts and other various oddities collected on her travels, but nothing like this. Not like she had the means to, but it’s the principle.

Wrecker’s head tilts to one side as he nudges her in encouragement before moving off to the side and slowly towards the cockpit, leaving his smallest siblings to talk among themselves.

Omega clears her throat. “Well, you said that you would help me fix AZI, but not yet, cuz there was a lotta stuff going on and all,” she starts, and suddenly, he knows where this is going. “But the other night I got up to use the ‘fresher and I saw you in the cockpit looking at him and picking at his wires and everything and I realized that… that you were staying up to work on him.

“I wasn’t trying to snoop! Promise! But… you were still there after I used the ‘fresher so I stopped to watch for just a minute, and-“

“-And my hexdriver broke,” he cuts in, pushing his goggles up his nose. “It was dull after so many years of use, and it snapped.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, picking up her head to meet him eye to eye, gaze determinedly steady. “You broke it trying to fix him and I know I was looking when I wasn’t supposed to ‘cuz you were probably trying to do it in secret since you didn’t tell me!”

This is true, all as she suspects. During the brief breaks he took while trying to decipher the report, he began giving AZI a close look behind Omega’s back, hoping to get the ball rolling. Despite his dedication to his urgent studies, waiting for an opportune moment to copy and decode, and choosing not to take unnecessary risks of spreading out the flimsi even while his siblings slept, left him with several hours of free time that he chose to utilize productively.

After his ordeal in the water on Kamino, having been hit with debris and running out of battery, the droid has taken severe damage to his inner workings. Nothing that can’t be fixed, mind you, but damage nonetheless. Distraught and without direction, Omega practically begged Tech to help her get him back up and running.

He has no problem doing so, eager to assist his little sister and always in search of a new mechanical problem to solve, but if that was true before, it’s especially true now.

He can only imagine what Kamino was like for her during her early childhood. If the report is any indication, he suspects she was treated the same as any clone, - like an object to be poked and prodded - only longer and lonelier. AZI, however, is someone she regards as a close confidant. A friend.

Definitely her only one up until just recently.

“That is correct. I was hoping to get repairs started,” he affirms, gesturing vaguely with the hexdriver in hand. “As you witnessed, it snapped, however I attempted to weld it back in place for the time being, which was hardly successful. This new tool will allow for the repairs to go much faster now that I will not have to constantly make additional repairs to the old hexdriver. Same goes for future projects, and ship repairs.”

Still picking absentmindedly at her shirt, Omega perks up. “Really? So you like it?”

Tech pushes himself back up into a standing position. “Of course I do. Thank you very much, Miss Omega.”

At that, her eyes go wide, shining with pride and exhilaration. Then, without asking, or giving a warning, she flies forward and wraps her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his stomach.

A hug. She gives him a hug.

Tech freezes in place, one hand clutching the hexdriver squeezing tighter, both hovering aimlessly over her shoulders. He feels the heat rise to his face, a rare and unwelcome occurrence, and his legs grow terribly stiff.

He has never been one for showing physical affection. He is much better with words than with touch, often shying away when his brothers go in for an embrace, or anything more than a pat on the back, for that matter. Something about his body being so close with another, even with his siblings, makes him feel wildly awkward and unsure of himself.

Omega, on the other hand, has proven time and time again that - like Wrecker - she prefers to show how much she cares about them through gestures, or physical acts.

Wanting to be picked up and jostled around by Wrecker, giggling while they roughhouse. Giving Echo sideways hugs on his right side - his scomp side - to show him that it doesn’t bother her despite his insecurities. Holding Hunter’s hand when they go out, or sitting in his lap in the cockpit.

Fortunately enough however, she seems to have recognized that Tech prefers ‘hands to ourselves’, even if he’ll never say it outright, especially not to her. He wonders if her force connection can sense his apprehension when it comes to such affairs, given that she’s been overly cautious of touching him since day one, but not the others.

It seems that now, however, that doesn’t matter. She went in for a hug, a very close hug, and here they are. Tech, rooted to the spot and at a loss, Omega gripping his blacks to pull herself close in her own way of telling him that she cares.

She’s been so careful, so considerate that he can’t find it in him to be upset. Uncomfortable? Yes, horribly so. But upset? No. Her gesture is too innocent, too full of love for him to fathom actually, truly being mad in any sense of the word.

So he tries. For her. Again. He tries because she’s his little sister, and because she’s special in ways that he may never fully understand, and because he loves her, even if he may never muster up the courage to say it out loud.

Because she needs love. Deserves love. The love she never got as ‘the vessel, Nala Sé’s experiment’.

He slowly places his hands on her shoulders, returning her hug in strange but meaningful earnestness. He hopes she can understand his effort. Maybe she can sense that, too.

In an odd way that makes him feel both sad and relieved, she pulls away after only a few seconds of his attempt to hug back. Luckily enough, she doesn’t appear to be put off by his unfortunate try, grinning from ear to ear.

And then, there is the whirring of the cockpit door.

Hunter appears in the threshold, a knowingly pleased smile on his face that makes Tech unable to hold eye contact with him. “Like your gift?” he asks, Omega taking two large steps towards him.

“I do,” Tech replies shortly.

“Good,” Hunter says, acknowledging Omega with a hand in her hair, giving it a light ruffle. “Well, we got work from Cid. We’ll debrief and get goin’. She isn’t too pleased that we haven’t pulled a job in a little bit.”

“We were busy,” Omega mutters, pouting slightly.

Hunter raises one eyebrow, glancing down at her. “Unfortunately she doesn’t care too much about the why, kid, but a job will be good for us. Can’t get Mantell mix without credits,” he answers lightheartedly. This gets a reaction out of her, a light gasp and a frown.

He flicks his gaze around the hull, grimacing slightly before adding, “And while we’re at it, we might as well get this ship back in shape. After we get on our way, I want all hands on deck cleanin’ up this place.”

Eyes wide, Omega offers a mock salute. “Yessir!“

“You gonna take your sweet time joinin’ us?” Hunter teases, hand still lying idly in Omega’s hair. Tech doesn’t miss how she leans into the touch.

Tech purses his lips and fights an eye roll. “Yes, alright. I will be right there.” He looks down to Omega. “Must put this away first. I would loathe to see it left out with Wrecker around before I ever get a chance to use it.”

She giggles, putting a small hand over her mouth, and it’s a sound so pure, so young, so harmless. Even when it stops short as she follows Hunter dutifully into the cockpit upon his beckoning to get moving, it lingers in the air, in his mind.

Tech takes a deep breath, and he can feel the stress of his knowledge, of her ability and the consequences, of the science and mystery behind her existence melting away.

Jobs. Cleaning. Laughing and chatting; after everything that’s happened, they’re starting to find their footing again.

Everything is going to be okay, and that reassurance is more than any gift he could ever ask for.

Chapter Text

How could he have been so careless?

Ever observant, ever attentive to his work, Tech should have noticed, should have paid it mind.

But he hadn’t. He was distracted, fatally emotional. For just a moment, he let himself slip; lost his grip. And now…

Now, his time to think, to consider, to plan, is all gone.

“Tech, what is this?”

Speechless, heart thumping in his chest, Tech stares blankly at the sheet of flimsi pinched between Hunter’s thumb and forefinger. It’s crooked, creased, and folded at the corner, but the writing on it - his handwriting - is as clear as Tatooine’s two suns.

The code. Nala Sé’s code. And Hunter has it in his hand, wanting, expecting to know what it is.

Expecting an explanation.

Tech’s head hurts, the dull kind of headache that comes with overwhelming guilt. His eyes are unfocused, fingers tingling, stomach tight.

And the worst part, the part that hits him the hardest, is that fact that there is nothing, absolutely nothing accusatory about Hunter’s tone.

But Tech has given himself away, hasn’t he? No doubt, not with Hunter’s senses.

He can probably smell the guilt radiating off of his brother; probably hear his heart beating like a drum against his ribs.

“Tech?” he asks, taking a step towards him, and Tech feels his back straighten.

“Hmm?” he makes a noise. Hunter sends him a look flooded with skepticism.

“Are you… okay? I asked you what this is. It’s your handwriting,” he repeats, the suspicion clear in his tone now. “What’s it for? Looks like code, but I don’t recognize it.”

Tech swallows. Hard. Lying to Hunter is impossible, a task attempted by many and succeeded by none. Enemy soldiers, captives, had tried during the war, the dangerous kind that only their squad was deemed capable of handling. The highest level operatives trained to resist torture and bury secrets.

But Hunter was trained better, stronger. He can smell fear, hear a racing heart from twenty klicks. The simple fact is that telling him anything but the truth is impossible. Even if he lets it slide for one of his brothers, or for his little ad’ika - his daughter - from time to time, very few will ever truly evade his senses. Very rarely will he look the other way.

In this instance, - this extremely gut wrenching and entirely avoidable instance - Tech doesn’t suspect that he will have any such luck.

“It is-“ but the words die on his tongue.

No plan. No preparation. No tried and true explanation to present the situation at hand to his brother in a manner least foreboding, least terrifying.

If only he had been paying attention hours earlier when he - now, and all too late - realizes it must have fallen off the console, this wouldn’t be happening.

He had been distracted by everything. By Omega, by her gift and her giggles, by the job debrief, and Echo’s long winded scolding about the mess of the ship. By the take off being delayed in the shuffle. The cleaning, and a small supper of rations and only half-cold meiloorun juice. Omega going out with Wrecker to get Mantell mix, demanding that the rest of them tag along. And they did, because who wouldn’t? She asked so nicely.

The evening ended when she fell asleep riding back to the Marauder on Wrecker’s shoulders, and Hunter lifted her off and laid her on her bedroll in the gunner’s mount. She hardly even stirred, exhausted, and so Hunter decided that it was as good a time as any to get going. No need to hang around when there was a job waiting to be completed, credits waiting to be earned.

Hunter must have found the flimsi while they were cleaning and put it to the side, thinking nothing of it at the time, forgetting about it until now. Until he intended to sit at the console and must have remembered that he had picked it up with the intention of returning it to Tech.

All that while, and he had no idea what it was, suspected nothing, and Tech was fine.

And now he is not.

Hunter raises an eyebrow, the newfound suspicion evident in his eyes. “What is it, Tech?” he asks again, impatient or nervous, Tech can’t tell, though he wonders if it may be a little bit of both.

There’s no turning back, no hiding it any more. Any answer he gives other than the truth will get him nowhere. Hunter won’t let it go, not until he knows. And maybe he should have known from the start. But it’s too late for what-ifs.

And if he’s going to break the news to one brother, he may as well rip off the bandage, so to speak.

Thank the Maker that Omega is asleep.

Tech edges forward with unease and uncertainty, gesturing for the flimsi to be handed over. “Come to the cockpit,” he says simply, slowly. “It is something that all of you all must know. I would hate to have to repeat myself.”

He would hate to have to deal with three different reactions three different times.

Hunter, clearly unsure but willing to place his trust in him, a fact that Tech is grateful for, allows him to take the flimsi. When Tech moves without another word, Hunter follows just as silently.

Wrecker and Echo are both still wide awake. Echo is seated in the pilot’s chair fiddling aimlessing with his scomp while Wrecker rotates back and forth in the copilot's seat, appearing bored out of his mind as he stares up at the ceiling.

Upon the arrival of their brothers, they both turn their attention to the door. Echo spares them a glance, expecting nothing, and Wrecker flashes them a signature grin, wide and unaware. It does nothing good for his nerves.

On the other side of the transparisteel viewport, the blue whirls of hyperspace surround the ship. For once in his life, the view makes him feel like he might be sick.

“Hey!” Wreckers booms, throwing his hands up behind his head. “What’re ya all up to?” he asks.

Innocent. Unknowing.

Terrifying.

Hunter moves to sit in the empty chair behind Wrecker. He’s deep in thought, most likely listening for a change in Tech’s heart rate, concentrating on his surroundings with the focus of a hunting loth wolf. Pondering, curious. Possibly distrusting to some painful extent.

Tech elects to remain standing, clearing his throat to gain their full attention. Echo turns around slowly in his seat, blinking rapidly, confused. Concern is etched into his features when he visibly realizes the thick tension between Hunter and the rest of the space around him, Wrecker only needing an extra moment to catch on, too.

His face screws up. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

Tech doesn’t know how to start, or what to say, but he knows where. There’s no better place than the beginning, and they’ll need every detail to understand, in full, the product of his investigation.

Unsure of himself in every sense of the word, intimidated by the dreary, anticipatory silence and captive audience of his siblings, he inhales sharply through his nose.

They are his brothers, he reminds himself. This is for Omega. They will care, they will understand.

They have to. Everything has to be okay.

“This was not news that I was yet ready to share, but I am afraid that I was careless, and Hunter has uncovered an aspect of my recent research that I had been intending to keep hidden for the time being, hoping that I would-“

“Just cut to the chase, Tech,” Hunter cuts him off, though he doesn’t sound angry, moreso… nervous. Tech can’t fault him. “Get to the why later. What’s on the flimsi?”

Tech chews his bottom lip. “Apologies, but I do need to start from the beginning, though I suppose I should not mince words,” he answers, nodding, understanding his brother’s apprehension. “The writing in my hand is, as you surmised, a code, one that I uncovered amidst the plethora of Kaminoan files that I have taken over the years. It is a cipher created by Nala Sé.”

If he didn’t have their attention before, he certainly does now. Hunter straightens in his chair. Wrecker’s shoulders tense. Echo looks between the three, never having experienced Nala Sé for himself, but knowing enough.

He proceeds dutifully, clutching the flimsi like a lifeline. “Some time ago, I began to notice a pattern in Omega’s behavior that led me to feel rather curious about her potential enhancements. As I am certain you all well have noticed, she does exhibit an unusual intuition for her age, especially having been confined to Kamino.”

Hunter’s fist clenches in his lap. At the rate he’s going, it will take Tech agonizingly long to explain everything, as a lack of preparedness often does. He knows that he has to be thorough, but he had no time to rehearse.

Maybe, despite himself, the best thing to do is just to spit it all out; throw the scary truth out there without further hesitation and let his mind, his natural thought processes, guide him.

Rip off the bandage, Tech.

And so he does. For Omega, and for his brothers, he does.

“I came to theorize that… that Omega may be sensitive to the force,” and he doesn’t dare look at their faces as he lays it all out, staring intently at his feet instead. “Her communication and connection with others was that of the kind that I have only seen so predominantly in Jedi. At first, I had attempted to chalk it up to having an ability similar to Hunter’s, but it is undeniable that her… senses are operating on a vastly different spectrum.

“She always seems to simply know things, or feel things without having to be told. Does it not often appear as though she is able to communicate with non sentient creatures as if speaking to them telepathically? Her ability in dejarik, as if she knows the opponent's next move before it is made. Nobody ever taught her how to play, and yet…

“Omega is special, that much I have been sure of from the start, but I could not accept it at face value. I knew there had to be more.”

He takes a deep breath in, out.

“After extensive research, I am able to say with complete certainty that my suspicions were correct.”

A pause. The silence is deafening.

“Omega is a force sensitive child.”

He receives no initial reaction, no grumble of protest or indignant shout, and he dares to look up and meet Hunter’s eyes. His brother is still, contemplative, but he radiates fear, and sudden understanding. A switch has been flipped inside his mind, - inside of all of them - and Wrecker’s quiet noise of… alarm? Shock? Seems to reflect the feelings of the squad at large.

Terrified.

After a beat, Echo is the first to speak up. If any of them are going to keep a cool head, it will be him. He worked closer with Jedi - with force sensitives - than any of the rest of them. “I thought she’s clone.”

An entirely valid question.

Tech reaches for the datapad at his belt, opening his files as he speaks. “That is correct. Omega is still a clone; an almost perfect replica of Jango Fett. She is made up of his purest genes, that much remains true.”

Echo frowns. “Then… shouldn’t we have known a long time ago?”

Tech mirrors his expression, genuinely confused. His brothers do much the same, as he notices out of the corner of his eye. “Pardon?”

“Didn’t you examine Omega’s DNA when she was kidnapped?” he clarifies, and it’s a real question, not an accusation, thankfully.

He isn’t sure he could handle that. The stress on his chest is enough already.

“I did not take the DNA from Omega directly, no. My information came from already collected data,” he explains, pursing his lips. “And even if I had, I do not possess the means to test a gene sample for midichlorians.”

Tapping his fingers on his knee, Hunter leans back in the chair, face pale as a sunrise; it makes the tattoo look like midnight in comparison. He’s thinking, processing, and Tech doesn’t blame him for the visible anxiety he displays, fidgeting and muttering under his breath.

Tech looks at Omega, and he sees his little sister. A sibling, like his brothers, only much more vulnerable. He feels a need, a desire to protect her from harm, and he will go to any length to do just that.

Hunter? Hunter looks at Omega as if she were his own child; his own flesh and blood. In some odd, twisted way, she is. But from the moment she first stepped on the ship and every passing second since, he has treated her almost as if he knew her their whole lives.

Echo seems to be willing to spare the others the anxiety that comes with inquiring about the deeper meanings. “Do you know how it came about? How she’s force sensitive, that is?”

Ah, yes of course: the million credit question.

“According to what I have found,” and he leans over to hand the datapad, file open and translated to the side, to Echo. “it appears that it was an entirely classified and likely personal request, though whether it came from whoever was responsible for commissioning the rest of the original Clone army or not, I cannot say. This report details the how, but fails to mention the who or the why as far as causation is concerned.”

A mumbled “I see,” is all Echo gives in return.

Hunter remains deathly quiet.

“So… she wasn’t just s’pposed to be another soldier? Like we ar’?” Wrecker says suddenly, seeming to try and piece things together for himself. As smart as he is, it isn’t uncommon that it takes him an extra moment to get a hold of the situation at hand compared to his brothers (due no doubt to his head injury). But, just as with Hunter, he’s understandably attempting to and having a hard time processing things.

Tech was the same when it all began. He can hardly lay blame, despite how nerve wracking every next question is.

What if he doesn’t know? What if it’s not enough? What if he can’t help?

“No, I do not think that would have been the case,” he offers, absentmindedly taking the datapad back from Echo when the blue glow of the screen grows brighter in his periphery. “However, I am unable to wager a strong guess as to what she was created for.”

Wrecker hums in careful confirmation, putting a hand on his head.

The room becomes still, and it’s a horribly uncomfortable feeling. Every moment without some kind of noise, stimulation… something, has Tech’s mind reeling, fighting the lack of anything and begging one of his brothers to speak before he does, because he isn’t quite sure what he’ll say next, or how, even though he’s certain they’re all thinking the same thing.

It’s a slippery slope, a dangerous train of thought that he has - for the most part - been able to avoid thinking too hard about. Oftentimes, he has been too distracted by other aspects of this research to get that far. Protect Omega. That is the goal, isn’t it? And so…

…so he hasn’t thought all that much about what it is he’s protecting her from.

But then, isn’t that the whole point? The why? The…

The…

And Hunter is the one who says it, finally managing to find his voice, to look Tech in the eyes. He’s weary, appearing as though he’s aged another decade, when he’s able to get the words out.

“What does this mean for her?” he rasps, straightening in his seat.

Tech’s gut clenches, and he feels his fingers start to fidget with absolutely nothing, an action out of his control. His head is pounding harder and harder with every passing second.

What does it mean for Omega? Well, quite a bit. It means that she can - in theory of course, as they have yet to witness it - move things without needing to touch them. It means that she has the potential to heal through the living force. It means that she really can speak to animals through telepathic channels. It means that when she plays dejarik, she really is reading her opponent’s move before they make it.

All good things, impressive things, surely. Things that none of them can or ever will be able to do. Things that if true, give her an upper hand in the event she gets caught in combat. Things that can and have proven to come oddly in handy. Things that make her unique. Things she should be proud of.

But it also means…

It also means that her life with Nala Sé was no doubt worse than theirs, if perhaps time was spent trying to forcibly hone these abilities. It means that any reg who catches a whiff of her force sensitivity will feel a duty to kill her on sight. It means that she is among the list of ‘Empire’s enemy number one’, regardless of the fact that she is not a Jedi. It means that she is in even more danger than she was before.

It means…

A lot. A lot of different things, and the bad feels as though it outweighs the good.

The simple fact was that this - that she - was highly classified information, and the question then is why? What happened in that lab? What led to her creation? What treatment did she receive? How much is she really able to do by way of the force?

It’s a question that is answered primarily with more questions, or indefinite theories. There is plenty to be said for it.

But his brothers? They know this. They understand this. They must; he doesn’t think twice about it.

All he can muster in reply is a pathetic “I do not know.”

And it’s because he doesn’t. He really, truly has no idea where to begin. He can offer no solace or security; only loose fact and educated speculation. Omega hasn’t told them anything, not directly. And maybe it’s because she’s afraid. Maybe she doesn’t even realize that her sense of the Galaxy around her is different.

Is this a power she is even aware that she possesses? Does she truly live everyday wholly unaware, or is she simply smart enough to know what kind of position she’s in?

Wrecker gets up from his seat in haste. “Well- well it doesn’t change anything, right?” he rumbles, sounding simultaneously confident and uncertain. “She’s still o’r littl’ sister, and we gotta keep ‘er safe!”

As true as that is, - and they all share that same sentiment - it isn’t the same in regards to the fact that she is in worse danger than before. A runaway and a force user? She’s public enemies number one and number two.

A threat to the Empire, as far as they will always see it. And a threat to the Empire hardly seems to last long.

It’s a grave thought, one that rips his heart in two.

But more than that, she could end up hurting herself. If she doesn’t know what abilities she has, a mistake could be made. She could read the wrong person, communicate with the wrong creature. Or worse.

Tech squeezes his eyes shut momentarily.

Say, hypothetically, she can move things… with her mind. Say, she does entirely by accident, whether through an outburst, or in an attempt to save another; to save one of them. She’s just a kid. Even if Nala Sé did try to get her to hone her powers, that never would have been proper training. She isn’t some kind of master, and that’s if she’s even conscious to any of it-

He’s spiraling. He feels himself spiraling, his thoughts becoming dangerously repetitive, filled with fear.

“You’re right,” Hunter cuts in, and Tech reopens his eyes to watch his eldest brother. “It doesn’t change how we feel about her. No matter who made her, or what they did, or who she chooses to be, she is always gonna be one of us, and we’re always gonna love and protect her. That’s never gonna change.”

Ah, yes. That’s a word both Hunter and Omega have become oddly comfortable with: ‘love’. Though Tech believes that much is obvious, and the word needn’t be said for it to be known.

Then again, maybe it does. Maybe Omega can sense that, too. Love, that is. And maybe she wishes they would say it more.

Maybe they should.

Just in case.

Hunter goes on, pushing himself off the chair. “But to everyone else out there, it changes everything. There’s a lot that we need to know first before we can go about… planning.” But he sounds unsure of himself. Apprehensive.

The panic hasn’t seem to set in yet.

But Tech knows his brother too well.

It’s coming. This is merely the calm before the storm.

“We just- we have to be ready. We have to- to talk to her, right? Learn what we can directly and-“ he stops, holding a hand to his forehead, at which Echo joins the rest of them out of his seat. “Maker, where do we even start?” he mutters, though Tech suspects mostly to himself.

Echo tries for a small smile, but it’s hardly convincing of conviction. “One thing at a time. Even if we have that report, we don’t know much about what Omega herself can do, right? It’s not like she’s done anything big to lay it out clear as day for everyone.”

Tech pushes his goggles up. “I would wager to guess that she is at least acutely aware of her powers,” he offers, tight lipped. “However, without any additional reports detailing her time on Kamino, there is little we can ascertain without her assistance. I have managed to gather some, but not much.”

“Whaddya mean?” Wrecker asks, tilting his head forward. “Gather what?”

“Ah, yes. Firsthand account of her ability.”

He fails to notice the way the rest of them stiffen around him in the moment, and proceeds.

“Not long ago, Omega had a run-in with an insect that she believed to be ‘in distress’. It was fine, or at least it would have been, because they are wired for survival, however Omega insisted that it required assistance and was defiant in the fact that she believed it to be distressed.

“I realized that it was perhaps due to the fact that the insect had in some way communicated with her in some plane that I cannot understand, and have considered this interaction heavily in comparison to my other research since. It aligns perfectly with much else that of which I have uncovered as being a pattern and-“

“Wait a minute.”

Tech blinks, looking up to Hunter, whose expression has gone slack.

Was it something he said?

“Tech, wasn’t that weeks ago?” he asks, frowning. “Before I got taken to Kamino?”

He nods, staring. “It was.”

Hunter’s face twists into something… vexed. Tech bristles suddenly under his changing gaze.

Oh no.

“How long… have you been sitting on this information?” he asks, quietly, angrily.

His brother’s responses, if they have any, fall on deaf ears. He’s too busy, too startled by Hunter’s… voice, dripping with venom; pure ferocity.

It’s very rare that any of them ever hear it like that. Ever. And it’s even rarer that it be directed at one of them. That has only happened once in all of their lives.

Once, when they were cadets, and…

“Roughly one standard month. Thirty-two rotations, specifically,” he replies, desperate to cut off his train of thought, voice hoarse, reluctant.

Hunter’s ears turn blood red.

“You’ve known about this for one whole month?! And you didn’t think to say a word about it to anyone else?!” he barks. Not the voice of a brother, but the voice of a sergeant. Tech flinches, fighting to stand his ground.

“I did not know for certain until just yester-“

But Hunter hardly allows him to get a word in.

“Certain or not how often are you wrong-“

“It felt wrong to approach you without confirmation-“

“-about these sort of things?! Do you understand what’s at stake-“

“Better than anyone here!”

“-now that we know the Empire is gunning for her-“

“They do not know-“

“How do you know that?!”

Hunter moves forward in one huge step, and they’re practically nose to nose. Tech’s chest tightens as he holds his stance, face burning defensively.

“This is strictly classified information! It took me five days just to get this far-“

“And the Empire has the scientist who wrote it to begin with-“

Wrecker shuffles uncomfortably. “Uh, guys-“

He remains ignored.

“That does not mean anything! Why would she readily give them such secret information-“ Tech argues.

“They can make her do anything! If she’s still alive, there’s no doubt that she’s more a prisoner than-“

“IF she’s still alive-“

“I’m willing to bet that she is-“

“Do you have data to prove that? Or is that just a theory that you are not yet ready to share?”

“If it was, I would tell everyone instead of lying-“

“I did not lie about anything-“

“Lying by omission-“

“-hardly counts if you never asked-“

“How the hell were we supposed to suspect-“

“I did it for Omega!”

“Oh really?! What if something had happened to her-“

“I needed all of the facts-“

“-because you didn’t tell us that she’s in danger-“

“The less people who are aware, the less danger she is-“

“-‘cuz that makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!”

Tech’s stomach drops.

“Alright! Enough! Both of you!” Echo surges forward, shouting over them and shoving Hunter aside with his flesh hand. Lowering his voice, he growls “Get out, Hunter. Go cool down.”

Hunter’s brows crease as he prepares a protest, but Echo beats him to it. “Now.”

The sergeant’s mouth snaps shut, and he glares between his brothers for a short moment before grumbling inaudibly under his breath. Tech stares at the floor, eyes bugging out of his skull as Hunter’s words set in.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

He barely registers his brother’s footsteps moving out of the cockpit.

Echo immediately turns on Tech, crossing his arms. “The two of you are really lucky that Omega’s a deep sleeper when she’s tired, and that this door is designed for privacy.”

Tech feels guilt rise like bile in his throat.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

Is that what they all think? Do they all think that he’s playing games while her life hangs in the balance? Does Hunter really believe that?

No. That isn’t it at all. Since the very beginning, this has been about doing what is best for her. Protecting her.

How can he - how can any of them - possibly do that without all the facts?

He dares to look up at his remaining brothers, expecting to find that same anger in their expressions.

But he doesn’t.

Echo looks… neutral, relatively speaking. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest. Wrecker, in complete contrast, appears worried, passive. There’s a small frown on his face. He almost looks sympathetic.

“Don’t let what he said get to you,” Echo sighs, glancing at the door.

“Y-Yeah. Hunt’r didn’t mean it,” Wrecker adds. Tech appreciates it, but it… it doesn’t really help.

Unable to formulate a verbal response, all Tech can do is nod numbly.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

Echo lays his flesh hand on one of Tech’s shoulders, and Tech meets him eye to eye.

“I agree that you should have told us sooner,” he starts, chewing his bottom lip. “We could have tried to handle things together. That’s what brothers are for.”

“Siblings,” Wrecker corrects gently.

Echo nods. “Yeah. But I don’t agree with Hunter’s… reaction. He shouldn’t have said that. We all know you care about Omega just as much as the rest of us,” he tries to reassure, but Tech doesn’t feel it.

He only feels numb. Empty inside.

“Give him time to calm down. He didn’t mean it, I’m sure,” he goes on, smiling weakly. “We’ll figure this out. Everyone just needs a minute to breathe and then we’ll go from there. Try not to worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Wrecker smiles, too. “We can take on anything, ya know?”

“Right,” Tech mumbles, looking at his hands, limp in front of him.

Wrecker moves towards the door giving Tech a gentle - ironically gentle - pat on the back. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and takes his leave.

Echo backs away, too. To leave. To get rest. To cool off.

All that Tech can think is that everyone is leaving.

Everyone is about to be gone.

“Try and cool down, too,” he says, and before Tech can think, process, reply, he’s gone.

Everyone is gone.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

But he did this to himself, didn’t he? Maybe it’s best this way. Maybe Hunter is right. Maybe if he had just told them all from the start- no. Not maybe.

If he had just told them all from the start, none of this would have ever happened.

What if… what if something had happened to Omega? It would have been his fault.

All of it, all of this, is his fault.

Chapter Text

Tech doesn’t sleep, and when the others wake at the announcement that they have arrived at the job site, - assuming that they had in fact gotten rest - nobody says a word about what transpired.

Omega notices almost immediately that her brothers seem off, making a point of saying as much. ‘What’s wrong? Hunter seems mad.’ She says rather loudly, and to nobody in particular.

Luckily enough, Hunter makes the choice to be civil; to act as if he hadn’t said what he said, and that Tech didn’t ruin everything massively.

‘Long night flying, kid. That’s all. Everything is fine.’

And Tech gets the message when Hunter shoots him a look over her messy head of bright blonde hair.

‘We’re not talking about it’ is what he’s really saying. Tech agrees. At least, not now. Not in front of Omega.

Maybe not ever.

As much as they act like everything is fine for her sake, lying through their teeth hoping that she’ll stop asking questions, it’s hardly that easy. While it works for her, and she leaves it at that despite the look on her face implying she doesn’t want to, Tech can’t say the same.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

He can’t just stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tries. He spends the whole night trying to convince himself that Hunter is wrong. That Echo and Wrecker were right: he didn’t mean what he said.

But he can’t. He can’t get it out of his head.

He sits hunched over AZI in the cockpit for the duration of the travel, picking at his wires and yanking out components that will need to be replaced because he needs to do something, anything with his hands before he loses himself completely. He can’t sit still, mind racing, filled with remorse and regret, and a rare twinge of genuine anger. He can’t decide on one thing to feel, and it’s overbearing.

It’s too much.

Tech’s mind goes down a rabbit hole of ‘what if’s’ and ‘why not’s’. Usually, he tries not to harp on the past. But Hunter’s words sting. They penetrate his core and tear him apart from the inside out. It hurts worse than any torture the Kaminoans ever put him through, any tests he was ever expected to endure.

Him? Careless? And with Omega’s life? No. Never.

When he’s alone, hoisting AZI into his lap, it begins with the horrid feeling of frustration, betrayal. How dare Hunter accuse him of such treachery? Never in one million lightyears would he do anything to put Omega’s life into further danger than it already is. He’s too smart for that; a genius. A genius who knows better than to put a child’s life at risk.

An older brother who knows better than to allow his baby sister’s life to hang precariously in the balance.

As time progresses and he takes to unscrewing damaged parts of the droid’s battery pack with the hexdriver, anger fades into sadness and hurt. Does Hunter really think so little of him? Do Echo and Wrecker really feel so, too? Were they lying to him when they claimed they didn’t? They are brothers. A squad. They grew up together, fought together their whole lives. Even if Echo came along later, there is still a necessary trust that comes with having a squad to begin with.

Tech thinks the world of his siblings, even Crosshair. That will never change. Do they not think the same of him?

By the time that hyperspace is nearly gone, AZI propped on his head and gutted nearly halfway, those feelings of resentment, of blame on his brothers, quickly begin to melt into something entirely different.

Pure, untamed guilt, and a gut wrenching terror.

No, Hunter must be right, mustn’t he? Despite his tendency to let his emotions interfere with his logic and reasoning nowadays, he often is. Besides, most of the time he spent in the cockpit listening to Tech’s ramblings full of explanation and speculation was clearly filled with contemplation and deep consideration.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

Those words, furious and without hesitation, didn’t come out of nowhere. They were lying in wait, a deep-seated belief that gradually developed into coherence. That has to count for something.

Hunter likes control, lives for it; he always has, ever since they were sent out on their first real mission in the field. As cadets, clones are expected to listen to everything the Kaminoans tell them to do, no matter how cruel, no matter how painful.

They obey, because the punishment for insubordination is worse than taking the abuse out right.

The moment they were cleared for duty, never, ever again did they let anyone tell them what to do. Orders were just suggestions, and suggestions were more often than not unwelcome. The only orders they took were from each other, from Hunter, because nobody - NOBODY - got to control them ever again.

Their time as cadets - hardly a childhood, though he supposes that’s what naturally born humans would call it - made Hunter fiercely protective of his brothers, more so than the rest of them. He has always gone out of his way for them, to take the blow, suffer the consequences if it means they are spared.

And Tech understands that. He always has. Assigned eldest brother, first to decant, Hunter feels a strong responsibility to his brothers, and his ad’ika, to make things as easy and painless as is feasible in this massiff eat massiff era of the Galaxy.

Not like they’ve ever known anything different.

Regardless of what Echo says, ‘he doesn’t mean it’ and the like, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because it’s true.

Omega latched onto Hunter from the very beginning, and despite what he says, he allowed it; welcomed it. Wanted it.

He’s always had the natural instinct, the deep desire to have a concrete purpose. With Omega, there was no question: she was innocent, looking for a home, for a guardian, for someone - anyone - to love, and for her to love back.

She wanted a parent.

And Hunter took one look at her in the corridor, and fate fell in line.

Unavoidable, but worth everything.

So of course, of COURSE Hunter would react the way he did. His ad’ika, a force sensitive child? An enemy of the Empire? And he never knew.

But somebody did. Tech did.

And he kept it from him.

Tech had no right to keep dangerous information about Hunter’s daughter away from him.

If only he had told them that evening in Cid’s parlor, he would never have fucked up so royally.

His brother wouldn’t hate him.

But he deserves it.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

Anything could have gone wrong, and nobody would have known what to do.

Omega could have died any number of ways, and when her brothers were at a loss, unprepared and scrambling for purchase on the precipice of panic and uncertainty, Tech alone wouldn’t have been enough to save her.

This is why, when they arrive at their destination and the mission commences, he is determined to keep his distance; to protect her from any harm he may cause.

Location: Aargau. The Marauder is landed in a forest on the outskirts of the planet, not far from a site of ancient ruins. A planet relatively untouched nowadays, and with little to no immediate Imperial presence, it’s a fairly low stakes location for Cid’s job to have sent them to.

Out in the woods, not too far from where Tech brings them down to the surface, lies a series of warehouses once used by the Banking Clan to store supplies and house emergency resources. The warehouses were closed down and left abandoned after the Bank of Aargau decided to expand north almost a decade ago, no longer having a need for such storage.

After some time, most of them have overgrown, used by pirates passing through the system for many years before they eventually left them to rot, too.

Nowadays, they are apparently a popular location to drop goods being passed between two… businessmen.

Tech forces himself not to think too hard about it.

“It will be a short hike,” he announces as they exit the ship one by one, making his way out in front, glancing back to watch Omega get off last, following on Hunter’s heels.

Good.

“How short are we talking?” Echo asks, voice muffled as he adjusts his helmet. “Actually short, or forty klicks and we call it short?”

Tech rolls his eyes. The teasing jab shouldn’t make his stomach twinge, but it does nonetheless. “Three klicks. We should be able to clear it in no more than ten minutes, assuming all goes well.”

Looking up and around, eyes wide in awe, Omega smiles at the sky. “This place is so cool!” she exclaims, running to the front of the pack.

Tech backs up.

“If all goes well, we can linger a bit,” Hunter offers, giving her a small smile back. “But the mission comes first.”

Omega lights up, whirling around to face Hunter. “Really?”

The sergeant nods, and Wrecker makes a noise of childish excitement behind him.

How can Hunter act so differently so suddenly? The way he is with her, so gentle, so careful, makes the anger ringing in Tech’s ears seem unreal; like if he hadn’t been there, hadn’t heard it, hadn’t received it, he may not even believe that it was possible.

But it was, just for him.

Omega looks to Tech next, smile fading ever so slightly, and pain seizes his heart in a vice grip. “Can we look for cool bugs?” she asks, hopeful.

Usually, he would revel in her desire to explore; her pure curiosity. Now it only makes it all the worse when he has to shoot her down.

It’s for her own good.

“I am afraid I cannot,” he replies, forcing a watery smile. “I have repairs to make.” A lie. He hates lying. Not that he had a problem with it before though, right? “But I am sure one of the others would be happy to retrieve the datapad and look with you instead.”

The disappointment in her eyes is planet shattering. “O-Okay,” she says, quiet, nervous, let down.

Better he let her down now then when it matters to her life.

Wrecker and Echo share a look, but Tech elects to ignore it. He already knows what they’re thinking.

He half expects her to go on and push about the issue again, some kind of brief determination flitting across her features, but she leaves it at that and retreats back to Hunter.

The tension is horrendous.

“Well… let’s get going,” Echo speaks up, marching forward. “The sooner we’re done, the better.”

Wrecker follows close behind. “Agreed. I’m gettin’ hungry,”

Echo scowls, glancing back as he walks. “You just ate-“

“Yeah, well I’ma big guy! Gotta eat!”

This earns a small giggle from Omega, and she moves ahead to match Wrecker’s large strides as best as she can, saying something to him that Tech doesn’t hear.

Wordlessly, or without an acknowledgement towards one another at all, really, Hunter and Tech take up the rear.

To keep himself busy so as not to get lost in unwanted thoughts - and pointedly avoid any attention from his brothers - he stares straight in front of him, gaze flickering from tree to tree as they pass. He rattles off the names of each kind that he can identify under his breath, taking note of the unusual variety in such a concentrated area.

There is actually quite a bit to take in among the nature that surrounds them, dozens of different plants and small fungi littered sporadically about the grass. He can name many of those by memory, too.

He makes the mistake of sparing a glance at Omega. She would love to know all their names, and have him tell her all about them as they stop to crouch down and get a closer look. He could tell her what’s poisonous and what isn’t, just to be safe. Or maybe her connection with the living force extends to non-living nature, and she would be drawn to specific plants, hyper focusing on each one she picks out of the crowd until she knows everything there is to know about it.

Now that the thought crosses his mind, there have been a few instances where she’s been caught up by particular flowers or random bushes, and found them to be more fascinating than others.

No matter how boring, or how frankly stupid they are.

‘Are you finding that you have favorites?’ That’s what he asked her once, confused as to why an unseemly tree only about twice her height and with nothing to offer had been so interesting to her.

And she had looked at him and scrunched up her nose in that way she does when she’s thinking.

‘No, I just have a feeling!’

Maker above.

The more he thinks back, the more he considers, the more and more he’s realizing all of the possibilities. The potential of the length at which her power extends.

How did he ever expect to handle this all on his own? What a fool.

‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’

Hunter really was right.

Luckily, Tech doesn’t get any farther than that in this gradual downward spiral. He is quite literally yanked out of his thoughts when Wrecker grabs him by the collar and pulls him backwards, returning him to reality with a start.

Tech almost loses his balance, but is kept upright by his brother’s firm grip. “Whoa!” Wrecker laughs, and there’s an awkward pang to it. “Ya almost caught the buildin’ with yer face!”

He blinks twice rapidly and, to his surprise, finds that he is in fact standing nose to wall with the side of a building. If it hadn’t been for Wrecker, he would have, as his brother so eloquently put it, ‘caught the building with his face’. With his helmet on, he would have gone unharmed, although it certainly wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

“Don’t go spacing out now,” Hunter grumbles.

Tech clenches one hand into a fist, and says nothing.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Echo announces loudly, and his siblings eagerly turn to offer him their attention. “Go over the plan, Sarge?”

Hunter clears his throat. “The target is hidden in the topmost level of the warehouse, along the northeastern wall. It’s marked in Mando’a with the numbers four-two-one, in that order,” he explains, tilting his chin up so that the red glare of the HUD appears to be staring down at the rest of them like death. “Wrecker, Omega, and I will go inside to retrieve it. Echo and Tech-“ he pauses. “You two will stay out here and keep watch in case anything happens. It should be fine, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

Wrecker nods affirmatively, adjusting his helmet.

Truth be told, this has been the plan since before they departed from Ord Mantell. It was always supposed to be Wrecker, Hunter and Omega going in together. Tech was always supposed to stand guard with Echo.

Now, however, it just sounds like an excuse to isolate him. The rational part of his brain reminds him over and over that it isn’t. This was predetermined. Hunter isn’t that petty.

Even if he was, the emotional part of his brain is screaming at him that nothing about it would be petty, because he deserves this.

And Maker above, when did he start thinking emotionally?

He has his emotions in check, his feelings under control. He always has. Why now has he started to crack?

“Wait!” Omega exclaims, and all of her brother’s eyes are on her in a second. She picks at her sleeve in that way she does when she’s uncertain of herself. “Could I uh- can I switch with Echo?”

Hunter’s helmeted head remains deathly still. “Why?” he asks, though not unkindly.

Tech is wondering the same thing.

Why in the world would she ever want that? She doesn’t understand-

“Cuz… uh,” she lifts her head up in defiance, huffing. “Cuz we spend so much time on the ship! And if I stay with Tech… I’ll uh- get more fresh air! Mhm!”

Omega isn’t great at lying, which is both an issue and a relief. In a perfect Galaxy, she shouldn’t have to lie, let alone be any good at it. As her brothers, they want her to tell the truth and live honestly; they want better for her than what they were taught.

However, the Galaxy is dangerous, and lying often helps one get by, whether it be about something small and inconsequential, or a torture situation. Especially in their shoes, being able to tell a little white lie can save your life, but for it to work effectively, others have to buy it.

Hunter clearly doesn’t, sighing and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we just stick to the original plan and just get things over and done with?”

Tech nods curtly. “It is for the best that we return promptly to Ord Mantell.” Both true and not. The sooner they’re back at the ship, the sooner Tech can avoid having to talk too much with Hunter. But at the same time, they are running dangerously low on credits.

“Actually, I agree with Omega,” Echo pipes up, to everyone’s visible surprise.

Omega’s face lights up, and even if his look is covered by his helmet, Tech can hear the hint of a smirk in his voice.

Echo shrugs, irritatingly nonchalant. “Fresh air is good for kids, isn’t it?” he remarks. “I don’t mind swapping out.”

Whatever kind of scheme his brother is concocting, Tech dislikes it greatly. He can wager a guess or two, but regardless of Echo’s reason behind backing up a sudden change in a mission plan, - Echo, of all people - it doesn’t come without a purpose.

Slowly, turning his head this way and that, Wrecker speaks up, too. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I agree with Echo,” he adds, sounding wholly unsure but making the choice to trust Echo and aid him in this backhanded endeavor.

Which means that Hunter and Tech are outvoted three to two.

Usually, that wouldn’t matter. Back when they were fighting for the Republic, it definitely didn’t. Things happened as they did, and it didn’t always matter all that much whether everyone agreed on a plan or not, because they always got everything done in the end, anyway.

Nowadays, not so much. With Omega around, they can’t afford to be as careless. Which means that if Hunter hasn’t given an order, then they’ve found themselves going by the ‘majority rule’.

Usually, that would be fine.

Right now, however, Tech is regretful.

Hunter mutters something that he can’t hear, and looks down at his ad’ika.

“Fine. Since Echo is okay with it,” he relents, much to Tech’s chagrin. “But you need to promise to keep your eyes and ears open while you’re out here.” He pauses. Tech suspects he glances in his direction. “Both of you.”

Omega doesn’t hesitate to offer a salute. “Yessir!” She skips over to Tech, smiling from ear to ear, and it takes every ounce of his control not to recoil when she skids to a halt beside him. Their arms brush, and he can feel the intensity of Hunter’s glare on his figure.

So much for keeping his distance.

Chapter Text

Once his brothers disappear inside the warehouse, doors creaking shut behind them, it’s game over.

Omega flops back to sit in the grass, catching herself on her palms. No matter how inconspicuous she’s trying to be, she is - once again - a horrible liar. ‘Pretending’ is hardly something she excels at. It’s rather obvious why she wants to steal this time with him, and he’s not sure whether to admire her quick thinking to trap him, or fret over the fact that this leaves him solely responsible for her until his brothers return.

A little bit of both, perhaps.

“Do you think the target will be too hard to find in there?” Omega wonders aloud, looking up at him through her long eyelashes.

Leaning backwards to support himself on the outside of the warehouse, Tech makes a small noise. “Supposedly it should not be, no,” he replies, removing his helmet and tucking it under one arm. “None of these facilities have been in use for many years. Anything else left inside is likely overgrown. I am sure it will be easy to discern the client’s crate among any others.”

Omega hums in acknowledgement. She’s sitting a good five feet or so away from him, legs crossed as she begins picking mindlessly at a clump of grass.

“Do you think Hunter and Wrecker will be able to get it okay?” she then asks, and the way her eyes flit about without purpose goes to show how hard she’s trying not to look right at him. “What if it’s really heavy?”

“Nothing is too heavy for Wrecker,” he answers plainly. He stares ahead, locating a fungus on a tree trunk to focus on. “It will not be an issue. Even if we do not know what is in it, the chance that it is too heavy for Wrecker and Hunter to lift together is even slimmer than the chance that Wrecker cannot lift it alone.”

He barely gets his sentence out when Omega pipes up again. “Is he mad at you?”

Tech knew the question was coming sooner than later, but he has to resist the urge to start bouncing his leg nonetheless. “Wrecker is not mad at me.”

He chooses to play dumb; the finest form of avoidance.

“That’s not who I mean,” she grumbles, and he suspects it’s accompanied by an eyeroll. Echo is rubbing off on her far too much.

Clenching his teeth, he feels a chill run up his arms. She isn’t trying to make him feel bad, and he knows that. She’s too curious for her own good, especially when it comes to her siblings. He certainly understands that feeling.

“Sometimes squadmates disagree,” he says simply, and with no emotion at all.

Not that it matters.

“What’d you fight about?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Omega audibly scowls. “It seems pretty important.”

“I assure you it is not,” and it is. It is of every importance. She cannot know that.

A few seconds of silence pass, Omega still picking at the grass, Tech keeping his eyes trained forward. This isn’t a conversation they’re going to have, for her own good. And maybe she recognizes that-

“Well I don’t believe you.”

Tech snaps his head down to look at her, tree fungi all but forgotten. She isn’t looking at him, but there’s boldness and determination written all over her face.

In all honesty, he is wholly and truly shocked. The one thing that Omega hasn’t seemed to do much of is talk back to any of them. Once or twice about inconsequential topics, maybe, and she has the expectedly dreadful tendency to not follow their directions, but she’s a good kid. For her to essentially up and call him a liar? He can hardly believe it.

He blinks and frowns, shifting his weight to the foot threatening to bounce. “And why is that? You have no reason to think me dishonest.”

And he is. He is dishonest. But until now, never with Omega.

This is different. This is for her own good.

But that’s what he thought about conducting his research in private, too, isn’t it?

“I don’t think you’re a liar,” she says, scrunching up her face. “But you’re sad, or upset. Or something. I can tell. You’re just not happy. I know you try not to look like you are, though.”

His throat feels dry. “Do I appear to be sad?”

Omega shrugs. “Not really. I can just kinda tell.”

She can ‘just kinda’ sense it. That’s what.

“I am not sad. Hunter and I had a disagreement, as I have already said. It is frustrating, yes, but I am hardly sad.”

The word ‘liar’ reverberates in his brain like a small ball bouncing around in a metal container.

“Why’d you believe me when I said the bug was upset but not now?” she retorts, on the cusp of plain arguing with him. “It’s okay to be sad.

“Nala Sé always said not to get upset ever, but you guys always tell me that it’s okay. And I believe you. Doesn’t that mean you can be sad, too?”

It feels like he’s been slugged in the gut, winded and caught off guard, his entire sense of direction: gone.

Tech and his brothers have never been particularly emotional. Omega has softened them up, certainly, but the majority of their lives were nothing like they are now. Regs had feelings, and often wore them proudly, but not the Bad Batch. Never the Bad Batch. They either kept it to themselves because they were tough enough to handle it, or they confided with each other in private.

And Tech? Tech in particular. He has firm control over his emotions, more so than all of his siblings combined. He knows how to rationalize before he acts, to put logic before impulse and feeling.

Or at least, he should.

Even if Omega did change their collective perspective on things, it did not change his behavior regarding his own emotions by much. He is fine dealing with them as he always has.

Regulation. Control. Rationale.

Before he can find something to say, to try and chase away the notion of sadness and ignore her uncomfortably wise consideration of his feelings, he finds her pushing herself up off the grass. She takes the five or so feet to stand next to him, gaze moving up to meet him. Right beside him, he is reminded of just how small his little sister is in comparison.

And then she begins to wring her hands, nervous, apprehensive, and entirely unsure of herself. But that doesn’t seem to stop her this time around. She continues to hold eye contact.

“I-I know you don’t like hugs and that stuff but… if you want one-“ she blurts out, some kind of slightly displaced hope in her expression. “Ya know.”

Maker above, she’s making it really fucking difficult for him to keep his distance.

He stutters. “I- you should-“

“It’s fine,” she cuts in quickly. “You don’t have to-“

Her voice is so reserved, so much less confident than it was just moments ago, and it breaks his heart. Now she’s the one who’s upset.

And it’s all his fault.

Something in his mind snaps into two pieces, an even break.

That’s all that he can take.

Screw it. He can handle Hunter - or any of the others, for that matter - being disappointed in him. Let down. But Omega? She looks up to them, relies on them.

All of them. All means Tech, too.

“I think a short hug would be nice.”

Omega whips her head up at him, eyes filled with excitement that she’s trying but failing terribly to hide. He nods, sincere, and her face lights up at his confirmation.

She barrels into his waist, squeezing with all of her might.

Tech puts his hands on her arms, returning the embrace with a new kind of confidence of his own.

Forget keeping his distance, treating her like cracking glass. It’s an impossible task, and she would never let him get away with it. So he gives in.

Maybe- no. He wants to. Really and truly.

Holding the precious little girl - his little sister - in his arms, he makes a promise to himself. From this point forward, more so than before, everything that he does is for her. To keep her safe, and with her best interest in mind.

Tech will never understand how it is for Hunter, that much is true. He is not her father, her buir. But he is her big brother, and it’s his job to fight for her.

Fighting is what they were trained for, after all.

Hunter was right. Tech should have told him and his brothers about her much sooner, and for that, he is sorry. But Hunter is also wrong. Tech is not careless with her life. He is careful, watchful, and he will not let any harm befall her so long as he can help it. If Hunter meant what he said, then Tech will see him in one of Corellia’s seven hells.

And if he didn’t?

Well then, Tech is willing to talk.

He knows Hunter. He cares about Hunter. And he strongly suspects the latter.

But for now, he is focused on Omega. After a few short seconds, she backs away from him. Smiling. “You’re a great brother, Tech,” she says quietly.

His heart clenches.

“You are a wonderful little sister yourself, Miss Omega,” he chokes.

She smirks. “Technically older-“

“None of that now,” he shakes his head, poking her lightly on the forehead. “I am physically older than you are, and therefore, the elder brother.”

Omega rolls her eyes in that very ‘Echo’ manner again, but she doesn’t mean anything by it.

“Well I saw you when you were a baby so-“

Tech hears her, keeps his eyes on her, but his attention is suddenly seized by another sound somewhere else nearby.

It’s quiet, almost like a whisper, but it is so vastly different from the nature around them, so different from Omega’s excited chatter, that it’s nearly impossible to miss.

A low, guttural growl.

“Omega,” he says, deadly serious and without emotion. “Please be quiet.”

Omega blinks in surprise. “Wha-“

He grabs her by the shoulder and pushes her behind him with one hand, replacing his helmet over his head with the other. She stumbles, almost tripping over his feet as he shoves her urgently back.

“Tech wha-“

“Shhht.”

She snaps her mouth shut, grasping his belt with one hand.

Another growl, and a few hard footsteps in the dirt.

He flips his visor down and scans the surrounding area for heat signatures. An idle hand hovers over his blaster, and he turns his head this way and that.

“Is there someone here?” Omega whispers, trembling against the back of his leg.

He doesn’t answer her, continuing to thoroughly scan his surroundings for a sign of whatever it is growling in the trees. He has his suspicions, but without knowing where or what it is, he remains unable to act accordingly. In a dense forest like this, the possibilities as to what could be lurking in the shadows are endless.

Slowly, he backs up closer to the outer wall of the warehouse, bringing Omega with him. She presses her forehead against his back, and he feels her reach for the strap of her energy bow across her chest when his elbow brushes his leg.

“Do not,” he instructs quietly, and she freezes in place. “Whatever it is may be less compelled to approach if it does not sense a threat.”

Omega mutters, clearly annoyed, but drops her hands anyway.

His HUD view isn’t picking anything up, but he doesn’t doubt the presence of some creature or another among the bushes. Why can’t he find it?

Reluctantly, he raises one hand to the comm on the side of his helmet, pressing gently. “Havoc One,” - Hunter’s call sign - “we have a situation-“

“Tech!”

Omega shrieks and Tech whips around just in time to watch a giant creature lurch towards them on all fours, roaring with a hungry ferocity.

Tech grabs Omega and rolls to one side, guarding her underneath him with his body. Dirt flies up below his boots, and Omega covers her face with her hands.

He pushes himself up out of the grass and turns hastily towards the creature, drawing his blaster and flipping his visor up and out of the way in one fluid motion. He keeps Omega behind him still, and he absentmindedly notes that she too scrambled off the ground.

The creature huddles in a bush, but faces them, and he’s able to get a good enough look to identify it.

A strill, taller than normal and plenty long, stares angrily back at him. Its mouth hangs open, baring sharp teeth and a thick pink tongue. It smells terribly, even from here; they always do, but the stench of a wild strill is always worse than one that’s been tamed as a pet.

He’s seen strill before. Mandalorian hunting creatures, similar to that of a mastiff, they are more often than not seen trained. A Mandalorian he met once briefly during the Clone Wars - a man by the name of Walon Vau - owned one, and that by itself had been enough strill for Tech’s entire lifetime. In the wild, they are very rarely found, and choose to keep to themselves as they tend to hunt small animals and steer clear of larger sentients.

Tech glances back at Omega.

Small creature.

“Stay behind me, do not engage,” he orders, training his blaster on the strill. Its back is hunched, and he’s surprised it hasn’t already leapt for them. “You are prey to it. I am a threat.”

“It doesn’t look threatened!” Omega hisses.

“That is because it is more worried about an adequate supper than it is me,” he answers in a clipped tone.

Omega swallows audibly.

Squeezing his blaster, holding the strill’s gaze, he sighs deeply. “I will not allow it to harm you, I promise you that,” he murmurs, hoping that he doesn’t sound as deadpan as he feels; hoping that it sounds reassuring. “Follow my instructions carefully, and you will be alright.”

A beat passes between them. “Okay.”

“Good.”

The strill shakes its hind legs, growling again and narrowing its eyes. Its dirty skin almost allows it to blend in with the scenery, but its shining eyes betray its desired secrecy.

Strill are fast, and made to hunt. Omega is short, her legs not terribly long. Logically, she has the disadvantage, but he knows better than to tell her as much.

He takes quick stock of his surroundings. Strill. Warehouse. Window with a hole too small for him to fit through, but big enough for her. So long as she follows his directions, she should be able to escape to relative safety.

‘So long as’; she has a scary tendency not to listen in these kinds of scenarios. This time, he needs her to listen.

He prays silently to the Maker that she will.

“When I give you the signal, make for the warehouse,” he whispers, never taking his eyes off the strill. “Crawl through the window, and find Hunter. I will keep it distracted.”

“But-“

“I will be fine,” he insists, and he can imagine the look on her face; begging and frightened. If he looks, he risks caving. “It does not want anything to do with me.”

The strill takes two small steps forward.

“Omega-“

“O-okay!”

Tech places his index finger over the trigger of his pistol, and the strill lowers its belly to the ground.

“B-but I’ll get Hunter and come ba-“

“Go!”

Omega’s urgently heavy footsteps smack the dirt behind him, and the strill lunges forward at the same time.

With a precise aim, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Tech takes a few rapid fire shots at the creature. They do little in way of harming it, the bolts barely doing any real damage to its tough skin, merely bouncing off and leaving what he suspects are superficial burns.

The strill hisses and leaps to the side, opposite the direction of Omega and her destination, much to his relief. Of course, there is the trade off.

He is now the target, and unlike his brother, he is not large enough to wrestle this creature.

There remain two options: hold it off until the others are made privy to the situation, or drive it away. The latter is preferable, given how the former could take some time. Unfortunately, he isn’t sure he’ll have a choice.

The strill surges forward and Tech just barely rolls out of the way, hitting it between the eyes with a blaster bolt. It appears unfazed, however, almost as if its hunger outpaces any pain it may feel.

“Havoc Two! What’s going on out there?!” Hunter’s voice crackles over the comm.

Either Omega has reached them, or Hunter heard the commotion. Regardless, he is, rather ironically, relieved to hear his elder brother’s voice.

But Tech doesn’t have the time to respond, one hand bracing his body against the grass whilst the other holds the pistol in steady earnest.

“Tech! Come. In!”

He cannot, and for that he is truly sorry, because he is sure his siblings are rather stressed at the moment. Although, keeping the beast at bay as well as Omega and himself alive does take precedence. He assumes she’s made it to the warehouse by now at the very least, thankful for that much.

He begins to push himself up off the ground with one hand, but the strill unfortunately recognizes an opening when it sees one.

It lunges forward, making direct contact with his torso. Unsteady in his current position and unable to match the sheer weight of the thing, he is knocked over on his back in an instant. His pistol flies out of his hand and his whole body is pinned in seconds.

Desperate for self preservation, he attempts to wrestle with the thing, lifting his head as far forward as he can while grabbing its shoulders to keep his mouth away from his face. Despite being protected by a helmet, its teeth are not all that dissimilar to knives.

He squeezes the strill hard, hoping to dissuade or discomfort it enough to get it off of him, but he’s out of luck. It throws its head forward, smacking his own head down.

The back of his helmet hits the ground, and Maker, it stings. His vision feels fogging, his head light.

Tech tries to blink away the cloudiness, but to no avail. A darkness begins to overtake him, and just before it does, he vaguely notes the pink bolt of energy knocking the creature harshly in its side.

Then, the world goes black.

Chapter Text

Tech jolts awake rather suddenly.

Not from a bad dream, or a startling noise, but in a confused panic.

He’s lying down, though where he cannot tell. Wherever it is, it’s quite dark, and he can just barely make out his own hand in front of his face. He blinks, once, twice, three times, but his eyes are unable to adjust to the light. He reaches for them, rubbing furiously while noting with chagrin that he is not wearing his goggles; no wonder he can’t find a visual balance in the dark.

After a few seconds of bleary consideration, the fog in his mind begins to clear. Everything comes back to him at once. The job, his talk with Omega, the strill, and trying to fight it off. He remembers the grass, laying in the dirt, strill pinning him to the ground.

His attempts to wrestle with it, and the back of his head smacking the surface with a great force that left him… unconscious?

And the bolt of energy, thin and pink and from-

Not a blaster. It couldn’t have come from any of their blasters. No, a blast like that is shot from a bow.

Omega’s bow.

“Omega!” Tech surges forward, sitting up with great force and looking for any sign of his little sister. He had strictly told her to run, to find the others and-

“Easy there, soldier,” a gruff voice, rough with sleep, - and decidedly not Omega - says from beside him. “Omega is fine.”

A hand finds his shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to reassure its legitimacy. Whoever it is moves closer, fully in his field of vision, and holding something out to him with their other hand.

“Hunter,” Tech notes aloud, fumbling to take whatever it is he is offering, thoroughly struggling to see it.

Hunter grabs his hand gently, pressing the object into his palm. Tech recognizes it immediately: his goggles. The familiar feeling of the leather strap and circular glass in combination with Hunter’s undeniable lack of urgency does help to calm his nerves some. Wherever they are, they are not in any immediate danger

He secures the goggles over his eyes, tightening the strap around the back of his head, and blinks again. Hunter’s face as well as his surroundings come into full view: the bunkroom, in the Marauder. The lights are off and the door is only open a crack, which explains the initially overwhelming darkness.

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Where is Omega?” he asks, stomach churning with an unsettling feeling. He still has no idea what happened after he told her to run.

“She’s fine,” Hunter replies, a small smile curling his lips. That isn’t what he asked. He wants to know where she is now. “Followed your directions, as far as I understand. Came and got us yellin’ about a big thing trying to eat her,” he goes on, and Tech almost laughs. Hunter must have been horrified out of his mind; he can only imagine the sheer terror on the sergeant’s face.

She certainly does have a way with words sometimes.

“That is good to hear. I was afraid that she would not…” he clears his throat. It suddenly feels quite dry, likely from disuse. What’s more, is that as he’s beginning to come to in full, he becomes aware of a dull ache at the back of his head. “Ehem, apologies. I was afraid she would not listen.”

Hunter frowns, raising a brow and sitting on the edge of the bunk. “You feelin’ alright?”

It takes him a moment to think about it, having to process the question as the adrenaline that comes with a startled awakening fades away. No, he is not really feeling all that well at all. It’s not just his head, but his whole body that hurts, actually. His legs feel weak, arms partially numb. His eyes are dry, stomach tight, and his head- Maker, his head is pounding.

“I could certainly be better,” he responds shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where is Omega?” he asks again, staring into Hunter’s eyes. Hunter doesn’t stare back.

He is definitely avoiding his gaze, though why, he is uncertain. If Omega is okay, then there is no reason for such avoidance.

“She’s asleep in her room,” he responds slowly. “It was quite an ordeal. She tried to keep herself up in here with you, but eventually she crashed and I brought her to her own room... But she’s fine, Tech. Just worried about you.”

As relieved as he is to know that she’s okay, it doesn’t change the fact that Hunter is most definitely leaving something out. Whether or not he’s trying to hide it, or simply deciding what to say - whatever it is - Tech is unsure. Regardless, he is doing a poor job at hiding it.

They sit in a surprisingly comfortable silence for several moments. Maybe it’s because Tech has reconciled with himself enough that if there is tension, he doesn’t notice it. Maybe it’s because Hunter knows better than anyone the overwhelming stress of waking up to problems without straightforward solutions. Regardless, he appreciates what it does for his headache. The quiet is refreshing.

Right now, Tech is more concerned about whatever it is that Hunter isn’t telling him. Not that he can talk much on secret keeping, but Hunter rarely keeps information from any of them. He’s in the middle of trying to decide whether or not he wants to call him out on it, when Hunter leans back against the bunk frame.

“We were all worried about you, ya know,” he says, tone unreadable. “I’m pretty sure the only one here who could wrestle with a strill and win would be Wrecker. You’ve been out cold for hours.”

Tech rolls his eyes (and it hurts just a little to do so, he realizes). “If you are suggesting that what I did was without merit, I would like to point out that I did it for Omega. She was not wrong to say that it desired her for its supper,” he replies curtly, annoyed by the notion.

But Hunter quickly shakes his head. “No- no that’s not what I mean,” he sighs. “I- sorry. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.”

To Tech’s surprise, he flashes him a watery, almost apologetic smile. “That thing banged you around quite a bit, you’ve got a few cuts and bruises, but nothing Echo and Omega couldn’t patch up for you,” he explains. “That was a gutsy move. I’m impressed.”

If Hunter is trying to sound mildly insulting, he’s doing a rather good job of it. “I was trained much the same as the rest of you. I know how to apply tactics in hand to hand combat just as well.” So much for a lack of tension. “It had to be done in order to ensure Omega’s protection.”

“Tech- dammit! I’m trying to say thank you!” and his smile is gone again, a fleeting little thing. “You did a good job out there! I wasn’t doubting you!”

Why didn’t he just say so from the start, then? Tech is getting irritated, straightening his back to meet Hunter’s gaze with a slight glare. “Is that so?”

That seems to hit his brother where it hurts, anger and sadness from the infamous confrontation bubbling up all over again. But Tech can’t help it. He may have concluded that Hunter was wrong, but that doesn’t make his stubbornness any better to deal with.

Hunter’s face falls, and he quickly glances away.

As quickly as they came, the resurfaced frustration dissipates, and Tech feels… guilty. Why, he doesn’t know. Or maybe he does.

Maybe it’s because Hunter… is trying. And Tech knows what it’s like to struggle with something, to try your best, and to find a lack of understanding in the opposite party.

“I’m sorry, Tech.”

Tech whips his head up, which also, unfortunately, hurts like hell. But there’s something in Hunter’s voice, that softness that he only ever uses with… with Omega, that startles Tech in a way he never would have been prepared for.

He shifts on the bunk. “Pardon?”

Hunter appears uncharacteristically sheepish, and it only serves to make the whole scene feel more peculiar than it already does. “I was out of line… last night, when I uh-“ he frowns, eyebrows creased, as if trying to find the words. “What I said was stupid. And not true.”

Tech is almost amused. His brother so rarely stumbles that he truly does appreciate the apparent effort and sincerity being put into this apology, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it to be somewhat funny. Maybe it’s more discomfort than anything, certainly not used to Hunter wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He’s only just starting to understand Omega’s emotional situation. Now he must navigate Hunter’s, too?

But Hunter means it. That much is perfectly clear. And that… well… Tech’s heart squeezes a little at the thought.

“You care about Omega same as the rest of us,” he continues. “You have a different way of showin’ it. I know that- knew that. And I believe it. But I don’t believe what I said about ya. I spoke out of turn, and it’s not an excuse. I don’t have an excuse. But I panicked when you were explaining everything and- well.”

Tech blinks. “Fear is a common response to alarming news about one’s child,” he offers.

Hunter’s eyes widen. “Yeah, but she’s not my kid, she’s our little sister- all of us. And you were just tryna do what you thought was for the best,” he argues. “You had your reasons, but I just didn’t really understand it in the moment. I was too busy thinkin’ about… all the bad things that could happen to her now. All the danger. And I’m sorry.” He sits up further on the bunk. “Today you reminded me just how much you do care about her, and it was my fault for sayin’ things without thinking.”

Omega? Not Hunter’s kid? Now that is simply untrue. A flat out lie, in fact. Although, that is perhaps a discussion for another day, and Tech files it away as such.

Regardless, he isn’t going to let such foolishness slide.

“I believe that the way you reacted did have some justification, up until your choice to insult me,” he answers, shrugging just a little. “The natural fight or flight instinct is often out of your control. It was much to take in, that I do understand. But you are right. Doubting my care for Omega was uncalled for. And it made me feel rather unpleasant.”

Hunter sighs, defeated, and looks down at his knees. Regretful, apologetic, but accepting of Tech’s response all the same.

Luckily enough for him, Tech has already thought it out, hasn’t he.

“However, I forgive you.”

Hunter’s whole body goes stiff.

“I have already thought it through. I believe I have known you long enough by now. After some time to rationalize with myself, I came to two important conclusions. The first being that whether you believed it or not, it would not matter, because I do care for Omega and would never do anything to put her in the way of harm.

“And the second being that you likely did not mean it at all, but that I desired to hear as much directly from you. Which you have now done,” he offers a light smile. “And therefore, you are forgiven, so long as you promise not to say such stupid things before thinking in the future.”

Hunter breathes a laugh. “Yeah, I promise. And I appreciate your forgiveness, even if I’m not so sure I deserve it.”

“I believe you are being too hard on yourself,” Tech swings his legs off the side of the bunk. “But that is besides the point. I too owe an apology for not filling you in sooner. We… are a squad, and we must work as one. I believed that the more I knew of the situation, the more useful it would be. You, however, should have known from the beginning. That much, you were right about.”

“I appreciate that. But your heart was in the right place,” Hunter smiles. “Just maybe not so much of taking all the responsibility on by yourself, yeah?”

Tech nods. “I would agree.” And he means it.

The pair of them sit in a genuinely comfortable silence for several long, blissful seconds. Tech cherishes the feeling of absolutely nothing as he continues grappling with the dull ache in his skull.

He wonders, somewhat absentmindedly, whether or not Hunter intends to reveal what it is about the job that he is quite clearly leaving out. Tech has hardly forgotten, and he almost wonders if Hunter hopes that Tech didn’t notice at all. Surely he knows better, but there is a hesitation, a nervousness around his brother that is undeniable.

His inability to maintain eye contact, and the constant fidgeting are dead giveaways. When he asked where Omega was, Hunter didn’t answer at first, and when he did, he seemed honest enough, - especially because if Omega was anywhere but the Marauder, they wouldn’t be here right now - but there was reluctance. Some detail is being left out.

Tech decides to test the waters. “You said that Omega was asleep, correct? You are certain she was not injured?”

“Echo looked her over. She’s fine. Just a couple-a bruises,” he replies, tone clipped. “You should eat something now that you’re up.”

He appreciates the attempt, but Tech is not going to allow him to change the subject this time. The only way to get anything out of him is to, ironically, speak directly to the issue.

“I will eat once I am made fully aware of what occurred after I lost consciousness.”

Wanting to know all the facts, every little detail, has often proven itself to be a very useful tool in Tech’s life. He only knows as much as he does because he willingly asks the types of questions that the others may not always think of. And because of that, he has gotten very good and being perfectly and inarguably blunt.

It is a much more efficient thing to be straightforward with someone when looking for answers. Dancing around an issue or an inquiry takes time that soldiers may not always have. And with so much to learn about the Galaxy, why take one’s time? Hunter knows this. Tech knows he does. Which means that he also knows that - much like Omega - if he is left without an answer, he will pursue it until he finds one.

And he always finds one.

So, Hunter has two choices. Tell him the whole truth now, or let him pry it out of Wrecker later.

Hunter sighs deeply, and it appears as though he has chosen the former.

“You need to understand that I wasn’t gonna keep it from you for much longer,” he starts, waving his hand around in a vague gesture. “I was tryna give you more time to wake up first. It’s a hard to swallow pill.”

Tech shrugs. “I am plenty awake. I believe I can take it. Just tell me this first. Is Omega truly uninjured? Because if she were not, then the blame would fall to me, and I cannot in good conscience-“

Hunter shakes his head. “No no, she’s completely fine… as far as that goes. Like I said, just a few bruises.”

“As far as that goes?”

Lips pursed, he gives a short nod. “Right.” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Right, yeah. So… I mean the timing really it was as if she knew- or her body did maybe. But I thought I was just seeing things, cuz Echo and Wrecker, they-“

“Hunter,” Tech cuts him off. “If it is something that I can assist with, then I cannot do so until you tell me. Please, do just spit it out.”

“Omega used the force.”

And Tech just kind of… blinks. Perhaps he is missing something here, or perhaps he is simply still too tired and failed to hear everything that Hunter said. Regardless…

Tech presses his mouth into a thin line. “I thought I had told you that I have already seen several instances in action that I can identify, however that may have been an oversight on my part and for that I-“

“No, Tech, she- used the force. Or- I don’t know- wielded? She wielded the force. Made something move.”

Oh?

Tech furrows his brows in concentration. It’s an odd idea to try and comprehend. Wielded the force? Hm. Well it only makes sense, doesn’t it? She is sensitive after all, and… and. No, maybe Hunter was right, maybe he should have woken up a little more first. In all honesty, it isn’t quite clicking in his brain, like the pieces of the puzzle are there, but they aren’t quite fitting-

‘She wielded the force. Made something move.’

Oh!…

Oh.

“Sorry… Wielded?”

He stares at Hunter, wide eyed, mouth dry, and without needing to say any more than a word, - unable to, really - Hunter nods confirmation, frowning.

Tech swallows heavily. “Oh dear.”

Chapter Text

When Omega comes barreling up the uneasy stairs of the warehouse, covered in dirt and fumbling to keep her balance, Hunter swears his heart stops for several agonizingly long seconds.

“Hunter! Echo, Wrecker! We need help!” she’s screaming, as much as her small voice can at least, tripping up the last step and almost falling over. Through his panicked haze, however, he manages to catch her by the shoulder before she meets the ground with her face.

He falls to one knee to meet her at eye level. Her breathing is heavy and uneven, eyes wide as the flicker about the room. “Omega, look at me,” he orders with a gentle urgency. “Are you alright? What happened? Where’s Tech?”

Everything up until this point has gone… smooth, relatively speaking. Though he was in no way thrilled at the idea of leaving Tech alone with Omega at the moment, content to keep his own eyes firmly on her until he spoke further with his brother about last night, locating the crate had been a breeze. Wrecker lifted it on one shoulder with ease, and the three of them were just about ready to get moving when Tech’s comm came in.

‘Havoc One, we have a situation-‘

Immediately, he had felt a cold fear - still present now - coarse through his veins. It took him and the others several long minutes to get their own comms to find a connection on the other end due to the thick walls of the warehouse proving themselves a hindrance to their communication.

He had called through to the other end, Echo pulling up Tech’s location whilst Wrecker dropped the crate back down without a semblance of grace. There was no response, and seconds of grim silence were all they received in return until they heard Omega’s shrill call for help, followed by her appearance on the steps.

And now here they are. He feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“I- t-there’s a- and Tech-“

Maker, she can hardly get a word out. “Just breathe, kid, breathe. Like this,” he takes a deep, exaggerated breath, and she does her best to mirror the action, but her flight up the stair combine with obvious fear seems to overpower her ability to fully even her breathing. Distantly, he hears Echo attempting to hail Tech a second time, but to no avail.

She takes a heaving breath in and stares at him. “W-We were attacked by this b-big creature! It’s t-tryna eat m-me or something and T-Tech said to run and h-he’s gonna try and fight it off b-but it might hurt him-“

Hunter’s head is pounding, panic settling in his stomach. “Eat you?”

She nods furiously, grabbing at his hand. “We gotta go h-help Tech!”

He takes a quick stock of the situation as he knows it. A poor connection via comm. Large creature. Hungry, apparently. Tech is - as far as any of them are aware - trying to fend it off. Omega ran as instructed. Tech may be injured, if not in worse danger.

Okay.

Hunter snaps into a standing position, though allows Omega to keep a tight hold on his hand in hopes of providing some semblance of comfort. “Still outside the warehouse?” he asks her, as calm as he can be.

“Mhmm,” she hums, seeming to steel herself as her forehead creases in deep determination. “We gotta go help him.”

“Alright boys. Wrecker, take the lead. Echo, rear. Omega, draw your bow, but you’re our back up only, do you understand?” he orders, firm, but trying not to sound all too harsh. “If it’s too big for Tech, it’s too big for most of us.”

Echo and Wrecker nod in acknowledgement of their orders and in agreement with Omega’s, and Wrecker starts his charge down the stairs.

Omega swallows, visibly displeased. “Okay,” she mumbles, beginning to fiddle with the strap around her shoulder.

He isn’t entirely confident that she’s going to listen, but they don’t have time to stand around and wait. He gives her a vague gesture to start moving, and she releases his hand, following her brother down the stairs with similar urgency. Him and Echo do much the same, crate all but forgotten in their moment of sudden peril; Tech’s life is more important than Cid’s job.

He’s barely aware of himself moving to the ground floor, mind otherwise occupied, a fact he isn’t proud of. The truth of the matter is that ever since they acquired Omega, and he found himself somehow… attached to the little girl, the constant need to protect and care for her his one and only goal, he has softened tremendously.

Unfortunately, this has proven to begin to extend beyond Omega and out too to his brothers. Not that he didn’t care for them before, - of course not - simply that so much has happened that the value of their lives suddenly mean so much more to him. Crosshair choosing the Empire lends itself to the notion that in this suddenly very unsure Galaxy, where a stable home and an insurance of life does not exist, it is easier than ever to lose any one of them.

That is not something he is willing to do.

Now I’m particular, the thought is tugging at his conscience like bird pulling a worm from the dirt. After he managed to regain a level head last night, blowing up at Tech, saying the horrible things he did, made him feel like a villain. He didn’t mean it, he never has and he never will. He loves his little sister just as much as the rest of them do. For Hunter so suggest otherwise? He can hardly believe those words came from his lips.

It was panic in the moment, really. Not that that is any kind of excuse, because nothing can excuse what he said, but the thought of Omega really and truly being force sensitive… is terrifying. He doesn’t know how to handle a force sensitive kid, let alone his own kid. The risk… the danger that this discovery can possibly bring with it…

And the only one who knows much about the situation at all is Tech. Without him, Hunter would be no better than a billfish out of water.

More importantly, if anything happens to Tech… if he dies, then Hunter will never have the chance to apologize, and his brother will pass on thinking that his eldest sibling hates him.

The thought is too much to bare.

“Hunt’r, look!” Wrecker bellows, shaking him out of his stupor. Only now does he realize they’ve made it back outside, Aargau sun beating down through the dense forest. Leaves rustle in a cool breeze, and a smell wafts through the air to his nose; the smell of grass and… wet massiff?

Hunter follows the scent with his eyes, and his stomach drops. There, laying in the grass and grappling with the strong front legs of a fully grown strill, is Tech.

Strill are rather weighty creatures with sharp teeth and the instinct to hunt and kill. Even tame strills are vicious animals. Considering the scene in front of them, he can guess that Tech has been holding his own until now. Alone, anyone would be overpowered by such a heavy thing eventually. But the four of them, hell, Wrecker, Echo and himself should be able to handle it-

Omega lets out a shocked gasp beside him, and he zones in just on time to watch the strill slam its large head down against Tech’s.

Tech’s head is knocked back into the dirt, and Omega calls out for him in some only partially coherent way, bow drawn.

“Omega, don’t!” Hunter draws his pistol in one hand and reaches out to stop her with the other, but it’s too late. She releases the bow, and a shimmering bolt of pink energy soars across the air before finding its target on the strill’s side.

And that certainly gets the creatures attention.

Sometimes, he admires her bravery and willingness to try and help her brothers. Sometimes. Most of the time, he swears his soul leaves his body.

The strill whips around towards her, growling and baring its front fangs. Its eyes stare right at her, and Hunter is firing before he can think.

Echo does much the same from behind, and Wrecker grinds his right fist into the palm of his left hand, ready to take the thing on head to head. Their blaster bolts do little against it, but deter it from approaching for the time being.

“I told you you were backup!” he hisses, watching the strill with intense focus.

Omega fires another thread of pink. “I-“

“Just stay behind me, please,” he begs under his breath, too busy keeping both eyes on the strill to think about how desperate he sounds. Then, raising his voice as the strill lowers itself to the ground in preparation to pounce, he throws out orders. “Wrecker, intercept! Echo, diversion on my mark! You go right!”

“Copy!” his brothers call out in unison, and the moment he throws his free hand out, two fingers pointing forward, the three of them are moving heavy through the dirt.

Echo rolls to the side, close to the ground, and the strill whips its head around to follow the movement on its level. Hunter skids to a halt close to Tech’s - unconscious, he notes - form in the grass. He whips his pistol up and shoots over its head, and, seemingly successfully confused by the double-ended attack, the still follows the blue blaster bolt with his eyes.

Wrecker lunges forward, ready to give it an opponent of its own size. His arms are spread wide, palms open and ready for a tussle.

And that’s when everything goes entirely wrong.

The strill fakes him out at the last second, keeling to its right side to avoid his ready and waiting grasp. Wrecker, evidently unprepared for such a well timed evasion, manages to maintain his balance, but stumbles forward all the same. He regains himself in an instant, but the strill is oddly light on its feet, outpacing him and circling behind his legs to barrel into Echo instead.

Poor Echo, crouching near the ground, doesn’t stand a chance. He’s pushed over and down in the grass, pinned under the creature’s strong legs in less than a few seconds, and with only one hand, he’s wildly outmatched.

He makes the attempt anyway, bracing himself with the elbow of his scomp arm and trying to force the strill back with his flesh hand. It leans forward, growling and hissing.

Hunter, frantic and caught off guard, takes a few shots at it, hitting it in the back. The creature flinches, but it stays atop Echo, holding its ground.

“Echo!” Omega calls for him, and before Hunter can try and stop her, throat dry with an uncharacteristic anxiety, she’s running in the direction of her brother, and of the creature, bow drawn and aimed at its side.

Wrecker runs forward at the same time, clearly set on tackling it off of Echo and getting it back for skillfully avoiding him.

“Omega! Stop!” Hunter manages to find his voice, and he startles her. His ad comes to a sudden stop and-

-and everything happens so fast.

Omega skids to a halt, catching her foot on a rock hidden in the dirt. Her bow slips from her grasp.

The strill takes a nose dive for Echo’s head, mouth hanging open and teeth bared, ready to give him the same treatment it has given Tech.

At the same time that she falls forward, Omega extends a hand towards Echo, yelping something that Hunter is too distracted to hear.

Wrecker is moments away from grabbing the creature by its hind legs, hands just about hovering over it.

And before he can make contact, the strill goes flying back, thrown as if by some invisible force off of Echo’s stomach. It soars through the air, no more than a mere foot off the ground, flailing and helpless to stop itself, until it makes contact with the thick trunk of an overgrown tree.

Omega’s face plants itself in the dirt, down on her stomach, unable to catch herself in time.

And the whole forest goes completely… still.

It takes a fatal several moments for Hunter’s mind to catch up. He needs to take stock of himself in the silence, find some ground to stand on. He’s breathing rather heavy, he realizes, like his heart may just leap out his throat. The world… is spinning, maybe just a little. His pistol is still gripped firmly in his hand and he has half the mind to slide his finger away from the trigger. His knees tremble, eyes blinking rapidly as they try to make sense of the situation.

Gaze flicking to Wrecker, his brother appears to be having the same amount of trouble processing what happened. Echo lays on the ground, chest rising and falling as he pants to catch his breath, but he lifts his head, so he’s still conscious, thank the maker.

The strill lies under the tree, but he can see clearly that it too remains alive and conscious. Slowly, and with a newfound apprehension, it gets to its feet. Hunter trains his blaster on it, but it only stares at him, visibly dirty and shaken, before backing away into the woods. Wrecker takes a small step towards it, and just like that, it turns tail and runs far out of sight, disappearing into the trees.

A harsh coughing and sputtering to his right grabs his attention. He snaps his head around to Omega, pushing herself off the ground with her palms as she aggressively spits out a mouthful of dirt and leaves.

Hunter closes the gap between him and his ad in two meaningful strides, dropping to her side. “Are you alright?” he asks, and he is acutely aware of Wrecker helping Echo to his feet behind them.

Omega coughs up more dirt, nodding her head. Hunter lays a firm but gentle hand on her back. “Got a mouthful of dirt there?” he quietly teases, and she glares at him, heaving a sigh.

“Tastes- bad,” she mutters, huffing.

He huffs a small laugh, relieved to see her okay, relatively speaking. He offers her a hand, which she takes, and slowly gets to his feet, pulling her with him.

“Uh, Sarge-“

He turns to Wrecker, standing helplessly in the middle of the clearing of trees like a lost tooka. Echo has already moved on, crouched by unconscious Tech’s side and removing the portable med scanner from his brother’s belt. Hunter starts moving towards him, Omega in tow. Wrecker, however, makes no such movement, and if his helmet weren’t hidden by his face, he would be able to see the probably look of audible confusion in his features.

Omega bounds towards him, scooping up her bow as she goes. “Good job, Wreck’a!” she smiles, planting herself at his feet.

Good job? Good job for what, exactly? Not that Wrecker didn’t pull his weight just now, but it’s quite obvious that she’s referring to the removal of the strill off of Echo’s body.

And Wrecker… Wrecker didn’t do that.

So then, who did?

It is now that Hunter comes fully to, events of the last two minutes clicking into place.

Wrecker had reached for the strill, yes, and his goal was to wrestle it off of Echo. But that never happened. Wrecker never touched the creature. In fact, other than Echo pushing back at its attempts to overpower him completely, nobody did. And yet, the beast was displaced, sent flying in the air and knocked away.

So… how-

“Uh, yeah, thanks kid,” Wrecker replies, going along with the praise somewhat awkwardly.

Hunter tilts his head to one side. The silent question is ‘What happened’, and the even quieter answer sends a chill down his spine.

Wrecker still doesn’t dare to move.

Knitting his eyebrows, Hunter runs it through his mind one more time. The strill’s keen sense of danger. Wrecker’s surprise. The shift to Echo as a target. Omega’s panic. Hunter’s panic. Omega tripping. Omega reaching out. Omega falling over, face first into the dirt.

Omega Omega Omega.

And the creature, angry and hungry, thrown back and incapacitated by some force that nobody could see.

His eyes widen.

Kriffing hell…

Hunter straightens himself up, and the wordless communication between him and his brother comes to an understanding. They both say it, both realize it, and even if they don’t understand it nor can they explain it, they know what it was.

It was Omega who moved the strill. Omega who controlled the unseeable force between her and the creature, and saved Echo from meeting a fate similar to that of Tech.

Kriff, Tech.

Maker, his head is pounding. There’s so much, too much going on. Things he can’t explain. Things he doesn’t know how to handle. Feelings of panic and anger and fear and guilt that feel entirely foreign.

Omega controlled the force; wielded the force to save her brother.

And… does she even know? Does she realize what she’s done?

He watches as she moves on from Wrecker with a small frown on her face, coming up beside Echo and squinting as she observes Tech on the ground.

“Is he gonna be okay?” he distantly hears her ask.

Echo nods. “He’ll be fine. A few bumps and bruises, but that’s all. No lacerations, no concussion, no breaks. Just got knocked around a bit,” he reassures her, offering a small smile.

Omega smiles a little, too. “Will he take a long time to wake up?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She kneels down on the ground and grabs one of Tech’s hands in both of her, giving it a gentle squeeze.

No. No, Omega hasn’t got any idea what she’s done. None at all. She’s a horrible liar. If she had done it on purpose with the intention of hiding it, he would known in an instant. Which means that she is unaware of her ability, her force sensitivity, and saving Echo has been entirely on accident.

Even moreso than a horrible liar, she is nothing if not reactive. If she knew what she has done, she would not be so calm, not have given Wrecker the credit. She would be whirring with energy; panicking, maybe. But she’s… not. She almost appears lethargic, and he suspects that the adrenaline energy is starting to deep out her body. If she knew what she just did, she’d be bursting with a renewed nervousness that would only serve to make him more anxious than he already is.

But she doesn’t.

He suspects that Echo didn’t realize either, or if he did, he’s keeping his cool about it. Though for who’s sake? That much is anyone’s guess.

Hunter’s feet feel rooted to the spot. He can’t rationalize any part of it, can’t manage a coherent thought. Not like this.

Wrecker, on the other hand, makes the smart choice of going about things as normally as is possible given the absurd situation. He joins Echo and Omega, and they seems to begin some three way conversation about… who knows. Probably what to do with Tech. Or the strill. Or the job. Or any number of other vaguely related things.

He doesn’t hear a word of it, cannot focus on anyone other than Omega. Watching the way she moves, so casual, so innocent. Her smile, so refreshingly naive and bright, thrilled at the prospect of Tech’s supposedly speedy recovery ahead.

Hunter’s body feels weak. Omega - his ad, his little girl - really does not have a clue that, with her own hands, she has the power to move mountains, and the rest of the galaxy will kill her for it.

Maker bless them all. He can only hope that Tech will wake soon.

Tech will know what to do. He has to. Because Hunter doesn’t, and he never will. His kid, force sensitive, and unable to control it.

A grim thought creeps up in the back of his mind. He feels… numb. Scared. His worst fear realized in an instant.

She’s as good as dead.

Chapter Text

Tech stares at his knees, taking in every word with complete and utter concentration. By the time Hunter has reached the end, he feels as though his head might just roll off his neck, heavy with an overwhelming feeling of dread.

“I… see,” he manages, nodding slowly. “And tell me, have you discussed this yet with Wrecker and Echo? Did either of them have any different to say to the effect?”

Hunter hums a small noise. “After Omega fell asleep, we talked about it a little. How could we not? Echo saw it. Wrecker, too. We all did. And we all came to the same conclusion,” he explains, shuffling on the bunk. “Echo’s seen more of the force than any of us have, and he said that’s definitely what it was. He recognized it, or felt it, or something like that. You’ll have to ask him.“

Tech’s gut clenches. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t there to witness it for himself, and therefore it only exists as a formulated image in his mind. Or maybe it’s because he’s done his thorough research and has a better understanding of the science - or lack thereof - behind her sensitively. But in truth, he isn’t having all that hard a time believing it. It was only a matter of time before she did more than talk to insects.

He just… never expected it to be so soon.

“And she truly has no idea what she has done?” he asks, glancing up as Hunter.

Hunter shakes his head. “None. Like I said, she definitely isn’t lying about it, and she had no reaction. She really seems to think that Wrecker threw it or something.” He grimaces, and it does little to aid Tech’s own rapidly growing anxiety. “It was just… I mean she fell before she could see it happen. It’s… a freak coincidence.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Tech replies. “Had she not fallen, surely she would have seen it, and things would have gone differently. How odd.”

In some distant corner of his mind, he wonders if the living force has anything to do with that. Though he doesn’t have the time or energy to spare now to think too hard about that. Is it really the why that matters when this is the end result? When nothing can be done to change it?

A perhaps more interesting thought, however, is the idea that it was the immediate danger posed to her brothers that triggered the response. At least, that’s what he suspects. He can’t think of what else, based on Hunter’s retelling, might have served as a ‘last straw’ as it were. It’s the exact opposite of what the Jedi preach; it’s a direct display of love, and attachment.

Good thing she isn’t a Jedi, he thinks darkly, and it’s a thought that is better kept to himself regardless of the fact that he knows the feeling is mutual among his brothers.

Although, he must concede that the guidance of an experienced force user - such as a Jedi - would make all the difference here and now. Echo may have some insight, having once worked closely with the Jedi whereas the rest of them hardly ever interacted with them at all, but he can only offer so much. Otherwise, the lot of them are flying blind, and one can only do that for so long before crashing becomes inevitable.

Hunter picks his head up. “I’m worried about her,” he starts. “About how she went out like a light after the adrenaline wore off…” He purses his lips and glares hard at the floor. “The force doesn’t hurt her, does it?”

Whether or not such a question is meant to be rhetorical, Tech is wholly unable to tell. Luckily enough, he does have an answer. If Hunter doesn’t want it, oh well, but it may serve to soothe his anxieties.

“Actually, that is to be expected,” Tech supplies, waving his hand in vague affirmation. “There are a plethora of reports in the Jedi archives regarding young padawans finding themselves exhausted after any such use of the force due to their lack of experience.” Hunter blinks, but his eyes remain glued below him. “As the body becomes accustomed to utilization of the force, that is a hindrance they eventually grow out of.”

“Omega isn’t a padawan,” Hunter breathes, barely above a whisper. And Tech is aware that it has nothing to do with what he said, but with the comparison that was required to say it. Omega, a padawan; a thought that none of them want to entertain.

That’s the other thing, about not being a Jedi, that is: her hardheaded attitude and frequent disobedience would have gotten her in quite a bit of trouble. While there were plenty of Jedi who were, as padawans, much the same, he can’t help but think Omega would have been a unique kind of challenge.

Her mindset, whether he or Hunter or any of them like it or not, greatly reflects that of a soldier. They are, in part, inadvertently responsible for that fact. While a large part of it came naturally, being a clone, he has noticed a few aspects of her decision making that have changed over time as a result of their influence.

Maybe if she had been trained for the beginning, it would be different. Would the Jedi have quashed her curiosity? Taught her to hone her ability in such a way that her best qualities were suppressed? It’s a thought he quickly dismisses. He likes Omega just the way she is.

“Shit,” Hunter breaths, burying his face in his palm, sliding it down his nose, and Tech snaps his head towards him. “We’re not cut out for this. I’m- we’re already making all this up as we go-“ and Tech doesn’t miss how he corrects himself with haste, though he bites his tongue knowing that a comment on Hunter’s position of guardianship would be anything by helpful now. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

The answer should be obvious: protect her, care for her. Just as they have been. But for Hunter, - and for Tech - that isn’t going to be enough. There has to be more.

Furrowing his brows, he gives it hard thought. His research has yet to pick back up, following the events of the previous night. Maker, has it really only been one day since… since he told his brothers? Since Hunter blew up? Only half a day since Aargau? Since his talk with Omega?

Time… is an odd thing. He understands that, he does. It is fickle, often moving faster or slower depending on the place or day. And yet, it never truly changes pace. It can’t. It is, in some weird way, stationary. Ever changing and always the same. An anomaly in and of itself. Peculiar, immeasurable, yet constructed in distinct increments.

For some, it offers structure. For their squad, it’s just another part of life. Another cog in the works. Before the war ended, Tech didn’t bother with time. None of them did. But what is time - what was time - to Omega? Was it much the same, another undeniable fact, a part of her routine just like any other? Or was it long? Boring? Lonely?

Was it a barrier between her force sensitivity and the rest of the Galaxy? An obstruction that could only be removed by complete and total freedom?

Have they been chipping away at that barrier piece by piece, every step, every word, a crack in the infrastructure? An assistant to its pending liberation?

So as not to startle him, and in a moment of tactility so unlike him, Tech puts a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “I believe we continue to do what we have been doing,” he offers, characteristically confident in his response.

Hunter frowns. “What’d’you mean?” He apprehension seeps through his voice like heavy rain against an old roof. “We didn’t know-“

Tech shakes his head. “It has become more apparent now that Omega is unaware of her force sensitivity. Whatever it was that happened before, in Nala Sé’s lab, it ultimately resulted in the long term suppression of her ability,” he explains, pushing his goggles further up his nose. “Suppression of force ability can often lead to outbursts.”

“Like what happened today?”

No. Worse. And that isn’t what Hunter wants to hear, Tech knows that, but there is no way around it. May as well be the bearer of bad news.

“The way that you describe it, her reaction today was on the… mild end of the scale. Outbursts can be… much bigger,” he tests the waters with careful words, and Hunter’s face falls completely. Tech sighs. “They are usually more noticeable. To Omega, and to any other parties… present, at the time.”

Hunter only groans.

Removing his hand from Hunter’s shoulder, he fights back a sigh. He can tell that he brother is beginning to ‘overload’, so to speak. He’s overwhelmed, absorbing too much information too quickly; or at least trying. He’s loathe to be the cause, almost angry with himself for adding to Hunter’s immense stress. This is his ad’ika they’re talking about, after all. They need to be thorough, as thorough as thorough will ever be.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? ‘That makes me think you’re being really fucking careless with her life!’ He isn’t. He never has been, and he isn’t about to start. Not now, not tomorrow, and the only way to protect Omega is to give Hunter all the facts, no matter how much it pains him to hear.

Tech makes a mental note to apologize at a later time for it, but for now, they’re both going to have to put up with it.

For Omega’s sake.

“Hunter. Whatever it is that we have been doing, that you have been doing, the way we have been caring for her, is working,” he says pointedly. “She has remained safe under your leadership, and her force sensitivity has done little in way of harm. I do not yet have all the answers, but I intend to continue to study until I can provide sufficient answers.

“She is unaware of her ability. For now, it must remain that way. She is content, satisfied as she is now. The force inside of her is taking time to manifest in its entirety, which also means that we still have time to plan,” he continues on. Hunter’s hands are balled into two tight fists, evidently sweaty with nerves. The side of his face obstructed by his tattoo is muddled in thought. “You must be doing something correct.”

The sergeant mutters something inaudible, most likely a curse if any real words at all, and pushes himself off the bunk. He stares deliberately at the wall. “What happens if- when she does it again?” he asks, crossing his arms right over his chest. The finality in his tone is almost refreshing, like a slow acceptance. “We can’t possibly know when that will be, right?”

“No. But we can prepare until that time arrives.”

“And we… shouldn’t tell her?”

“…No. Not yet.”

Tech knows how Hunter feels about that secrecy without needing to ask him, because he feels the same way. To keep from her the truth of her enhancement, to act nonplussed by anything and everything small - communicating with animals, feeling the emotions of others - that occurs, feels akin to horrible treachery; that’s what Nala Sé did, isn’t it?

The fundamental difference is that their intention is to protect her. The less she knows while her abilities remain out of her control, the better. When the time comes, if her brothers are prepared, - or as prepared as they can be - he hopes that it will assist in lifting some of the burden, a proverbial safety net of sorts.

Secrets, abhorrent things that they are, often come with consequences. This is a fact he often forgets, often disregards, as he did with… everything else up until this point. But sometimes, secrets are kept for one’s own good, and Omega is just a kid. She relies on them, learns from them. If they are blatantly unsure of themselves upon her discovery of the force inside of her, it will only serve to make her feel worse. He cannot imagine a situation in which her reaction is all kinds of positive.

Better to soften the blow.

“She requires our guidance,” he offers in short, following his brother to stand up, albeit slower and while bracing himself on the edge of the bunk. “We must be prepared to offer it up to the best of our ability.”

Hunter sighs, a wary affirmative. “I know. And I trust you,” he replies, slowly but surely. “I can’t help but-“

He clamps his mouth shut, stares ever intently ahead of him, eyes brimming with emotion he doesn’t want to voice.

Fear.

But Tech manages to keep his own emotions in check still, or as best as he can, at least.

“It is natural to be scared,” he picks up where Hunter left off. “I am, of course, frightened as well. But it is as you always say. We are a squad, are we not? We will figure things out together.”

This gets Hunter to look at him, face morphing into some kind of shock. He blinks, perhaps a little lost. It’s to be expected, his anxiety, and Tech knows there is little he can do to quash it in earnest. But he means what he says, about them being a squad, and figuring things out together. That was the mistake he made in researching Omega on his own, and he knows all too well that Hunter is at risk of making the same mistake now.

He’s a leader, and protector, first and foremost. And now he is a buir, whether he outwardly accepts it or not. His natural instinct is to keep them all out of harm’s way, but his attempts at handling things on his own are few and far between; nothing major since they were cadets. Omega changed things. Hunter will do anything that he deems necessary, no matter what, if it means that his ad is safe.

Tech understands the sentiment, but he cannot - and nor can Omega - have Hunter trying to do it on his own.

No more ‘alone’. For any of them.

Luckily, Hunter seems to understand, nodding shortly and trying for a wry smile.

“Together.”

He holds a hand forward, and Tech smiles - actually, genuinely smiles - as he recognizes the gesture, reaching and clasping his brother’s elbow. Hunter grabs his gently in return, firm with determination.

“Yes, together.”

Chapter Text

The hour or so that follows passes in the blink of an eye.

Despite his vehement protests that he wasn’t hungry, and their priorities lie with Omega, Hunter forces Tech to eat something once they emerge from the bunkroom. He insists that his fatigue is due to the headache, and that the stiffness that accompanies it is merely a side effect, but Hunter does not relent. It’s a back and forth that Wrecker witnesses with visibly relative amusement for several minutes before a compromise is reached.

And thus, the pair of them bring Echo and Wrecker up to speed whilst Tech idles over a ration bar. He despises the frustration of trying to eat and discuss at the same time, trying his best to take small, easily swallowable bites whenever Hunter takes over talking. Luckily enough, the conversation goes over smoothly, and if any of them notice his evident annoyance amidst the inarguably more important task at hand, they make no comments.

Echo and Wrecker agree with Tech’s conclusion that the best they can do is prepare for the time being and do their best to act no differently than before. It’s like Hunter said in the very beginning: nothing will change between them. She is still their sister, - and ad’ika - and they love and care for her no less. They will continue to protect her.

What has changed is the definition of ‘protect’ when it comes to Omega. Before, it meant to guard, to raise her, and to ensure her comfort and safety. Now, it also means hiding her abilities from the Galaxy at large, and exhibiting extra caution around regs and Imperial soldiers.

‘We’ll manage,’ Echo tells them, head held high. ‘This is our new mission, the most important one yet. We’ll figure things out. For Omega.’

For Omega.

Exhausted from the day’s unexpected turn of events, the squad then takes it in turn to disperse. Tech requests the first watch, citing Hunter’s forceful sustenance as reason to allow him to stay up a while longer. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Hunter chooses not to perpetuate the argument, but insists he take the next cycle.

Which leaves Tech in the cockpit, staring out the viewport at Aargau below them, the Marauder floating in steady orbit. His datapad is in one hand, open to reports and files he intends to review before his shift is over. Now that things are back to a relative normal, - though very loosely speaking - their sense of purpose mutually renewed, he hasn’t time to waste. The more they know, after all.

This particular report, borrowed (stolen) from the Jedi temple, outlines various complications as well as their solutions that are often faced by young padawans. Toddler age, more specifically. Omega is hardly a toddler, but her force ability is more akin to that age group than any other at the moment, and her struggles may range anywhere from as simple as that to as complicated as a young adult well on their way to knighthood. Best to cover all their bases.

As it stands, he’s found little that has caused him any concern, due to the fact that anything he can imagine pertaining to Omega is solvable. The accidental lifting of objects, for one, is the most common. Within that category falls the accidental… pushing of objects.

In simple terms, they are the same problem, and can be fixed by lessons in control, and heightened self awareness. In less than simple terms, the report mentions that aggressive pushing - whether an accident or not - can often be a sign of a young force sensitive child tapping into the dark side of the force unintentionally.

The issue explains itself. If Omega did in fact tap into the dark side earlier, it certainly wasn’t on purpose, but does have the potential to cause larger issues later down the line. He files that information away in his mind for later; he would like to think that she is safe from such things, but he’s far from a naive man. Better to be safe than sorry.

A small yawn escapes his throat, and he practically snaps to attention. He insisted on first watch, and falling asleep would be wholly unacceptable. He glances to his side at the scarcely used chrono above the main console. Only an hour and then some until it was Hunter’s turn to take over. He’s a trained soldier. He will manage.

But that doesn’t change the fact that his tussle with the strill appears to have thoroughly exhausted all his energy. He’s consciously aware of the fact that he’s been reading slower, too. He hasn’t gotten nearly as much done as he wishes he could, and while something is better than nothing, something isn’t always good enough.

One small misstep in a Galaxy like this, and death can be as certain as breathing used to be.

He slumps back in the pilot’s seat, running a hand through his hair. He’s felt it getting a tad longer these days. Not like there’s been much time to cut it, not to mention that he’s really the only one among them that requires a precise cut. Wrecker and Echo haven’t got any, Hunter chops off the ends and leaves it at that, and Omega has expressed no desire to trim her hair.

Another reminder of the passage of time, and how quickly it suddenly seems to be passing.

He tucks the datapad in a small compartment under the console and sighs, giving in to the simple fact that he’s too worn out to get any sufficient work done until he catches up on rest. Unable to sleep earlier, it seems like a novelty now.

With his gaze so bleary, vaguely focused on the quiet space outside the Marauder, he almost doesn’t hear the sudden sound of footsteps in the otherwise silent ship. It’s a light pitter patter, moving slowly in his direction as if tired, or hesitant. Maybe both.

Slowly, he turns his chair towards the cockpit door, expecting to see Hunter, too anxious to sleep, or Echo tip-toeing to the ‘fresher. But when the door whirs open, it reveals Omega, blinking wearily, wrapped up in her excuse of a blanket and clutching Lula in one hand.

Tech straightens up in his chair, eyes widening. “Omega, you should be asleep,” he murmurs, a nervousness churning in his stomach. After today, she needs her rest even more than he does. Is she alright? Is she hurt? Was it a nightmare?

“Tech,” she slurs out, voice thick with sleep. “I uh- what time is it?” she asks, seemingly unable to maintain her original train of thought.

And then her eyes blow up, practically bulging out of her skull as if in stark realization. “Tech!” she says again, louder and with significant clarity as she surges forward, stumbling over her blanket.

He hurriedly extends his arms towards her, lest she trip and fall. “Careful,” he mutters, leaning forward. “Is everything alright? You should not be up at this hour.”

She comes to a quick stop in front of him, their knees almost touching. “I’m fine,” she nods, smiling. “What about you?”

Tech can’t help but crack a small smile in return. “I am quite alright. I am only tired, as you should be too, getting your rest.” He raises a brow, shifting a little in his chair.

Omega merely shrugs, scrambling towards the copilot’s chair and hoisting herself up, huddling in the blanket with Lula pressed under her chin. “Not tired anymore,” she says dismissively. “Echo said that the strill barely hurt you.”

If he didn’t know better, he would be surprised at how focused she is on him, and not at all concerned with or interested in talking about herself. Months ago, when she was still getting acclimated to the Marauder and adjusting to the squad, he often was. Her selflessness has been admirable from the start, but his understanding now is much greater than it used to be.

“That is correct. I am unharmed, and I was relieved to know that you are as well,” he answers, leaning back against the headrest. “Though, I loathe to think how Cid will react when we return without the target.”

At that, Omega’s features scrunch up in visible confusion. “We got the package,” she blinks rapidly. “Hunter made Wrecker go back for it after he chased the strill away.”

‘After he chased the strill away’, as in Wrecker. After Wrecker chased it away.

Not Omega.

Playing along suddenly feels awful, like a phlegmy bile building up in his throat. Maker, she really doesn’t know.

More importantly, nobody thought to tell him that they had completed the job despite the circumstances at hand? Yes, there were other things to handle first, but it certainly would have eased his mind some.

“I had not been informed,” he replies. “That is rather good to hear.”

She nods vigorously, holding Lula tighter to her chest. “Echo said that if Cid’s mad ‘cuz we’re late he’s gonna be pissed off,” she chirps, and Tech swears she gives him whiplash.

“Miss Omega, where did you hear that language from?” he asks, pressing his lips together. Not like it’s the worse thing in the Galaxy she could say, - thank the Maker she’s never been exposed to Huttese - and sure, they were using worse by her age, but that doesn’t mean she should gain an affinity for questionable language.

“Pissed?” she perks up, grinning. “Echo said it!”

Oh, Hunter would not like that. Tech, however, finds it extremely comedic. He and his brothers have never been much for colorful language, despite the assumptions that others tend to make about them, but on a bad day, or in a moment of panic, or clouded judgement, they are far from deterred entirely. While they have all made an effort to be more so in Omega’s presence, thus cutting back even more than they already were, sometimes, things slip through the cracks.

Echo is going to be in a lot of trouble if Hunter ever finds out.

Regardless, it is Tech’s job as her elder brother to set a good example, both for her sake and his own. “I would not advise you to make use of that term regularly in your vocabulary,” he smiles, biting back his amusement. “It is not a polite thing to say, and Hunter would be very displeased to hear it.”

At that, Omega gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. “Sorry!” she squeaks out, Lula landing in her lap.

“It is quite alright,” he tries to assure her, smile all but faltering. “Echo should be the one watching his language,” he chides gently.

This earns a small giggle from Omega, who blinks from behind her hands before turning her head to look out the viewport. Tech follows her gaze, a sort of warm feelings suddenly bubbling in his chest.

In his periphery, he notes the wrapper from his begrudgingly eaten ration bar discarded on the floor. He swore he had put it on the console, and perhaps it fell off, but it does give him a thought: does hunger come as a side effect of Omega’s exhaustion via wielding the force? It’s entirely possible, and he isn’t sure whether or not she ate since returning to the ship anyway.

He opens his mouth to ask her, but before he can get a word out, she is - unintentionally, of course - speaking over him.

“Did’ja talk to Hunter?” she asks, absentmindedly picking at the hem of her shirt in that way that she often does when she’s anxious.

“Pardon?” he replies, glancing over to her. Her eyes don’t leave the viewport, however, stars reflecting off of them.

Omega picks Lula back up. “Because you guys fought,” she says as if it’s the most simple idea in the Galaxy. “And you were sad. But you seem better now.”

His gut clenches.

Maybe it’s always been this way, and maybe he merely wasn’t paying enough attention before, but it has suddenly begun to feel like nothing he feels is safe. Not to say that Omega calling him out on his emotions is a danger, but that she never really did this before. Maybe she did, and the only reason it’s so much more noticeable now is because he knows why.

Either way, it’s a strange feeling. It’s exposing, a sense of vulnerability that he cannot escape, but it’s far from uncomfortable.

No, it’s more so refreshing, like a weight is being lifted off his shoulder. He needn’t have to express how he’s feeling - something he so desperately struggles with - because she just knows. She can sense it. And it makes the emotion, whatever it may seem to be, that much easier to discuss.

“We did,” he admits plainly, and he feels his face soften. “It is as I said. Squadmates, and siblings, disagree. But all is well now.”

Omega raises a brow in teasing skepticism. “Mm,” she hums, and he can see the burst of energy that came with finding him awake beginning to fade. “You didn’t say that last part,” she mumbles. “But tha’s good. I don’t want you guys to be mad.”

“All is well,” he says again, and he means it, and Omega seems to believe it just as much.

She yawns, a feeble attempt to force it down not going unnoticed, though he doesn’t make a comment for the sake of her pride. Instead, he opts for what he knows Hunter would do, but he never has before, too unsure of himself to try anything but send her back to bed.

“You may stay and watch the stars if you would like,” he murmurs, and that gets her to turn her full attention to him. “If you are not tired, that is.”

She is tired, that much is perfectly clear. But her presence… is calming. Reassuring. He’s allowed to be selfish, he thinks, just this once, and spend some time with his little sister in comfortable quiet. Besides, he’ll be off to bed in the hour anyway; if she’s asleep by then, Hunter will return her to the gunner’s mount, and if she isn’t, well then it’s his turn to relax. He needs it just as much.

“M’kay,” she whispers back, laying her cheek on Lula’s stomach. The blanket is falling off her shoulder, but she doesn’t make a move to replace it. She merely sits, head resting on the plush toy and eyes flirting between Tech and the stars outside the viewport.

This moment of peace, of stillness, amidst everything else, almost feels too good to be true. After today, and after finally having the much needed discussion of how to proceed with Omega’s force sensitivity, - a stress inducing conversation filled with uncertainty in the what if’s and unyielding determination in the objective - a blissful feeling. The Galaxy is full of problems, dangers, that they are going to have to face sooner than later. And they will.

But for now, all is well.

Chapter Text

Cid grumbles about the delay in package delivery, and it does, in fact, piss off Echo.

She complains about the lateness, and about the client’s displeasure, going on and on about how she ‘expects better from my top team!’ Tech and his siblings watch in relative annoyance as she stumbles around her desk, waving one long, crooked finger in Hunter’s face, demanding that he keep his mouth shut when, really, she’s the only one who says much of anything.

Even when Omega tries to step in and explain things, seeing as she’s the only one among them whom Cid actually seems to like, she gets promptly shot down by an unhappy glare. Tech hardly understands the big deal, given that it was far from a large job and everyone was still getting paid, but her particularly snappy attitude deters him for speaking up.

Once her steam has seemingly run out, however, she pays them what she owes - surprisingly not cutting it in spite of their delay - and hands them a new coordinate puck. The mission debrief is short and to the point, lacking any kind of detail other than a time and place, and she rushes them out of her office before Tech gets a chance to ask any number of questions about the who or the why.

Their destination? Ithor, - or more specifically, the massive herdship city idling above its atmosphere - is a predominantly peaceful location that has remained yet untouched by the Empire’s slimy fingers. It is Ord Mantell’s closest neighbor, a short four hour flight through hyperspace through an equally peaceful - for now - sector of the Galaxy. Easy travel from one point to the other, quiet and uninterrupted.

The actual planet itself was, according to the records, once lush with bright green rainforests and crystal blue lakes. The expanse of nature was well known across the Galaxy, and had been a popular location for ‘recreational fishing’ and ‘sightseeing’, neither of which Tech could find it in him to understand the appeal of. Regardless, none of this information will do them any good in present day.

Nowadays, the majority of the planet has become a wasteland, largely abandoned and without care. Rather than attempt to inhabit the wreck, Ithorians live instead on a herdship city named Tafanda Bay above the planet. It’s an engineering marvel in many ways, equipped with artificial biomes ideal for growing various crops and other plants that were once grown naturally on Ithor.

Neither Tech nor any of his brothers ever had the chance to visit the Ithorians during the war, so it’s a first for all of them. Thus, he spends the duration of the flight reading up on what to expect. Of course, the moment that she learns none of them have ever been, Omega is also glued to his side at the console in the hull, resulting in him reading aloud every bit of information he finds whilst she dutifully listens beside him.

Oddly enough, the trip feels significantly briefer when he is thoroughly enjoying himself.

Which brings him to where they are now, hunched over the datapad in one seat, Hunter twirling his vibroblade between his fingers in the adjacent chair.

“So… what else is in the city?” she asks, leaning further over his shoulder and squinting as she tries to read the files from a distant. “Do people actually live there?” Her unruly mop of blonde hair - growing longer over the last few months - is suddenly in his face, obscuring his view of the screen and making it nearly impossible to read.

He breathes a dramatic sigh and gently, playfully, swats her head away. She giggles, grinning from ear to ear. “Some people, surely, but the population consists primarily of the native Ithorians, a sentient species often referred to as ‘hammerheads’ due to the shape of their neck and face,” he explains, glancing to meet her eyes, wide with intrigue.

“So they live there?”

Tech nods. “The city is rather large, as you will see when we arrive. It is full of a rich agricultural society and consists of multiple large markets infamous for their plants and food,” he goes on, handing her the datapad to glance over on her own. “There are multiple residential districts fit for its inhabitants and their rather specific lifestyle. It is a unique culture.”

Omega gasps, shooting Hunter a look. “Can we look around?” she asks, making a face they have come to know all too well: innocent hope, in the form of a plea. “Just a little bit? It sounds so cool!”

Hunter stops twirling the vibroblade and holds it blade down in his hand, raising a brow. “Whats the Imperial presence like here?” he asks, the question clearly meant for Tech.

“None,” he replies quickly, a relief for them all, regardless of the reason. “Due to the peaceful nature of their culture, and the fact that the Ithorians were already a part of the Republic when the war ended, I suspect the Empire does not view them as a threat.”

And he swears Omega’s eyes grow ten times their normal size as she stares at Hunter.

So long as he is not the helpless victim on the other end of her begging gaze, it is entirely amusing.

Hunter lets out a small sigh, but it’s clear he cannot help the small smile that creeps up his cheeks. “Let’s see what the deal is with this job, first,” he answers, and Omega rocks back on the balls of her feet, earning a huffed laugh from Hunter as he sheaths his vibroblade in the compartment on his vambrace. “Depending on what it is, we may be sightseeing anyway.”

Ah, yes. ‘Depending on what it is’. Because Cid was too angry to tell them clearly.

During the war, ‘going in blind’ was not only common for clone troopers, - both special operations and otherwise - but the Bad Batch welcomed it. The higher the risk, the greater the reward.

The risk was death, and the reward was another successful mission on the board. One-hundred percent success rate. The regs hated them long before they were brought into battle, and once they were? Many came to admire their exploits. It was good to feel wanted, but it felt just as good to rub it in the faces of the Kaminoans who had threatened them with termination, or the other cadets who told them they would amount to nothing.

Now, of course, there is no longer anyone to impress. Now, they are protecting a child, and so going in blind has become the complete opposite of what it used to be: Hunter’s worst nightmare.

That is the other reason that Tech is reading up as much as he is on Tafanda Bay with such little time. He hopes to ease the squad’s (minus Omega) collective anxiety about what’s to come.

“We’re entering the proximity of the Bay,” Echo calls back from the cockpit. “Get ready!”

Omega lets out a small noise of excitement, bounding over to the gunner’s mount and scrambling up the ladder, still with his datapad in hand. Tech smiles briefly, then glances over to Hunter, whose expression has dissolved into a clear unhappiness now that Omega can no longer see him.

“I don’t like this,” he mutters, leaning his elbows on his knees. “All we know is to meet up with someone ‘in green’ at the specific coordinates she gave us. She didn’t even tell us why, or who, if she actually knows.”

Tech frowns, too. “It is not ideal, no,” he replies, adjusting his goggles on his nose. “We were given no package to deliver to the target, nor a name. I loathe to consider the possibility that Cid is setting us up, however…”

Hunter holds a hand up to stop him, using the other to push himself up pout of the seat against the arm of the chair. “If she is, we’ll tear this guy apart and then it’s her turn,” he declares, and it isn’t a threat, but a promise, that comes from deep in his gut. “But we need the credits. The more we have, the more we can afford to stay off the radar.”

Both of their eyes drift to the curtain hanging over the gunner’s mount, where they can hear Omega shuffling around and saying something out loud to herself - or perhaps to Lula - about ‘how cool’ this new place sounds to her. He can only make out a few words, where he suspects Hunter can hear the whole thing, but what he does hear makes his heart both clench with fear and swell with warmth at her innocent eagerness.

“This job is gonna pay us pretty damn well if we pull it off, assuming Cid isn’t tryin’ to kill us,” he concludes, Tech nodding slowly.

“We will simply have to be on higher alert,” he agrees.

And then the ship rattles, indicating a drastic change in altitude. Tech joins his brother in getting up from the chair, but while he moves towards the cockpit, Hunter hangs back and makes his way to the gunner’s mount. Even if his brother cannot see it, a small smirk creeps up Tech’s lips.

Ever the buir.

In the cockpit, Tech looks out the viewport to notice that they are already practically docked, Echo slowing bringing them down into a more or less empty hangar. There are walls on all sides, tall and gray, but with a warm feeling that offsets the relative shade they create over the Marauder. The ship creaks and sputters as it touches the ground, an awful sound all too familiar that Tech makes a mental note to look into again when he gets the chance.

Wrecker is already geared up, a childish look of enthusiasm equal to that of Omega’s plastered across his face. His helmet sits on top of his head; he’s ready to jump into the action. Or, more accurately, Tech guesses, looking forward to walking through the markets.

“Get this,” Echo says, sporting a mildly upset but otherwise unreadable expression. “Apparently, they’ve been expecting us in the hangar. Hailed are ship while we were landing and said that docking charges have already been paid.”

Tech raises a skeptical brow at that, an uneasy feeling turning in his stomach. “It certainly was not Cid who commed ahead of our arrival,” he remarks, gazing out at the hangar, bracing his hand on the console when the ship finally touches the ground, surface shaking for just a moment.

“What’a’bout Cid’s client?” Wrecker offers, giving his helmet a small tap on the top to get it to fall over his face. “Think they paid it fer us?”

“What’s going on?” Hunter asks as him and Omega, both fully prepared to depart, Omega’s bow slung over her shoulder, appear in the doorway. “Is there a problem?”

Echo sighs, flicking the switch to power down the ship and shuffling over to the empty chair behind the pilot’s seat to retrieve his helmet. “Possibly. Our hangar fees were already paid when we got here.”

And oh dear, Hunter does not like that. Even through his helmet, Tech can hear the deep frown. “They were waiting for us?”

His brothers idle in contemplative silence for a moment, Wrecker looking uncomfortably between them. “Appears so,” Echo grumbles.

The sergeant’s face falls. “It wasn’t Cid-“

“That’s what we were just saying,” Echo replaces his helmet and pats his side, checking for his blaster. “But we’re going to stick out here among the Ithorians, anyway. Look at us.”

And Tech does, glancing around the cockpit and considering his siblings for a moment. Omega is the only one whose face is not completely covered, and her sudden apprehension is apparent. It certainly speaks for the whole group. As dangerous as any mission can be, this little information going in followed by instantly suspicious behavior on the clients end is… foreboding, to say the very least.

In technicality, it isn’t too late to turn around and fall back. They have no reason not to, other than credits, and it isn’t like they haven’t ‘failed’ jobs for Cid before. There will always be another to take, assuming that she did not set them up this time around.

Hunter is most definitely thinking the same thing, head down, standing quietly and without movement.

Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. As they have learned, one can never be too cautious now…

“I think we should check it out!”

The four of them whip their heads towards Omega all in one instant. She’s blinking, face unreadable, but some hint of… something glittering in her eyes.

Hunter tilts his head to one side. “Omega-“

“What if it’s someone who really needs help and that’s why Cid didn’t tell us stuff? To keep it a secret,” she cuts him off, looking between her brothers with a flash of determination. “What if they’re running from the Empire, too? Or have a super important package to give her?”

As much as they appreciate her optimism, and her desire to see the best in everyone, - a belief that has not been swayed by time - hoping for the best hardly guarantees the best. Operating under the already too hopeful assumption that Cid didn’t sell them out, that doesn’t mean her client is of good intentions. They don’t even know the clients name, let alone their needs.

“There are plenty of people out there who need help, and plenty who can help them,” Hunter says, gently trying to shut her down. Unfortunately, she is visibly not interested in changing her mind. Then he shifts his weight, putting a hand on top of her head. “It’s too irregular that our hangar fee was paid. We shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.”

Omega frowns deeply, huffing with indignation and crossing her arms, picking at the strap of her bow with her thumb. “Well then what if it’s a trap? Shouldn’t we go check it out and stop them?” And Echo and Tech share a look through their HUD views over her head. “Just ‘cuz they don’t get us this time, doesn’t mean they won’t try again or something.”

Hunter physically recoils at this, taking a small step back, arms tensing up. “Kid…”

It’s moments like these, when she stares any one of them in the face and offers this unexpected wisdom or logic far beyond her years that Tech feels a pang in his chest. Pain, in part, because she should just get to be a kid and let the rest of them worry about the rest of it, but also, an enormous sense of pride. She’s so intelligent at such a young age, and it reminds him of… himself; a cadet with a brain too big for his body who had to grow up sooner than he or any of his siblings should have.

Although, he hopes to prevent the latter for as long as the Galaxy will allow him. He knows his brothers share the sentiment.

In some distant corner of his mind, he wonders if the force, if her unique sense of the world around her, affects her thought process in such a way that these sudden wise insights are a natural response to her situations.

Tech suspects that Hunter must be thinking along the same lines, now knowing what he does and having witnessed what he has. He sighs, lowering himself onto one knee to be eye level with Omega. “Why do you feel so sure about this one, ad’ika?” he asks, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Omega holds her head up high, chin pointed at Hunter’s nose. “I just have a feeling we should check it out,” she insists. “A really, really strong feeling. My gut says so.”

A strong feeling. Certainly something that they cannot discount so quickly. Not anymore. Not coming from her.

Cid, Ruby, Muchi, Roland. The insect in the hangar, and her recognition of their emotions. When has she been wrong thus far? Does it not make sense to trust her intuition?

It makes sense to Tech, at least, and Hunter sighs a second time, squeezing Omega’s shoulder lightly. “What do you all think?” he asks without looking away from her.

“I think we should check it out,” Echo answers quickly, leaning against the doorway of the cockpit.

“Yeah. Kid’s gotta point,” Wrecker nods curtly, putting one hand on the back of his helmet. “What if it’s another bounty hunt’r or somethin’?”

And Tech… Tech thinks that he knows and understands the risk. He fully comprehends the danger that they will face if this supposed client is a threat. He shares Hunter’s concern, thought maybe not to the same extreme. But they must place their trust in Omega, and in her abilities, in order to ensure that any potential growth in said abilities is positive, rather than leaning towards the dark side of the force.

“I am inclined to agree.”

Hunter pushes himself up, hanging his head the slightest bit. “Alright, but you-“ and he looks down at Omega, returning his hand to the top of her head. She grins fondly. “Stay right next to one of us at all times. No wandering off. And no hanging in the back. I want you where I can see you. Got it?”

Omega’s smile grows ten times the size. “I promise!” And she pushes past them, bounding towards the ramp. “Let’s go!”

Hunter is right behind her in an instant, Wrecker close on his heels while Echo and Tech scramble to take up the rear before their siblings get too far ahead.

When they make it down the ramp, they are immediately met with a drastic change in lighting. The hangar is lit up with a bright white fluorescence, beaming down upon them from above, reflecting off the tall copper-colored walls. They remind him of a clean battle droid. The ground below their feet is firm, and flat, some kind of stone, he suspects. There is nobody there but them, an empty terminal for paying fees sitting idly beside a tall, wide door that allows for even Wrecker to fit through with more than enough space to spare for, perhaps, a second Wrecker.

Tech almost chuckles to himself at the thought.

They move at a quick pace, Omega’s eager - maybe too eager, he thinks darkly, but snaps his mouth shut - attitude pulling them forward and out of the hangar before Tech gets a chance to give it a good once over. The moment they emerge, however, the little girl is stopped in her tracks, nearly causing the four of them to collide with one another.

Truth be told, Tech takes one look at Tafanda Bay and really can’t say that he blames her. The city before them is absolutely massive, and all kinds of colorful. The hangar exits directly into a long, winding market bustling with both native Ithorians and travelers. They are met with a cacophony of sounds; voices, the beeps and whirs of speeders and opening doors, and the sizzling of grills. A sensation of smells wafts through the air passed his nose, and he breathes in deeply.

The source of the scents is evidently the left side of the market, lined with food stalls for as far as the eye can see. The side parallel is less busy, appearing to be more shops. One he notices is selling a variety of exotic flowers, while the one beside it seems to specialize in pottery and vases. Tech makes a mental note to record his experiences in the market when he next gets a chance, thrilled by the prospect of taking notes on a location he’s never been.

“Woah!” Omega gasps, her eyes the size of saucers. The lights and colors of the marketplace reflect in her bright eyes. “This place is huge!”

“D’ya smell all that food?!” Wrecker booms, laughing and ruffling her hair. “Smells amazin’!”

Omega hums, giggling as she swats his hand away playfully. “It smells tasty!”

Hunter looks down at her, wariness clear in his tone. “You can look, but you have to stay close,” he reminds her with gentle regard. “And don’t touch anything, got it?”

Omega nods vigorously, before reaching up and grasping at his free hand. Tech does not fail to notice how naturally Hunter takes her smaller hand into his palm, closing his fingers and holding on with a noticeable protectiveness. “Mhm! Let’s go!”

She yanks him forward, and the unsuspecting sergeant stumbles on his feet at the sudden movement, but is quick to take it in stride as she and Wrecker practically charge forward.

Tech smiles to himself, almost able to forget about the potential danger that this mission poses. Even so, he allows himself to relish in her innocence for a just as moment.

Echo slaps his shoulder, urging him to follow, and the two of them take up the back of the group. “Hunter’s probably gonna have a headache from all this later,” he comments, shaking his head. “Now that we’re out here, it almost feels-“

“Exposing.” Tech cuts him off, desperate for once to express his sentiments, his own anxiety getting the better of him. “Despite how closely packed it all appears to be, and the lack of attention we have drawn upon arrival alone, there is no doubt that we draw attention regardless. Even if the attention is not of threatening nature, soldiers in an otherwise peaceful settlement will not be able to maintain subtlety.”

It’s a fact of their life that blending in will never be an easy task, though it is not one that they often strive for often. Aside from staying off the radar where they can, they are well aware and fully used to the effects of being easily pulled out of a crowd. Ironic, considering that clones - regular clones - are often regarded as anything but discernible between one another. But not The Bad Batch. The Bad Batch has always and will always stand out, whether they like it or not.

Echo mutters nothing in particular. “The closest that Omega has been to a city is Pantora, and that was nothing in comparison,” he frowns, glancing ahead at their siblings. Omega chatters on about something the pair of them can’t hear. “If she gets lost in here-“

Tech purses his lips and shakes his head with haste. “We will not allow that to happen. Hunter will maintain a tight hold on her, and she will not leave our sight,” he answers with firm resolve. He believes it wholeheartedly. Nothing will happen. They will not allow it to.

He cannot allow it to.

To his surprise, Echo actually chuckles. “Yeah, yeah I suppose so.”

Tech blinks. “Suppose what?”

“Hunter’s got her hand. Maker knows in a place like this he’s not letting her wander off that easy,” he remarks with an audible smirk. “He really has fallen into this role, hasn’t he?”

“Hmph,” Tech grins under his helmet. “I believe it is less of a ‘falling into’ and more of a natural calling. Even if he was not expecting it, it is something he wants, just as much as we want to be her brothers.” He stares up ahead. “He is a father to her, whether he views it with such a label or not.”

Echo nods. “She certainly seems to feel the same way.” He pauses, seeming to consider whether or not to say something, before deciding that he will, in spite of his clear apprehension. You know how I feel about the Jedi, but maybe it’s for the best that they aren’t around to- no, no not that they should all be gone but I mean- that they can’t take her or anything-“

He’s stumbling over his words with a saddened reluctance. If it wasn’t such an awful subject, - the loss of the Jedi as a whole, that is - it would almost be amusing; Echo hardly ever fails to find the words.

“I understand what it is you mean to say,” he offers, putting a hand on his belt while glancing ahead to ensure that Omega is otherwise occupied and most definitely not able to hear them. “After all that she has been through, primarily in her childhood, separating her from Hunter and refusing her the connection that they have would no doubt end poorly. It is for the best that she is not a padawan and does not have the chance to be.”

“Yeah,” Echo sighs. “Yeah, that’s it.”

It’s something that Tech has, of course, already considered. The attachments, that is, and the Jedi’s feelings towards them in comparison to Omega’s connections, though not yet in too much depth. Maybe he should, in all honesty, focus more on that than anything; Omega is a child with an unusually strong emotional capacity, after all.

Now, however, is not the time. The focus should be on the mission at hand, and keeping his guard up in the event that their suspicions are truth.

“Tech,” Hunter calls back over his shoulder as he continues to walk. He and the others are several strides ahead of Echo and himself, though he notices how much of the market they’ve seemed to travel already. A quick glance back tells him that the floral shop is no longer within immediate sight. “What’s the exact location on the coordinates?”

Tech procures a datapad from the pouch on his side, tapping furiously at the screen. His eyes dart over the short description beside the coordinates, which, according to his mental calculations, are steadily approaching. “The location appears to be a small paved path in front of the first residential district, on the outer side of the gate securing the complex,” he replies. “It should be found directly at the end of this market. Approximately two klicks away at our current pace.”

Hunter nods an affirmative, continuing to allow himself to be pulled along by Omega (and Wrecker, in some part).

A heavy feeling settles in Tech’s chest, a weight of emotion that, years ago, - months, even - he would not have had the capacity to really and truly feel. But he watches Omega, vibrant and young and burdened by a secret that she isn’t aware of, the lights and colors of the stalls and the people cluttered around them in his periphery as they continue down the narrow but empty middle walkway, and his heart feels as though it is being squeezed by a powerful grip.

This is a sensation that has become almost normal, now, but he is hardly sure he’ll ever grow truly accustomed to. Fear, and untamed anxiety of the future. During the war, he never thought about the future. Life was taken day by day, and it was comfortable that way. Now, with a future so uncertain, it consumes half of all his waking thoughts. And not necessarily his future, at least not very often, but Omega’s future.

The future that she deserves, and that he knows she will never be able to have so long as the Empire grows. A future that is restricted by her connection to the force.

Two things that she never asked for, never had any say in.

No. No no. He wishes he could kick himself. The task at hand. The client. Or otherwise. He cannot afford to let his mind wander, not when they are walking into a potentially deadly situation.

Potentially deadly. Maker, he hasn’t even thought of that much until now. He should have, they all should have. Who pays the docking fees of a stranger? In this Galaxy, who other than an Imperial official, or a a government benefactor possesses those credits to spare?

“Is… this it?”

Tech whips his head up to Wrecker, his brother having pushed his helmet up where it sits on the top of his head. He’s stopped all of a sudden, Hunter and Omega beside him, several feet ahead of Echo and Tech.

Lost in his own thoughts, he only now realizes that they’ve reached the end of the market. The noise has lessened to some extent, the lack of wind on a herdship city allowing for the scents to be contained to the space behind them for the most part.

In front of them, towering what must be fifty stories above, is the first residential complex. The building, wide, and a deep shade of brown, lined with windows the height and length of itself, casts a foreboding shadow on the ground below it.

And in front of the building stands a security gate, roughly Wrecker’s height, and lined with a thin pavement. Omega stands on the edge, still clutching Hunter’s hand as she looks this way and that, taking in the sheer size of the place.

Tech and Echo catch up, coming to a halt on Hunter’s heels. “I believe it to be, yes.” He stares at the datapad, rereading the information once, twice. “These are in fact, the given coordinates.”

Omega pulls at Hunter’s arm, moving closer to his side, her excitement: gone. Where it’s run off to, Tech isn’t quite sure, but the feeling it leaves in his stomach…

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asks with a gentle urgency, giving her hand a visible squeeze. He too looks around, body stiff. “What is it, kid?”

Tech takes a few steps closer to her, guarding her on the opposite side of Hunter. Maker forbid anything, or anyone, is waiting, lurking in the shadows, let alone while she’s inexplicably vulnerable. Almost unconsciously, he moves a hand towards her side, and hears her shuffle behind him. The tension is thick, onset, like an unexpected wind settling over an open field.

Can she sense a presence, a danger? If she can, is she able to discern the source, or the direction?

All logistics, he reminds himself. If she cannot, it is no fault of her own. If she can, however, that is not only an entirely different can of worms, but it is imperative that she inform them immediately.

“Miss Omega-“

“I think there’s someone here,” she whispers.

Wrecker growls under his breath, replacing his helmet and drawing his blaster.

“Wreck-“ Hunter warns lowly, holding out a passive hand.

But Tech is inclined to agree with Wrecker’s course of action, allowing one hand to idle above his pistol attached to his belt. No chances.

Echo’s flesh hand mimics the action with an air of instinct, like he isn’t even thinking about it. “I don’t see anyone, Omega,” he says carefully, taking a step outward. “Tech, are you sure this is the right place?”

Biting back a sigh, fighting to maintain focus on the task at hand and not on… anything else, really, with how much is swimming around in his mind at the moment, Tech tucks the datapad away opening his mouth to reply-

-and promptly snapping it shut upon interruption.

“It is if you boys are Cid’s crew,” a voice - a new voice, definitely not one of theirs and most certainly not one that Tech has ever heard - cuts through the tension like a sharpened vibroblade. “I sure hope you are. I was starting to get bored waiting here.”

Without thought, Tech feels his head turn towards the source, swallowing thickly. His brothers follow, Omega letting out a small gasp that almost draws his precious attention away from the potential threat.

Beside the gate into the complex, emerging from a small alley beside a seemingly abandoned shop, is a figure no larger than Wrecker but wholly taller than Tech.

Omega lets out a squeak that he suspects is involuntary. If he didn’t know better than to lose his composure, he’s sure he may react similarly.

A man, by the look and sound of things, covered from head to toe in real, proper Mandalorian armor. It’s clean, appears hardly used. His helmet is tilted forward, t-visor glaring down at them from the darkness in which it lurks. The market lights reflect off his chestplate, a simple, shiny piece that has clearly seen little battle, if any at all. His legs, however, are not covered by anything other than a pair of flight suit pants. Tech makes a mental note of this being a potential weakness.

All around, the man is terrifying. His presence is strong, looming, and a Mandalorian - a bonafide warrior - is not at all someone that they want any business with.

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? Because the predominant trait of the man’s armor is, in the most concerning way possible, - a way that makes Tech throat dry - a calm shade of what is unmistakably green.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Tech thinks upon the Mandalorian revealing himself is that Omega’s intuition - the thought that led them here to begin with - may not have been a positive one.

The second is that he cannot fault her for that; she cannot control the force nor understand it. She doesn’t even know that it’s a part of her.

And the third is that, should the Mandalorian take another step towards them, Tech is prepared to shoot him.

“Who are you?” Hunter demands, joining his brothers in drawing his blaster. He holds it over Tech’s shoulder, training it at the Mando’s helmet. “What do you want?”

The man remains where he is, lifting a slow hand up to his helmet while the other hangs passively at his side. “Cid’s client,” he responds, as though it should be plain to see. “But when I asked her for her best pilot, this is not what I expected.”

Now, Tech is hardly one to ‘toot his own horn’, as it were, but he is a good pilot. Very good. For Cid to consider him her best (assuming that she cares enough about this man to provide him with his requests), would be flattering if he weren’t staring the epitome of death in the face.

T-visors; a symbol of fear, and of dominance, worn by Mandalorians for as long as history dares to say. Cold-blooded killers, with an affinity to do whatever they must to survive. With the exception of the pacifist movement before and during the war, that is. That era, however, is long since gone.

“You did’t answer the question, bucket ‘ead,” Wrecker growls from the back, finger hovering over the trigger of his blaster.

The Mandalorian sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Though whether in genuine amusement, or in mocking, - or perhaps something else entirely - Tech certainly cannot tell. “I can’t blame you for being suspicious of me, but I was kind of hoping paying your port fees would help… make you less intimidated,” he goes on, still pointedly disregarding the question, which is becoming rather irritating. “I guess I didn’t really consider the possibility of you having a kid, though. Doubly ‘can’t blame you’-“ he makes a gesture with his two fingers. “-for being cautious.”

Omega shifts behind Tech, and that feeling, the strong urge to protect, swells in his chest.

“Tell us who you are,” Hunter tries again, pointing with his blaster at the Mando’s helmet. “And take that off.”

The Mandalorian presses the hand hovering by his face to the edge of his helmet, then stops. “And if I don’t?” he asks, slowly, and oddly non-threatening. “Will you shoot me?”

“Yes.” Echo and Wrecker respond in unison.

And that receives a laugh, an honest to goodness laugh, from the man behind the mask.

“Alright, calm done,” he says, picking at the bottom of the helmet. “You’re careful men, I suppose I’m just not used to clones who aren’t… friendly with me.” Slowly, he lifts the helmet over his head, revealing his face inch by agonizing inch.

Helmet off, he gives them a tight smile. “Bardan, clan Skirata,” he offers, holding his head up high.

Tech physically recoils.

First and foremost, he was not at all expecting the man’s face to look as - quite frankly - plain as it is. He is human, and possesses a pale complexion, his skin light and eyes dull. His hair, a darker shade of blonde, is shaggy and unkempt, but cut rather short. An equally short beard of a slightly warmer blonde tone runs along his jaw and frames his face. He’s clean, just as his armor is, in spite of his messy hair and oddly rough demeanor. One could almost say his face is gentle, like that of an old man.

This ‘Bardan’, however, is hardly very old. No more than twenty-five standard years, surely. Which only lends itself to the fact that the most outstanding part of him is neither his unexpected appearance nor his menacing armor, but his name.

Bardan, though Tech is strangely unable to place it, sounds extremely familiar. Skirata, however, is a name that he can in fact place without a second thought.

It’s Echo who says it first, lowering his blaster in just the slightest movement. “Skirata? Like the trainer on Kamino?”

Bardan‘s smile breaks into a sort of entertained grin, holding his helmet under his arm and shaking his head. “No, no I’m not that old I’m afraid, and my knee is in fine shape,” he replies, stepping forward with a caution about him. “He would be flattered that you thought I was him, though. No, Kal Skirata is my buir, my father.”

Kal Skirata, infamous Mandalorian warrior and - more importantly - clone advocate. Both long before and during the war, he was well known among the clones for his firm belief in their equality. As the story goes, though Tech has never met him or any of the others involved, he adopted a group of commandos when they were practically fresh out of the tube, rescuing them from abuse.

His exploits, and those of the aforementioned commandos, during wartime were - for the most part - confidential. But successful. Consistently successful. Everyone knew, and bits and pieces were passed around. But he was otherwise elusive, him and his sons, the commandos, moving like shadows during their contributions to the Republic.

It helps to ease his mind some. Not much, but just enough that he moves his hand away from his blaster. Skirata cared for the clones more than most do, so Tech can imagine (hope and pray) that he instilled the same in his son. Is he not then a brother to the adopted commandos?

And Tech swears up and down that he knows this man’s name. Has heard the name Bardan. But he also knows they’ve never met, so where did he come by it, and why does it feel so… familiar?

“I like your armor!”

Tech turns his head to find Omega peeking out from between Hunter and Tech, smiling from ear to ear. Her eagerness has found its place again, though she wrings her hands in front of her stomach.

Bardan leans towards her, and Hunter takes a step closer so that Omega is pressed up against his legs. “Thank you, adiik.” ‘Child’, he calls her. It rolls naturally off his tongue. “A Mandalorian’s armor is very important to them.”

Omega gestures to Hunter. “My brothers’ armor is important to them too,” she answers, cheeks dusted with pink.

The Mandalorian raises a brow, as if he finds something strange about what she says, but if he does, he says nothing of it. Instead, he nods. “That’s something that clones and Mandalorians have always had in common,” he remarks. “It’s a symbol of individuality. Receiving it as an adult, was one of my proudest moments. It… helped me move on, made me a new man. What about you, adiik? Will you have armor of your own one day?”

Oh Maker, Tech would rather not think about that. She’s too young, too small for proper armor. He shoots Hunter a look, knowing he can’t see his brother’s reaction, but able to imagine it all too well.

Sheer terror at the very idea of Omega needing armor.

Much to his chagrin, Omega responds with an even wider grin. “Mhm!”

No. No no no-

Hunter makes a noise of discontent.

“What’s your name?” Bardan asks her, adjusting his helmet under his arm.

And then, to Tech and his brothers’ collective displeasure, - as if it could possibly get worse, really - Omega breaks away from Hunter a second time and takes two large steps forward, placing herself directly in front of Bardan without a brother or buir between them.

“I’m Omega!”

Bardan crouches at her level. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that this man, the oddity that he is, has some level of experience with children. Even if his intentions, which they have yet to discern, are unsavory, he isn’t faking this. He knows how to interact with her, to talk at her level.

All the more reason that he poses a potential threat.

“Nice to meet you, Omega,” he replies simply, meeting her gaze with a steady stare of his own.

Omega’s chest visibly puffs with pride.

“A’right,” Hunter says loudly, pushing past Tech, staring down at the Mandalorian crouched in front of his ad’ika. “What do you want? You’re Cid’s client, so unless you lured us here to kill us-“

“I did not-“

“-then you have some kind of job for us, Skirata,” Hunter growls, raising his voice when Bardan interrupts him.

The Mandalorian blinks. “Bardan is fine,” he mumbles, pushing himself back up to a standing position.

Bardan… Bardan Bardan Bardan. Tech knows that name, he knows he does. But from where? Where has he heard it before? It isn’t like it’s a particularly common name, nor has he ever met anyone with that name.

Tech is very good at remembering names and faces. It’s an acquired skill, not required by the Republic, but one he believes to be critical, especially as a soldier. It has come in handy on more than one occasion, and still does now. Thus, it bothers him greatly that he cannot, no matter how hard he really is trying, remember this name. Place it.

It feels so… so recent. So… close…

“Okay then, Bardan,” Hunter hisses, clearly getting gradually more irritated as time passes. Tech can only hope he doesn’t provoke the Mandalorian. As calm as he’s been, Bardan is visibly armed, wearing armor that little can do real damage to. “What’s the job.”

He isn’t asking, he’s demanding.

Bardan frowns. “I think we’ve been lingering here too long,” he answers, though it doesn’t really provide an answer at all. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

Tech hardly appreciates how cryptic he’s been. He can understand, in some regard, but that hardly means he’s happy about it. He cannot shake this nagging feeling that they’re wasting time, dawdling where they shouldn’t. The lack of tact, and the carefree attitude Bardan seems to carry, the willingness to take his time, is bothersome. There is not time to waste. Unless, of course, he is stalling.

Of course, Hunter has yet to indicate that any of what he has said has been a lie, and Omega has only appeared to become more comfortable with him. If they, of all people, remain unbothered, then it may be in their best interest to allow things to play out as they have been.

But, if Bardan (Bardan… Bardan… where HAS he heard it?) does pull any tricks, Tech will be ready.

“I believe it may be beneficial to hear him out,” Tech says lowly, turning his head to face Hunter completely.

Wrecker takes one giant step forward. “Can ‘e be trusted?” he asks, in his loud form of a whisper, and surely Bardan can hear it. However, he does not say anything, still as can be, moving in no other way than to blink.

Hunter seems to consider the man before them for several long seconds. Omega looks between the lot of them, glancing back at Echo, and then Wrecker. She lingers on Hunter, before, in turn, making her way to Tech. He looks back at her through his goggles, trying to read whatever it is in her eyes, this feeling she seems to have but does not convey with words: a careful contemplation of the facts before her in collaboration with her instinct, perhaps. Or perhaps, it’s nothing at all, and she is simply looking.

He cannot know for sure; not anymore. She is friendly towards Bardan in spite of her initial apprehension, surely, but does she feel anything about him?

“Okay,” Hunter agrees, nodding slowly. “Back to the hangar. And we stay in the market, no detours. You cut to the chase and tell us what you want us to do. Then I’ll decide.”

This earns a smile from Bardan, as he shifts his helmet to hold it against his stomach with both hands. “That’s perfectly reasonable,” he replies, looking towards Wrecker in the back of the group. “And I hope that I won’t do anything to hurt your trust along the way. I assure you that I have the best intentions, whether you believe me or not.”

“The job that you require us to do will have the greatest impact on whether or not we place our trust in you,” Tech reminds him firmly, and Echo nods.

Bardan raises a brow, but says nothing else.

“After you,” Hunter tells him, gesturing towards the market. Bardan complies in an instant, moving fully out of the shadow of the complex and waiting with an air of patience about him for the squad to follow him.

Omega does not take Hunter’s hand this time, but she does remain as close to his side as she can without tripping him. Tech on her other side, while his brothers take up the rear once more. They are in a much more compact formation this time around, Wrecker server as some rigid equivalent of a back shield.

The moment that they begin to walk down the part in the middle of the otherwise crowded market, Bardan begins to speak. “I apologize for how vague I’ve been, but I hope you can understand where I’m coming from once you’ve heard my request,” he starts, expression blank. “I’m sure you’re familiar with what’s going on with the rest of the clone army, the large majority that hasn’t gone AWOL?”

Tech grimaces. It’s impossible for them not to know, and is also a horribly sore spot, so to speak. They have witnessed it first hand time and time again, and lost - or perhaps the proper word is ‘misplaced’ - a brother as a result. It is a reality that they could be a part of, locked into, had they not been lucky enough that the Galaxy seems to have drastically different plans for them. It is a truth that hurts, possibly more than anything else, to think of all that has happened to the clones who haven’t been so lucky.

Next to him, Omega tenses ever so slightly, and Tech puts a hand on her shoulder. He can only hope that it helps some, given that she makes no indication other than looking up at him for a moment.

“What about them?” Echo asks, lifting his chin.

Bardan frowns, forming a deep crease in his forehead. “I’m not sure how much you know about my buir, or the commandos that he took under his wing,” he sounds sad rather suddenly, as if his carefree wit never existed at all. “But Omega squad, four of his sons, didn’t all make it out of the army. Things didn’t go the way we expected. One of them, my brother Niner, was injured during the call of Order Sixty-Six, and another, Darman, stayed behind to help him.”

Oh.

Now Tech is tense, too. He gives Omega’s shoulder a small squeeze, but she doesn’t look at him this time, nor Hunter when he tilts his head in her direction. Tech is acutely aware of the flower shop up ahead in his periphery, and does his best to focus on the odd familiarity of the thing: a sort of reassurance that they’ve almost made it back to the Marauder, where they are secure.

A sort of safety, as if to ground himself, prevent himself from thinking too hard about the clones’ situation, or what it’s done to them. What it could still do.

“We’ve tried to extract them once, but failed due to… unforeseen complications,” Bardan continues, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “I can’t give you all the details, but I… worked very close with them during the war. I’m grateful for my clone brothers for many reasons, but a big one is because… things could have been different.”

At that, Tech whips his head back up, boring into the back of Bardan’s messy head of hair. What in the Maker’s name does any of that mean? This Mandalorian, a people who did not have a militaristic relationship with the Republic during the war, worked closely with the clones? And he was lucky? He knew that Skirata’s clan did a lot… differently than the rest of them, but this just doesn’t seem to add up.

What was he lucky about?

Bardan goes on, shaking his head. “I intend to try and get them out a second time. I owe them, and my buir, that much,” he explains, making a vague gesture with one hand. “But I have to do it under the radar, and I can’t just go and take one of our other ships to where I’m going at this rate. Almost all of them are recognizable, and I’m not the best pilot. I need transport. That’s where you boys come in.”

Tech has several questions, both about Bardan as a person, - his past, the depth of his relationship with his clone brothers - and the job. Why can’t he do it with the assistance of the rest of his clan? And where is it that he needs to go?

Hunter clears his throat. “You need our help getting out commandos?” he asks, sounding curious, albeit hesitant.

“That’s correct,” Bardan nods, and Wrecker makes a noise of intrigue from the back. “But I’ll take care of most of it. All I need is for you to move me around, so to speak. Drop me, sit and wait, and then take me and brothers back to Ithor. We can go home from here.”

Tech uses his free hand to fix his goggles. “Do either of these clones, Darman and Niner, was it?” he clarifies, and Bardan gives another short nod. “Do either of them possess inhibitor chips?”

At this, Bardan appears puzzled, as is to be expected, seeing as how the inhibitor chips were kept confidential for the longest time. “What are those?”

“Implants, meant to affect and control the cognitive functions of the clone army,” Tech explains, and he can feel the awful tension around him, radiating off of his siblings and himself. For the sake of being thorough, however, it’s a question he has to ask, and an answer he must provide. “They are responsible for manipulating clone troopers into executing Order Sixty-Six, however, there are a small handful of exceptions, such as ourselves.”

He gestures to the squad. Omega’s eyes are downcast. ‘Ourselves’ as in those present. One is missing. And one… did, if only after the fact. But Bardan does not need to know, and Tech does not intend to mention it. Crosshair made his choice, and Wrecker has been helped. That is all there is to it.

Much to his surprise, Bardan actually shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Like I said, I- we were lucky. My brothers didn’t execute the order,” he replies, and Omega’s eyes blow wide. “Half of them were a very early batch of clones from what I understand, and the other half… were special, in their own ways. Most of the commandos are. Were.”

There it is again. He was lucky? Why exactly? Because his brothers didn’t execute the order?

For some odd reason, he feels as though, all of a sudden, a flame has been lit within his mind; like he’s supposed to be remembering something very important.

The thought, however is interrupted by Hunter. “Alright… and where are your brothers now?”

Bardan sighs, coming to a stop as they reach the hangar gate, halting the rest of them behind him. He turns around, pursing his lips.

“My brothers are still on Coruscant. They never left.”

Tech sucks in a breath, and Wrecker behind him makes a noise. He suspects that, under their helmets, Hunter and Echo have very similar reactions.

Omega, confused and curious, whips her head around between brothers, blinking owlishly. “What’s that?”

Instead of answering her, however, Hunter leans towards Bardan. “That’s… quite the request,” he says, and Bardan’s face melts into a defeated expression.

“I had a feeling when I… saw the kid that it might not work out,” he mutters, seeming to think about his words when he speaks. “And I never expected Cid to send clones. I would have thought she- well-“

“I’m sorry,” Hunter cuts him off, shaking his head. “But this isn’t a job that we can do. Not if we’re going to Coruscant. It’s…”

“Too dangerous,” Bardan nods, looking to Omega as if to say something to her specifically. “Trust me, I understand. The Galaxy is dangerous for people like us, and I can’t ask you all to risk yourselves… like this. Maybe if you could just go back to Ord Mantell and ask Cid to send someone else-“

Tech perks his head up at that, looking at Bardan. ‘People like us?’ Fugitives? Is Bardan a fugitive? It would make sense, but-

“Wait!” Omega nearly yells, pushing herself to the front of the group, eyes wild. She appears distressed. “W-Why can’t we go? Shouldn’t we help his brothers? They’re sorta our brothers, too!” Her voice is thick with unidentifiable emotion.

Hunter looks at Echo, who isn’t looking back at him. There’s no doubt he shares the sentiment, to some extent. For the rest of them, - or Tech and Hunter, at least - other clones in need of help… isn’t a personal issue. Sure, they would like to help, but they have to do what’s best for the squad; for Omega. Echo, on the other hand, has a much stronger sense of brotherhood towards the clone army at large than any of them ever will.

It isn’t that they can’t understand where Bardan is coming from, seeing as how Crosshair is still with the Empire (even if by choice). But Coruscant is no small deal. It’s the capital of the Empire, the epitome of Imperial control. Clones who have gone AWOL, - or any deserters, really - are not at all safe there.

Let alone one who also happens to be, by the hands of fate, force sensitive.

Bardan, of course, doesn’t know that part. And he doesn’t need to.

Hunter sighs, sharing a quick look with Tech before turning to Bardan. “Give us a minute to discuss,” requests, and Bardan complies, stepping away and moving to the outer hangar wall, leaning up against it and staring out at the market.

As soon as he’s gone, Echo speaks up. “If they don’t have chips, or working ones, then they aren’t a threat,” he says pointedly. “If all we have to do is land, wait, and take off, than…”

“Coruscant is dangerous,” Tech replies, shaking his head. “It is not safe for any of us, Bardan included.”

“And we don’t know fer sure that the regs’ chips are still not workin,” Wrecker pipes up nervously, rubbing the back of his helmet with one hand.

Omega’s frown deepens. “But you guys came back to Kamino for me, and we went to rescue Hunter immediately!” she argues, gaze flickering between her brothers. “We should help him get his brothers back, too!”

“Omega-“ Hunter tries.

“And we need the credits!” she continues, clearly attempting everything she can to appeal to them. “And if we finish the mission than we can ‘lay low’ like you want!”

Tech frowns. It is a valid point, sure, but if only it were that simple…

“Omega’s right,” Echo agrees, and suddenly all eyes are on him. Tech knows he shouldn’t be surprised, and he isn’t for the most part. But there’s a conviction in Echo’s voice that only ever applies to one thing; a determination to help his brothers (or sister) when the moment calls for it. “A lot of clones aren’t going to get a chance to get out of there. We’re lucky. We should use that to help the few that have a chance.”

Wrecker groans, in that way that he does when he’s being tugged towards the opposing side of an argument.

Hunter sighs a long, defeated sigh. “Tech? What do you think?”

Tech thinks a lot of things. He thinks that he isn’t so ready and willing to risk their lives over two commandos anymore than he was Gregor. He thinks that it’s different now that they are aware of Omega’s force sensitivity. He thinks that said force sensitivity is a primary drive in her current determination. He thinks that the best course of action would be to deny Bardan and let down Cid again if it means they are protecting Omega.

But he also thinks that it’s true to say that the few clones who have a chance should be helped. He thinks that Skirata ran a good bunch, as far as he knows. He thinks that Bardan is being truthful, because neither Hunter nor Omega have indicated that they believe otherwise. And he thinks that Bardan is an extreme oddity, with a name that he knows but still cannot place, and he would like to know more.

Most importantly, however, he thinks that Bardan certainly is close with his brothers, that much is apparent. That is something that Tech can understand, can relate to. He has worked closely with them his whole life, and Bardan has said that he and his brothers worked closely during the war, even if Tech can’t quite figure out how. He seems to, like Omega, follow his feelings in the decisions he makes, and while Tech doesn’t quite understand that part as much, he respects it enough.

And he really, desperately wants to figure out why there is something so familiar about him, lest it bother him until the day he dies.

The flame in the back of his mind flickers for just a moment.

“I believe that… we should perhaps assist him,” he replies, mildly unsure of himself. Omega looks at him, seemingly shocked. “Echo and Omega offer valid insights, and Bardan himself appears to be trustworthy. If he is not, he is outnumbered.”

Hunter crosses his arms, staring ahead. “…Alright,” he says, an expected reluctance in his voice. He turns to where Bardan waits, patient and calm, by the hangar.

“We’ll help you,” he informs Bardan, raising his voice and tilting his chin up. “But if anything does south, we leave, and if you aren’t being honest, we’ll eject you into hyperspace without second thought, got it?”

A gleam of hope sparkles in Bardan’s eyes. “I understand.”

“Good,” Hunter grumbles, and Tech suspects he’s glaring through his HUD. After a beat, he adds “Let’s hope you live up to you father’s name. He was always known to be an honorable man.”

At that, Bardan’s face becomes deathly serious, dark and stiff. “His name hasn’t always been mine, and bringing my brothers home is my chance to prove that I deserve the honor of the Skirata clan,” he proclaims. “I will not jeopardize that.”

And suddenly, the little flame in his head sparks, bursting into a blinding fire.

‘I suppose I’m just not used to clones who aren’t… friendly with me.’

‘Bardan, clan Skirata.’

‘One of them, my brother Niner, was injured during the call of Order Sixty-Six...’

‘His name hasn’t always been mine,’

‘…a boy by the name of Bardan Jusik…’

‘Jusik had a history of being close with a group of clone commandos.’

‘…supposedly resigned from the Jedi Order due to what Zey wrote were ‘fundamental differences in ideology’.’

‘Receiving it as an adult, was one of my proudest moments. It… helped me move on, made me a new man.’

Maker above.

Tech forces down a gasp, eyes bulging out of his skull behind his goggles.

Bardan, Bardan, Bardan.

Bardan Skirata, clan Skirata, a young Mandalorian from a family of clone brothers, who worked close with them during the war,out to prove his worthiness of his father’s name, a name he claims has recently become of him.

Bardan Jusik, a young Jedi whom Tech read about in passing due to the fact that he exhibited many of the same traits as Omega. A man he hoped he could learn from due to the similarities in how the force was described in him, but so much has since occurred that he hardly has the time to refer back to his notes.

‘The Galaxy is dangerous for people like us…’

“Come on!” Omega grabs Hunter’s hand, once again pulling him along, this time towards the Marauder. Tech and Wrecker follow, with Bardan close behind.

Tech watches him in disbelief, a pang of… something ringing in his chest. Fear, shock, anticipation; maybe all, maybe none. He is frozen to the spot. How… can this possibly be? What… are the odds that this so naturally occurs? Who- where-

He can hardly think, and Maker he hates it. Hates his sudden inability to process- to plan-

“Tech, c’mon!” Wrecker calls back over his shoulder.

Absentmindedly, like an insect to a light, Tech follows. He doesn’t really feel himself move, too stunned to do so consciously.

Bardan Skirata, Cid’s client, is the same man as Bardan Jusik, a former Jedi; a rare if not lone survivor. A wanted man, if the Empire is aware that he is still alive, on a mission to help what are soon to be wanted men, on a ship of already deserters; a ship already full of the Empire’s enemies, now fit with one more, tightly packed together, ripe for the taking. And they are going to bring him to Coruscant, to the Imperial capital, with Omega.

Chapter Text

Tech refuses to take his eyes off Bardan.

Once on the Marauder, the man is quiet, and respectful of their ship. When they first board, he remains standing for quite some time, only taking a seat by the console in the hull when Omega cheerfully remarks him as a ‘guest’, and Hunter carefully agrees.

Having… figured out what he has, Tech is unable to feel anything but hesitant. There are multiple problems that are brought on by the fact that Bardan is a force wielder. Not just sensitive, inexperienced like Omega, but a former Jedi, trained and learned. That is the key difference.

Safety, for one. And his true intentions, his feelings towards the clones who are not his brothers, for another. Among other things, things that Tech would rather not think too hard about because he will spiral, and he needs to keep a level head, now more than ever.

If only he had made the connection sooner. He could have fought to turn down the job in the end.

In all honesty, he isn’t sure he can sort through all the thoughts on his own, nor should he, but informing his brothers of the situation at hand and discussing it thoroughly proves difficult. He is loathe to leave Omega and Bardan alone, even though he’s fairly sure that, if anything, Bardan will not harm her. He’s sure Hunter is the same. Maybe Wrecker, too. Not only that, but getting them all into the cockpit to talk behind closed doors would no doubt look suspicious.

The flight from Ithor to Coruscant via hyperspace should amount to just over a standard day and one half, give or take. Under normal circumstances, this would mean watches and sleep cycles, but with Bardan on board, things operate differently. Omega chatters on and on with him for hours, asking him questions about his armor, and his family, among other things like food and weapons. Bardan appears fine with answering, though giving very clearly vague responses in certain cases.

All the while, Tech settles on the floor and pretends to busy himself with a project, picking at the wires of an old datapad that hasn’t worked for ages now. In truth, it is something he’s been meaning to do; salvage it for parts, that is. But he hardly gets anywhere, moving his fingers around aimlessly inside the compartment while listening intently in on Omega’s conversations with Bardan.

He looks up at Bardan frequently. Meanwhile, Bardan pays him no mind, though Tech suspects that he can sense his eyes boring into his soul, and is electing to ignore it.

After a little while, however, well passed the time that Hunter would usually be pushing Omega off to sleep, she starts to doze here and there. Her questions for Bardan persist, but at a much slower pace, with exhausted bouts of silence in between.

This is when Hunter gently tells her it’s time for bed. She tries to protest, but then she glances at Tech, who blinks at her, and Bardan, who watches on in silence, and relents.

Once Hunter and Omega have gone up to her space in the gunner’s mount, Bardan stands up for the first time in hours.

“You don’t mind if I use your ‘fresher, do you?” he asks. It’s not like Tech has much of a choice. It’s not like he can say no when they still have the majority of the flight to go. Bardan surely knows this. Asking is simply more of a courtesy.

Tech gives a short nod. “I do not mind.”

And Bardan flashes him a small smile, thankfulness written in his expression, as he excuses himself from the hull.

Once he hears the refresher door close, he pushes the datapad out of his lap and lets it fall the short distance to the floor. It lands with a clatter that he ignores, pushing his face into one palm. He cannot sit here anymore and pretend that there isn’t a former Jedi on the Marauder.

This is dangerous, and weird. And most importantly, Bardan can surely tell that Omega is also force sensitive. Is that not how the Jedi (and the Sith of the old) found their padawans and younglings; feeling them, their presence, through the force? Everyone who is aware becomes a threat, no matter what. At least he hasn’t said anything about it. He seems smart enough, knows better than to say things that would be ‘overstepping’. Accusing a child of being one with the force in this Galaxy would certainly fall under that category.

And that’s a good thing, because Omega doesn’t know, and it’s better that way. At least for now. None of them know how she’ll react when they have to inevitably fill her in on… well, herself. They’re not prepared for that, and they need to be. Any number of things can happen, the worst of them being an outburst in the wrong place at the wrong time.

One thing at a time.

First order of business: find some way to communicate his information on Bardan to the others. They need to know what they’ve really gotten themselves into, and he would rather not confront Bardan outright.

Tech glances at the gunners mount through his fingers, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. Hunter is standing on the ladder, speaking quietly to Omega, who he can assume is lying on her bedroll. His view is obscured both by Hunter’s body and the curtain, but he knows the bedtime ritual well enough by now.

As for his other brothers, last he knew of them, Wrecker was in the cockpit probably nodding off and Echo had gone to the bunkroom to recalibrate his scomp arm. It is certainly not ideal - if not rather annoying - that none of them are in the same place at the moment. Not to mention that even if they weren’t, he has to wait for Hunter to confirm that Omega’s fallen asleep before he can grab their attention, otherwise she’ll want to know what’s going on.

Of course now is when Bardan uses the ‘fresher. Maybe he’ll take his time.

And then the ‘fresher door creaks open.

Or not.

“Tech, right? You have a very nice ship,” Bardan remarks, returning to his seat and spinning it around ninety degrees to face Tech directly. It feels as though he’s being sickeningly kind, going out of his way to be nice to him, or make idle chatter. “Are you the one who maintains it? You seem like you know your way around machines.”

Tech scoffs ever so slightly. “Yes. Tech. And I am the only one here who actually has any of the official qualifications to manage a shuttle of this model,” he informs him, leaning back. “Not that it matters much anymore, nor to say that my brothers are not fit for the job. However, I am the primary caretaker of this ship, yes. All of the mechanical modifications are my doing.”

Bardan raises his brows. “It’s impressive. I can tell that it’s well taken care of. I’m not all that handy with spacecraft myself,” he laughs, bracing himself on his knees. “But I have a brother I think you would get along well with.”

“Perhaps,” Tech replies shortly.

The two of them sit in silence for a few long moments, save for the quiet shuffling of Hunter at the gunner’s mount. Though he is not facing that way, staring at the floor in front of him, it sounds like he’s either tucking Omega into the blanket, or moving the curtain. Good. It’s been a long day for them all; it’s high time she got some proper rest.

He’s almost able to enjoy the lack of talking between them, instead taking the brief time to relish in the newfound normalcy of a bedtime routine that isn’t his; the rare and fleeting normalcy of his little sister getting to be a kid.

Almost.

“You don’t like me, or trust me,” Bardan says, shattering the pleasant noiselessness with his irritatingly low voice. Tech whips his head up, scowling. “It’s okay. I can tell,” Bardan smiles, and it’s innocent and genuine and annoying.

He can tell? Oh can he now? Feel it, more like.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Tech bites back, pushing himself up off the floor and to his feet. “And do keep your voice down.” He hooks a thumb back in the direction of the gunner’s mount.

Bardan shoots him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he whispers, blinking owlishly. “I know you didn’t, but I’ve got a knack for… reading people. It’s okay, I understand. You boys have a kid to protect.”

‘Reading people’? Some way to put it. Maybe it’s only because he’s frustrated, on edge, but it almost feels like Bardan is trying to ‘drop hints’, as it were. Like he’s getting a feel for things. Or, maybe, he knows that Tech is on to him and is testing him. Antagonizing him. No matter the truth or the reason behind it, Tech cannot focus on anything else other than the fact that his brothers - that Hunter, specifically - need to know immediately.

“Your sister is lucky to have you guys. She needs it in a Galaxy like this,” Bardan goes on, because apparently he feels the need to keep saying things that, to everyone else who does not know he can sense his environment, will come across mildly uncomfortable. “Him in particular. Hunter? He seems to care about her a lot, in that way that my buir has always cared about my vode and I.”

Not that it’s any of his business, but it is true. Tech spares him a glare and opts for a blank expression instead. “That is correct. Hunter is as a father to her,” he replies, forcing down the smile that tugs at his lips when the words leave his mouth. “It is in your best interest not to say as much to him, however. He is not yet accepting of the label itself, as true as the rest of it may be. It is a technicality, really.” He blinks, before adding a brief warning as if to say ‘you’re asking too much’. “Mind yourself.”

“I… see,” Bardan frowns all of a sudden, furrowing his brows as if in deep thought. Tech notices that he bites the inside of his cheek, clasping his hands together in his lap. He knows that look; the look that there is some sort of issue, or a bad feeling. Something was said or done that is bothering him. What it can possibly be, Tech hasn’t a guess.

“If you’re gonna keep chatting, can you do it in the cockpit,” Hunter says suddenly from behind, speaking at a low volume as a he approaches them from the gunner’s mount. He’s looking quite tired himself, eyes narrow and dull.

At the same time, Echo emerges from the bunkroom with a groan, rubbing his flesh hand over his opposite shoulder above his scomp. “Is Wrecker asleep in there?” he asks, rolling his eyes halfheartedly. “Might as well take sleep cycles for the rest of us.”

Echo and Hunter in the hull now, and Wrecker in the cockpit. If he can come up with some kind of excuse to keep Bardan out of the way-

“I’ll take first watch,” Hunter offers, turning his body to face Bardan. “Do you… need to sleep?” he asks awkwardly, forehead creased.

Bardan shakes his head and crosses his arms loosely over his chest. “I’ll be fine. Not that I think you would try to kill me or the like,” he replies, getting out of the console seat. “But I’ll be fine without it. I need to prepare myself for our arrival.”

Bingo. If Bardan doesn’t need to sleep, that does complicate things some. But perhaps that can be Tech’s excuse; he requires a moment to speak to his brothers alone about their course of action once they make it to Coruscant. Since their part to play is different from Bardan seeing as they will not be going into the field, there is no reason for him to sit in on it.

A lousy excuse, really. But he’s running on a time limit, so to speak.

Hunter merely shrugs. “Alright then,” he sighs. “I’ll get Wrecker to move to the bunkroom-“

“Actually-“ Tech tries quietly, but it seems to fall on deaf ears.

“-and I want you in the cockpit,” Hunter goes on, gesturing to Bardan. “Better to keep the hull empty during cycles.”

Bardan nods in understanding, smiling wryly. “Sure. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way,” he chuckles. “I’m worried that once my brothers are on board, it will become very crowded. They’re big men who will likely be dressed in thick gear.”

“We’re no strangers to ‘big men’,” Echo laughs, raising his brows as he takes a few steps towards the cockpit, before adding “I’ll get him up. I need to put the hexdriver away anyhow.”

Forcing down a groan, Tech pushes his goggles up his nose. “Perhaps Hunter and I might join you to have a quick discussion?” he pipes up, this time a little louder, firmer, but still ever mindful of Omega sleeping behind them.

At that, Hunter frowns, diverting his attention back to Tech. “Something wrong?” he inquires, Echo visibly, well, echoing the sentiment with a nearly identical look.

Maker, should they not know better than to simply listen to him by now?

When does he ever do anything without reason? And since when are they asking stupid questions? ‘Something wrong?’ No, he’s only trying to get the rest of them away from the Jedi in their hull to exclude him as if they are children.

Again, not that they know that. But they will, because they have to, and they are still wasting time.

“I wish to discuss our part of the job. We will be holding a different end, and given where we are going, it would be prudent to have an idea of how we will be approaching the situation,” he explains, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to remain looking and sounding as neutral as he possibly can.

Echo flexes his scomp as a means of stretching. “Shouldn’t we consult Skirata? He’s the client, after all.”

“No,” Tech bites back quickly. He swears he sees Hunter reel back. He doesn’t care. He’s starting to lose his patience, and this isn’t working. “Our circumstance as technical fugitives is different from his. We must take into account our own safety.” Their safety as in right now. Because there is a Jedi. On. Their. Ship. The same ship that Omega, a force sensitive child, is fast asleep in the back of. This is a pressing matter and they are wasting time as they speak.

“He makes a fair point, I don’t mind it-“ Bardan cuts in. Despite the fact that he is taking Tech’s side, Tech throws him a glare for good measure, effectively shutting him up. His agreeable attitude would, on any other day with any other man, make things easier. Now, Tech find it vexing. It feels like Bardan is playing his brothers for fools, leaving out a crucial fact that he is able to get away with. His intent may not be malicious, but it’s the principle really.

There is a massive difference between transporting a Mandalorian who isn’t following the rules, and transporting a former Jedi.

‘Something wrong?’ Yes, and this is where his problem lies.

“We have time to talk about it when we’re getting closer to Coruscant,” Hunter mutters, eyes flickering towards the gunner’s mount again. It remains silent. “You seem like you need the rest,” he adds, raising a brow.

Tech scoffs. Why is Hunter so calm? Usually, it would be he who jumps at the opportunity to devise a course of action beforehand. The only reason they haven’t yet is because Omega was so busy bending Bardan’s ear. “What I need is for us to get our bearings in order,” he snaps lowly, mere seconds away from losing his cool entirely. “We are going to Coruscant. We should be prepared.”

That isn’t even a lie. It’s a truth used to hide a greater reality, for the time being.

“Are you… alright, Tech?” Echo asks, a genuine concern laced in his voice. Tech can’t bring himself to care. He is not alright.

“I am quite fine,” he replies, clipped. “However, I cannot understand why you are not more concerned about being properly prepared for what we are going into.”

Tech watches Echo and Hunter exchange looks with one another, utter confusion written in their expressions. They would not be confused if they would simply listen to him. “We are,” Hunter answers, offering a small nod. “But going to Coruscant is no small job. We should take time to rest and look at it with clear heads after a few hours.”

Ah yes, that’s the other thing that’s happened since Omega has joined them. She has not only softened Hunter, - and all of them, really, as was for the best - but she has made him a more rational man. He is less reckless. He no longer skips sleep entirely, and has been more on top of the rest of them about it. It is admirable, and for their benefit as well as a benefit of each other. But right now, in this exact moment, he is not thrilled to see it put to use.

“What’s going on?” he then adds, in a low whisper. “It feels like our roles are reversed a little here.”

As if to say that Tech is not being rational, and is acting out of emotion. Which, again, would not be an issue if they-

“Maybe he really does need sleep,” Echo grins, voice thick with mirth. Hunter snorts just a little. At least somebody finds this amusing.

Bardan blinks, face relatively serious. “I think I may have asked him one too many questions,” he says, cheeks pink with what may be a rather well hidden embarrassment. “I have a feeling he’s not much for pointless discussion. Or strangers.”

Oh, he has a feeling now, does he?

“Tech’ll take your ear off, actually. But he isn’t one for ‘chatter’,” Hunter supplies, glancing at Tech.

This is true. But not applicable to the current situation.

And the very thin cord holding Tech’s patience in place gives out.

“Fine,” he hisses, stepping forward and grabs Bardan’s shoulder with one hand, giving it a rough squeeze and shoving him towards the cockpit.

So much for avoiding confrontation, but this can be held off no longer.

Bardan makes a noise of surprise, stumbling over his feet, but he does not resist, allowing himself to be lead (pushed) along. The cockpit doors open on their own when Bardan comes within range, and Tech directs him through, shoving him down into the nearest empty chair, which earns a startled ‘hmph’.

Wrecker, half asleep in the copilot’s seat, jolts up, eyes wide. “What’s goin’ on?” he mutters, turning his head this way and that.

Behind Tech, Echo and Hunter practically storm into the cockpit. Echo’s eyes are just as wide as Wrecker’s, shock written in his expression. Hunter looks a different kind of shocked; angry, maybe, but mostly speechless whilst trying not to have an immediate reaction.

Which leaves Bardan, staring up at Tech, his confusion clear as the twin suns of Tatooine, but tame. Maybe he knows what’s about to happen. Maybe he was expecting this to happen eventually, in some way, and simply wasn’t prepared for this scenario exactly. The scenario in which he is jostled around like he is going to be interrogated.

If Omega was awake, then this is not at all the approach that Tech would take. But she’s not. Hunter would have indicated as much; he can hear her breathing when she sleeps, even from here. He would say something.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!” Hunter growls, moving to stand right over his shoulder. Tech elects not to look at him. He keeps his gaze firmly on Bardan.

“I told you that I wished to have a meeting, but you did not listen,” he bites back, adrenaline pumping through his blood and into his skull.

He can hear the despondence in Echo’s voice. “All this because of that-“

“No. It has not got anything to do with that,” No more wasting time. No more waiting. Tech leans closer to Bardan, the Mandalorian suddenly all too calm for his liking. He knows what’s coming. Tech is certain of it.

“Are you Bardan Jusik.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Hyperspace whirls around the Marauder outside the viewport. The buzzes and whirs of the ship ring in his ears. It’s like a ticking chrono, the way the console beeps at a steady pace, measuring the passage of seconds. Two seconds, then four.

Bardan’s face remains stoic, neutral. But he doesn’t answer the question. Not right away. Instead, he looks back at Tech with the eyes of a man who is thinking. Who already knows his answer, but is wanting to mitigate the impact of his response. Hesitation, a small storm brewing in the midst of a trained calm.

Hunter’s face screws into an exasperated uncertainty. “Tech-“

“Answer the question.” Tech persists.

Another second passes.

Bardan shifts in his seat, straightening up as if to regain some semblance of authority. Then he speaks, his tone is dry, though not in that way one’s voice may be when unhappy. More so regretful; perhaps disappointed. “I knew you figured it out. You have only been staring at me since I got here. I guess I was just hoping we had an ‘unspoken agreement’ going on,” he sighs, glancing briefly behind Tech, over his shoulder, before flitting his gaze back to maintain a refreshed eye contact.

“You made it clear you knew something was up, and I don’t have anything else to hide from you,” he glances towards the cockpit doors, burning a hole through them with a look. Tech’s stomach turns upside down. “I suppose I just thought you wouldn’t say anything about me, if I didn’t say anything about… her.”

Chapter Text

“What the hell does that mean?”

Hunter pushes passed Tech, knocking him in the shoulder to loom over Bardan. His face is dark, eyes narrowed into slits as he stares down at the Mandalorian, fists clenched at his sides, lips drawn back into a furious snarl. Behind them, Tech can hear Wrecker get up from his chair as it freaks underneath his shifting weight. Echo sucks in an audible breath.

Bardan remains calm. At first, he says nothing, does nothing. He allows Hunter’s shadow cast over him to engulf him. He does not move. He has complete and total control over himself, not reacting at all. It’s unnerving. Tech feels a chill run up his spine, like a sudden cold wind on the back of his neck, hairs stand up.

And then he lifts his chin, lips pulled into a tight line. His eyes flash with something bold, prepared. “He’s already got it,” he jerks his head in Tech’s direction, arms folded in his lap. “And if you want to hear it out right, yes. My name is Bardan Jusik. But I would prefer you refer to me with my proper surname. Jusik never did fit the way Skirata does.”

Hunter leans further down. “What does that have to do with Omega?” he growls, hair falling over the side of his face. Just moments ago, he was the one telling Tech to calm down. Now, his ferocity trumps any other, voice laced with venom, rage rolling off of him in waves.

“Ask you brother,” Bardan replies slowly, carefully. “I’d wager to say you might take it better coming from him.”

Whether he’s dodging the need to explain so that he will not receive the initial blows, or if he’s being serious, Tech cannot tell. Either way, Hunter turns sharp on his heel, putting him face to face with Tech. The look on his face does not change, nor should it be expected to. This is his ad’ika they’re talking about, and as far as any of them know, she’s in imminent danger on their own ship.

“What. Is going on,” he hisses, and Tech can see the fear flash in his expression. Maybe he already has a vague idea of what it is. Probably. But Tech is going to have to say it no matter what, and he is oddly okay with this fact. Now that the wrongness of it all is coming to light, his frustration dissipates slowly but surely into a frightened resolve. As terrifying as this all is, it comes down to protecting Omega, and that is what matters most.

He sighs and takes a step back so that both Wrecker and Echo are in his periphery. They look no less tense than Hunter, and Wrecker in particular is no doubt ready to wring Bardan’s neck with his own two hands if it comes down to it.

Hopefully it won’t.

“Bardan Jusik is- was a Jedi who served during the war,” he starts, shaking his head. Hunter reacts, but he elects to ignore it. He cannot get off track now. “I read about him some time ago now, when… I was conducting research. When he introduced himself on Ithor, I thought I recognized the unusual name, however was unable to place it at the time.”

He’s sure to choose his words carefully, knowing that directly labeling Omega as force sensitive in front of Bardan is still unwise for the time being. even if he surely does know it to be true.

“Once I had made the connection, it was much too late,” he frowns, pushing his goggles up his nose. “I was trying to alert you all, but I did not want to do so in front of Omega, nor with Bardan around. It was my intention that we decide our course of action concerning him behind closed doors. The opportunity did not present itself the way I anticipated.”

A beat passes between them, tense and contemplative. The silence is deafening. Tech tells himself that it could be worse; they could argue again. Hunter could let his urgency, his first instinct, get the best of him.

But he doesn’t. When Tech looks up at him, the sergeant’s face has gone slack. His anger is gone, replaced by a feeling he has only begun to outwardly display in the last six months: fear. Real, genuine horror, and a complete lack of surety.

Echo is the first to say anything, his expression mirroring Hunter’s if it were less distraught. He has the most experience with force sensitives than any of them. He had a special connection to the Jedi during the war. His feelings toward Bardan are likely to be different, in some regard. “You’re a Jedi?” he asks quietly.

“I left the order before the war ended,” Bardan corrects, pushing himself out the chair and standing with straightened shoulders behind Hunter. “And my buir adopted me as one of his own not long after. I am not a Jedi anymore.”

“We’re already running from the Empire. We’re already deserters. They want to kill us,” Hunter snaps, eyes dark. “Now we have a Jedi on the ship. You alone could get us killed on sight alone, no chances. You can call it whatever you want, but that doesn’t change what it is.”

Well, someone had to say it.

In all honesty, Tech is glad it didn’t have to be him. It’s a powerful statement, as clear and concise as it may be. The only truly scientific fact to be said about the force is that no matter how one is to cut it, so to speak, a being with a strong connection to the living force cannot be severed from their ability. They can suppress it, hide it, yes. But they cannot destroy it, even in death. The ties that bind exist forever. Nothing can change that; leaving the Jedi order will does change that.

It is as matter: it cannot be created, nor destroyed, it merely changes states in accordance with the conditions by which it is surrounded.

“You must have been aware of the risk that you are allowing us to take without our proper consent,” Tech adds, and it makes his gut twist just thinking about it.

The danger, that is. And Omega.

And everything in between.

Behind him, Wrecker snarls. “You lied to us. Yer gonna get us killed if we gotta go to Coruscant!”

“I didn’t lie,” Bardan answers pointedly. “And I’m not going to risk patronizing you. Your outrage is plain, and I don’t have any right to wonder why. I understand it,” he offers. This does nothing for Hunter, whose look could kill. “I’ve become very good at hiding what I am. I didn’t think you would ever know, and it wasn’t my intention to say anything. I never lied. I’m relying on your help, but I need to protect myself, too.“

“You didn’t tell us,” Wrecker persists. “That’s lyin’.”

It sounds awfully familiar, and Tech shudders. He deliberately doesn’t look at Bardan, biting down on his lower lip. Now that it’s out in the air, the weight of a secret off his chest, he isn’t sure how to feel. He must admit that until now, his judgement was… clouded. By urgency and protectiveness, rightfully so, but clouded all the same.

Bardan did lie, and there is something very important to be said for that. But the fact remains that whatever his intentions were in keeping his secret, he is coming from a place that is not all that different from their own. Force sensitivity, in this Galaxy, is a death sentence. Their own sister, their ad’ika, walks around with that same sentence hanging over her head. When it’s a secret that you have, that those you care about are carrying, you do not say it; it is meant to remain a secret.

Maybe… that holds some merit.

But there is still the issue of-

“What do you think that has to do with my- our sister?” Hunter rumbles hoarsely. If anyone besides Tech notices the hitch in his throat, or the way he corrects himself before almost certainly referring to Omega as ‘my kid’ or something of the like, they do not say a word about it.

Bardan frowns, and Tech can guess why. He doesn’t want to say it. “You already know the answer,” he acquiesces, sounding dejected. “I’m not sure what else I’m expected to say. I know what I do because we are the same, in a sense. I’ve already told you, you boys were never what I was expecting when-“

“Yeah yeah, when you asked Cid for help,” Hunter drawls, clenching his teeth. “We didn’t ask for you, either. But this is what we’ve got-“

“I’m not complaining,” Bardan mumbles, brows pinched together. “I’m simply stating that while the situation isn’t ideal, I didn’t know that you were clones, nor that your adiik was… force sensitive-“ and it is unpleasant to hear it from someone else, someone who is not his brother, because nobody else is supposed to know. “-anymore than you knew I was a part of the Jedi order. If I didn’t know better, I would assume you all hated the Jedi.”

It’s a bold thing to say, however true it may be, and Tech feels himself become warm with vexation. “That could not be further from the truth. It is not the Jedi whom we take issue with. It is that you, as Wrecker stated, lied to us,” he nearly whispers, biting back the evident displeasure. “There is a fundamental difference… between being conscious of the fact that you could be putting others at risk, and a child who cannot control what was done to her. With you, we are angered. With her, we never will be. She is our sister, and we love her more than life itself. If you prove a danger, then you can trust that we will do whatever it will take to protect her.”

That shuts him up most effectively. In fact, it apparently renders the lot of them speechless. Hunter goes almost completely still, nonplussed in his expression. It brings about the sudden fear in Tech that he has said something he should not. Did he slip up in the midst of his unhappiness, reveal something that was never meant to be said? He is not one to slip up, always sure to be mindful of what he says, but that does not make him perfect.

His gaze flickers around the room, from one brother to another, trying to gauge the situation. Wrecker mirrors Hunter, but a small smile seems to tug at the corner of his lips. Echo on the other hand shifts his weight from one food to another, brows raised high across his forehead, wide eyes blinking at Tech. What in the Maker’s name did he-

‘She is our sister, and we love her more than life itself.’

Oh.

“Tech…” Hunter whispers, mouth slightly agape.

A heat creeps up Tech’s cheeks rather suddenly, ears experiencing an equal warmth. He hadn’t meant to share it, not like that. Not now. Maybe not ever. It just… tumbled out. He- he doesn’t mean- no, of course he does, it’s just that- he didn’t mean to say- it wasn’t supposed to-

He opens and closes his mouth, staring down at his feet as if they are the most interesting things in the Galaxy. Maker, is it hot in here? “I-“ he stutters, sputters, balling his hands up into tight fists against his legs.

Now what?

As her older brother, he has always believed, since meeting her that is, that… that he shouldn’t have to verbalize how he feels. That she just knows. He’s always hoped so, at least. He isn’t… he isn’t comfortable with this. With that word. It- it carries so much weight, too much, and he- he’s never used it before. Not like this. He hasn’t needed to. He doesn’t know how, not properly.

Regulation. Control. Rationale.

That is what he needs. That is what he is supposed to provide. That is how he is supposed to handle his emotions: logically. Not to say that love isn’t logical, or that his care for his siblings, for his little sister, isn’t logical. Merely that… that love is a lot more complicated when spoken rather than… than demonstrated, as he prefers-

That complication… falls to Hunter. He is her father. Her buir. He is far more comfortable throwing… that around than Tech will ever be. The past few weeks, it is true that he has considered the possibility that verbalization may be beneficial for Omega. But now that he’s said it, it feels so… real. So fragile. As true as it is, that he loves her, he doesn’t know how to… to live up to that in the way that is most often expected. It is better to refrain from letting her down.

Thus, it should not be said, he decides. Not by him.

“You’re right,” Bardan replies, the only one who seems to remain physically unfazed. In all honesty, Tech forgot about him entirely for several long moments. “I never could have told you outright, that’s still true no matter what. But you’re right that I’ve put your child in more danger, than she is already,” he grimaces, closing his eyes lightly. A beat a maybe two, Tech isn’t certain - passes before he slowly asks “Will you answer me just one thing?”

Hunter jerks his head to the right ever so slightly, seeming to shake himself out of the shocked stupor. “You’re pushing it,” he warns, glancing at Tech minutely before diverting his attention wholly to Bardan. Tech is thankful for the lack of eyes on him in the moment. “You better consider your next words very carefully.”

Bardan however, does not hesitate. “She doesn’t know, does she? That she’s force sensitive?”

Tech shouldn’t be surprised that he can tell, nor any of them, really. If Bardan was able to figure it out so easily through the living force to begin with, he is already several steps ahead of them. Not only that, but he has firsthand experience concerning both himself and other padawans that could easily lend itself to making educated guesses about Omega.

There is bound to be a different between the behavior of a child who is privy to their ability, and one who is not. They probably feel different in the force, too. There are multiple factors that come into play when one is considering the whims of the force, and that does not only apply to the Jedi, hence Tech’s extensive research. It is a logical conclusion that Bardan probably understands it in reference to Omega much better than they do, given that they do not have the capability to sense anything directly.

In spite of himself and his own current issues at hand, Tech musters a curt response, and adjusts his goggles. “That is correct.”

Bardan works his jaw, nodding slowly. “I’m not going to ask how that is or why, because I don’t need to know and I suspect you wouldn’t tell me if I did,” he gives a short laugh. “But you should know that-“

“Stop,” Hunter hisses over him, his head snapping up towards the door of the cockpit.

The space falls silent around them, each following the unexpected order without a second thought. Wrecker almost looks startled, and each of them carefully follow Hunter’s stare.

None of them have the time to ask ‘why’ or ‘what’s wrong’, as not two seconds pass before the doors whir open, revealing Omega standing on the side, Lula clutched in one hand while she rubs her cheek with the other, balled up. She looks sleepy, to say the least, and slightly dazed. Her shoulders are sagging just a little, and without her shoes on, only in socks, her footsteps are much lighter and a lot quieter than they usually are.

Hence, why Hunter was the only one who heard her coming. Thank the Maker for his enhanced senses.

“Hey kid,” the sergeant took a few steps forward, crouching down in front of her. His voice softens instantly, that way that it does only for her. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Absentmindedly, Tech notes that Bardan backs up, sitting himself back down in the cockpit chair behind the pilot’s seat.

Omega shakes her head, clinging to Lula and persistently attempting to rub the sleep from her eyes. “No, what are you doing?” Her eyes wander around the room, scanning one face after the other for several seconds before moving to the next. She’s tired, clearly, but far more interested in whatever it is everyone else is doing to allow her need for sleep to deter her.

“Discussing the mission,” Hunter says quickly, offering a small smile as he ruffles her hair. And it isn’t a total lie, though whether or not Omega buys it, Tech can’t tell. “Nothing interesting. You should go back to bed,” he adds, letting his hand linger a moment. She smiles back at him, a sort of lopsided grin.

Proof that this is Hunter’s job. Hunter is a natural. Tech is best kept on the sidelines, caring - loving - in his own way. He will never be able to offer more than he already has. Small hugs, and teaching moments. That is what he’s good at.

“Are we gonna get to Coruscant soon?” she asks, briefly peering out the viewport, eyes sparkling with familiar curiousity.

Hunter glances over his shoulder at Tech, waiting for an answer that he doesn’t know. Kicking himself for getting distracted with his own feelings, Tech hastily turns to the console, glancing over the navigation screen. In some odd way, he appreciates the excuse to look away from the others, like some weird semblance of privacy.

“Another twenty-three standard hours,” he informs them, not looking up from the console, focusing his gaze on nothing in particular in front of him.

“Plenty of time for everyone to rest,” he hears Hunter tell her, a certain smugness to his tone.

Omega groans a response. “But-“

“But nothing,” Hunter chuckles, and Tech spares a glance in their direction. The sergeant pushes himself back to his feet at the same time that Wrecker loves forward to join his siblings by the door. “It’s late.”

Late, relatively speaking. They are in hyperspace, after all. But that’s all semantics. The idea is there. Not that any of that matters because she requires rest regardless and-

And Tech is spiraling. Maybe. Just a little.

He sucks in a breath and diverts his eyes again, this time to Bardan across the cockpit. He watches on, silent, plainly observant. It makes Tech’s stomach turn.

“C’mon kid!” Wrecker bellows, putting on a grin of his own. “I’m takin’ my sleep cycle now, too!” He laughs, scooping Omega up in his big arms.

If Tech didn’t know better, know him better, then he would assume that Wrecker was in fact on his way to the bunks to sleep. But it’s evident by the slight shake of his arms and the forceful nature of his smile that the conversation they’ve had, and Bardan’s presence as a whole, perhaps, has shaken his brother. It’s shaken all of them, in their own ways.

Omega squirms in his arms, giggling. “Off to bed!” Wrecker booms, shuffling through the cockpit doors with heavy footsteps. Omega squeals again, the sounds of joy and amusement - albeit tired all the same - echoing against the walls of the ship.

The atmosphere now in comparison to what it was mere moments ago, tension lingering within the cockpit whilst the vague, congenial normalcy of what has become his life, would almost be refreshing. Almost, if it wasn’t for the sense of dread that seemed to loom over Tech like a storm cloud.

Wrecker and Omega, while audible, disappear from view, leaving the rest of them to idle awkwardly in the cockpit. Bardan appears to be thinking, looking ahead with a pensive stare, looking as though he has something to say.

Hunter, however, is first to do so once it is presumed that Omega is out of earshot. “We’ll still do the job,” he says, decisive but firm, all and any touch of gentleness: gone. His goal of shutting this down, whatever this can be called, is clear. “But one misstep on your end, and the whole thing is off.” Echo nods agreement behind him, meanwhile Tech forces himself away from the console to join them proper.

“You have my word, I don’t intend to do anything to put her - or you - in danger deliberately,” Bardan insists, an air of sincerity in his tone. “And I won’t say a word about her, not to anyone. Nor her.” He sighs, turning his head to look out the viewport. “I… know what this Galaxy is like for a child sensitive to the force. You only want what’s best for her.”

His… sympathy, - or is it empathy? - is surprisingly… soothing. It gives Tech pause. Bardan may not be entirely honest, nor does Tech really trust him any more than he did before, but he is unyielding in his resolve, and that has to count for something.

He wishes he could be the same when it came to his… to the way he… cares for Omega.

“May I just offer you one thing?” Bardan continues, and as much as he is asking for their permission, he doesn’t wait for a confirmation or otherwise. “As she is not yet aware of her ability, then it stands to reason that you have only scratched the surface of what it really is to her, what she can do. Since meeting you, I have felt this powerful presence in the force, like there is something important about her.”

For what feels like the hundredth time, Tech feels frozen in place.

Hunter takes in a sharp, audible breath, and Echo puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, though whether to ground Hunter or himself, Tech is not sure.

“I don’t know who she is, or where she came from. I know so little that I couldn’t help you if I wanted to,” he shakes his head, folding his hands in his lap. “But for whatever the reason is, she’s different. When the time comes that she inevitably begins to learn about who she is, it will be up to you, all of you, to protect her, and to guide her.” He takes another breath, pressing a hand to his chin.

Hunter’s pinched expression makes Tech’s chest clench. Whatever this is, it can’t be good… can it? “What‘s… going to happen? Is there something wrong with her?” Hunter asks quietly, apprehensive.

“It’s unclear,” Bardan responds, and if Tech glares through his goggles, displeased by the answer, nobody will ever know. “However, her presence in the force is unusually strong for her age, especially considering she’s untrained and unaware. It’s almost as thought it’s overcompensating for something… or catching up, so to speak. But I don’t know what that could possibly mean.”

Over…compensating? What the hell does that mean? The force… inside of Omega is overcompensating? For… what, exactly? Bardan says he doesn’t know. Tech believes him. But this is not an observation that can go overlooked, especially due to the fact that Bardan believes it unusual. That is alarming, to say the very least. Omega has not demonstrated any powerful displays of the force, only minor. So minor, in fact, that she hadn’t noticed that she wielded the force with her own two hands.

That she made something move.

It doesn’t add up. Or it shouldn’t. Tech isn’t sure, and this terrifies him. It seems as though the more he learns about Omega, the less he is able to understand. At the end of the day, his knowledge of the force is nothing; it’s not enough.

They’re not doing enough to protect her; he’s not doing enough to protect her.

He thought that they were okay, that everything was getting better.

Now it only seems to be getting worse.

“I can sense your distress,” Bardan cuts through Tech’s thoughts, glancing around the room with calm eyes. “All of you.” And Echo looks away from him, as if ashamed of himself. “I understand that what I say sounds alarming, but that’s why I’m telling you. You need to be prepared. I’ve already told you, I understand that you don’t trust me, but please, listen to this. She’s going to need you more than she already does.”

That seems to bring Hunter to complete and total attention. “Tech was right. We’ll do whatever it takes if it’s for her sake,” he asserts, arms tight over his chest. “It doesn’t matter if we can understand it or not. Omega comes first.”

“Everyone of us shares this sentiment,” Echo agrees, his face having returned to a comfortably resolute expression.

Tech, on the other hand, says nothing. A part of him wants to, and feels as though he must, but he cannot. He opens his mouth and immediately snaps it shut, failing to find words to put… any of this, any of… how he’s feeling into terms that he can explain. It makes his head hurt, trying to do so, like a head weight resting precariously on his skull.

To avoid a confining, awkward silence, he gives some sort of reply via a short nod, and thank the Maker both his brothers and Bardan accept it as an answer.

He’s always been better without words in these sorts of situations, anyway. He’s just proven that all over again, hasn’t he?

“We should… talk about this more later, when Wrecker is around, ideally,” Hunter continues, pressing his lips together in a thin line, then turning to Echo and Tech. “Go sleep. Once we arrive on Coruscant, it’s all hands on deck. For now, rest up and we’ll discuss the mission plan a few hours out.”

“Fine by me,” Echo murmurs, almost as if stifling a yawn. Tonight… today as a whole, really, has been entirely exhausting. Nothing has gone the way that Tech ever could have expected it to, and it’s making his head spin.

A small part of him almost tries to argue with Hunter as to why he will take first watch instead, but it does not succeed. He’s still too lost in his own mind to come up with anything to say, anyway. Not only this, but for once in his life, he actually feels… vaguely sleepy.

When he pushed Bardan into the cockpit to begin with, this is never how he expected things to go. As much as he hates to admit it, - and he won’t out loud - if Bardan weren’t force sensitive, they wouldn’t know what they now do; that Omega’s connection to the force is not all that normal, and they need to prepare for when the time comes that she needs them most.

At the same time, however, if Bardan had been honest with them in the first place and this confrontation was avoided all together, Tech wouldn’t have…

‘She is our sister, and we love her more than life itself.’

How foolish, allowing himself to be so… vulnerable with something of which he understands so little. Vulnerability leads to failure, and failure leads to loss.

In the case of this squad, this particular situation, that loss would be… Omega.

He shudders at the thought.

Thus, he cannot allow himself to say it again. He must avoid his own vulnerability for the sake of protecting hers. He will persist in communicating that he loves her indirectly; by demonstration. Small, comfortable hugs and ruffles of the hair.

She… does not need to hear it from him, anyway. It is as he already thought: he will only disappoint. So he will continue to show her just how much he loves her by giving it his all. By protecting her, an act in which he has no room to disappoint. He cannot let her down, especially now, when the stakes are higher than they ever were when this whole thing began.

He will never be able to do so properly as long as he’s exhausted.

Regulation. Control. Rationale.

Yes. That’s it. That is… what’s best. It’s… exactly what he wants.

Isn’t it?

Chapter Text

Tech makes the executive decision to return to Nala Sé’s coded reports.

After returning to the bunks for the day, Echo brings Wrecker up to speed. Tech could offer his help, but ultimately cannot get the words out to help explain the situation effectively. Echo does a fine job, seeing as how Wrecker becomes just as worried as the rest of them near instantly.

Eventually, some time a little later, both Wrecker and Echo manage to fall asleep. Despite his attempts, removing his goggles and laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling and even managing to tune out whoever it is - Bardan or Hunter - moving around the hull, Tech does not sleep.

What Bardan says irks him - and his brothers - beyond expression. ‘But for whatever the reason is, she’s different.’ Different how? Other than that she’s a clone, he can’t think of anything she has displayed through the force that doesn’t lineup with something he’s read about in some way or another. Even when it comes to wielding the force directly and remaining unaware, he can easily pull up (stolen) Jedi temple records indicating that such is not unheard of.

It’s the ‘overcompensating’ part that bothers him the most. Nothing much positive can be attributed with the word, really, and when it comes to the force, he has never once seen it or anything similar utilized as a means of description in all of the research he’s done over the last month and some.

But there are so many different files stored in both his datapad and the ship’s memory that he is… hopeful to find something useful. He knows for a fact that he has not gone through everything, and he very well could have missed something.

Thus, he returns to where he is most comfortable: factual research.

Hours have passed since he first laid down for his ‘sleep cycle’. He isn’t sure how long exactly, but he knows that he spent roughly half the time lying around with nothing but his thoughts and the background noise of his siblings. By now, Hunter has gotten full rest while Echo took the next shift, Omega woke up loudly from her own room, rations have been distributed as per the correct hour, and the bunkroom has since been vacated by everyone but himself.

Tech is sure that Hunter knows he didn’t sleep, due to the fact that he can hear breathing and tell by that alone someone’s condition, but he never says anything about it. He waited until his brother was asleep regardless, and not long after Hunter’s own breathing evened out, Tech sat up on his bunk, procured the datapad from beneath his pillow, and got to work.

Since then, however long ago that was, he has not moved, not even for mealtime; his ration bar was left by Wrecker on the edge of his bunk when he came in briefly to retrieve something that Tech didn’t notice. With the exception of that, and a greeting from Omega - ‘Morning Tech!’ - through the open bunkroom door not long ago, he has once again become too engrossed in his work to fully notice what is going on around him.

But that is all fine and good, isn’t it? For one thing, any of his research that truly amounts to progress is for the good of his sister, and his siblings as a whole. For another, it means that he must focus on what is in front of him, with no time to get lost in his own mind so long as he has something to read.

The latter has become progressively harder with every passing second.

At present, he finds himself combing through the original report from Nala Sé that confirms Omega’s force sensitivity in writing. As thorough as he may be, a lot has happened in the short amount of time since he first deciphered it. It is entirely possible that he could have missed something the first time, or that things could take a different meaning now that they have come to learn more firsthand.

Unfortunately, that has yet to be the case. Despite having gone over it twice already today, he is trying once more, just to be absolutely certain.

There is only one thing that sticks out to him in any capacity. ‘Multiple anomalies have occurred within its genetic makeup, resulting in a total absorption by Fett’s DNA.’ How far do those anomalies spread? Are they restricted to her physical existence, and her genetic makeup, or could they be more? Is it possible that the circumstances that caused said anomalies also affect her presence in the living force, if not her ability as a whole?

He doesn’t think so. In all honesty, he’s never heard of such a thing, and surely Nala Sé would have noted all particularly odd occurrences, not only select ones. Yet, she says little more than this. Unless there is a second report elsewhere, he is likely grasping at straws.

Tech sighs heavily, tossing the datapad into his lap to free both his hands. He lifts up his goggles with one whilst rubbing at his eyes with the other. He feels completely exhausted. While resting for a little while helped some, tried and true sleep would have helped heaps more. That being said, if he’s awake enough now to process what he’s reading, then he’s fine enough.

Probably.

Releasing several weighted breaths, he leans his back against the bunk frame, allowing himself to close his eyes for just a moment. This, however, proves a mistake, when in an instant, thoughts come rushing back to him as if he had never managed to dismiss them in the first place.

His brain floods not with words or phrases, but with images. It’s a rare occurrence that he sees things so clearly in his mind, one that he’s noticed only truly happens when he is, of course, exhausted. The images now range anywhere from Omega and his brothers, to himself, to vague shapes that feel like Crosshair. Some of the visions are innocent, calm. Others… are far from, dark… mangled… bloody.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to banish these thoughts. He’s distracted, and how dare he be? How can he help his siblings like this, wallowing in his own fears and self pity over the fact that he can’t use his words like the highly intelligent adult that he is?

Emotion begins to bubble in his chest. Anger, mostly. Yes, that’s it. Tech is angry.

He’s angry at Nala Sé for what she did to Omega, whatever it is. He’s angry at her commissioner because, clearly, their intentions were far from good. He’s angry at the pair of them for all of the trouble they’ve caused that is attributed primarily to the fact that they practically threw Omega to the loth wolves by leaving her clueless.

He’s angry at Bardan for acting so fucking cryptic when, really, more nebulousness and mystery are the last things that any of them need right now. He’s angry at the Empire for initiating Order Sixty-Six and putting a bounty on the heads of force sensitives across the Galaxy, no matter who they are; no matter if they are an innocent child or not.

He’s angry at himself for not being able to fix any of it, for not knowing the right way to provide for Omega, protect her, for not having answers to offer his brothers, who are just as lost and afraid.

When does it end, the uncertainty? The running, the hiding, the fear. When does the Galaxy cut them a break?

“Are you busy?”

Tech nearly leaps out of his skin.

Startled by the voice in the doorway of the bunkroom, - a voice that is decidedly not one of his brothers nor Omega - Tech flails haplessly, gripping the edge of the bunk for support. The datapad clatters to the floor, shutting itself off.

He snaps his head up, ready to either throw hands or scream, when he finds himself met with…

With an awfully familiar, awfully infuriating composure that draws a scowl across his face.

“Oh,” he mutters, releasing his embarrassing white-knuckled grip on the bunk and fixing his goggles back in place. “It is you.”

Bardan steps forward, a sympathetic kind of smile on his face. It’s annoying. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No harm,” Tech answers shortly, sitting up and running a hand down his chest to flatten out his blacks, slightly creased due to how he had been positioned.

The Mandalorian leans against the wall, glancing briefly towards the door. At first, he doesn’t say a word, merely looking between Tech and the rest of the room around him without making any noise at all, really. What he’s looking at or for, Tech is unsure. He’s about to ask him if he needs something, or if there’s a problem, when Bardan finally settles his attention on Tech.

“When I was a padawan, my Master was a man by the name of Arligan Zey. He wasn’t particularly extraordinary as a Jedi, but he was a very smart man,” Bardan starts, and Tech furrows his brows; he doesn’t remember asking. “I looked up to him, for a while. In the end, however, we didn’t really… get along. He had very different ideas than I did, and unlike my buir, or my vode, he didn’t place a lot of value in relationships of any kind. Not that weren’t professional, anyway.”

Tech recognizes that name, Arligan Zey. He met the general once, albeit briefly, and read about him at the same time he did Bardan Jusik. He isn’t sure what this has to do with him, though.

Bardan makes a vague gesture with one hand and goes on. “One other thing about him, he had very firm control over his emotions. He hardly ever let how he felt about something affect his decisions, and it was very hard to tell how he was really feeling for a long time,” a sort of… careful smile curls his lips upwards. “I couldn’t understand that. I’ve always been much more emotional, I’m afraid, which is why I believe clan Skirata is better for me. More fitting. But when I finally learned how to… read him, I realized something.

“It wasn’t that he was completely unfeeling, it was that he was often… worried that his emotions would lead to a mistake he couldn’t fix. He preferred to control himself, to think logically. It made him a skilled general, but it hurt him… inside.”

Tech’s throat suddenly feels rather dry.

“And what has that got to do with me?” he snaps hurriedly, even though he’s perfectly smart enough to already know the answer.

Bardan shoots him a warily knowing look, eyes narrowed. “You’re a little easier than my Master was,” he says. “I can sense you clearly from across the ship.”

Tech’s cheeks burn, and he can tell that he’s taken on a red hue under his goggles. “I did not realize that I had given my consent to such things, nor did I ask you to offer your prognosis regarding my emotions,” he answers furiously, doing everything in his power not to yell.

This makes him angry, too. How dare he, a client and a ‘guest’ on their ship, go about telling Tech ‘how he feels’ as if he ever asked? This is not his place, nor is he… correct. Tech may prefer control, sure, and he may not want to let his feelings interfere where they shouldn’t. He may… be afraid of ruining things. Of hurting people. But it is… it is of no hindrance to him. He is fine. He likes it this way.

It is not hurting him, and he does not need Bardan to tell him what to do about it. He knows how to handle himself.

He is fine.

“I expected you would be unhappy,” Bardan grimaces, closing his eyes. “But I thought I would try anyway. Just- look, you don’t have to take my advice, but don’t let yourself become a mess. My Master had a way of handling himself, and I suspect it was through the force. But as capable as I think you are, I would hate to see you… destroy yourself.” He pauses, brows creased. “Both for your sake, and your sister’s.”

At that, Tech feels his whole body tense. He isn’t destroying himself, he’s doing this to prevent the very self destruction that Bardan is alluding to. He’s doing this because this is what he has always done, what he has always known. It’s what he’s comfortable with, and he’s… he’s okay with that.

If he changes now, it is as he has already established; he is taking the risk of making a terrible mistake that will cost him what he… loves. And that? That is what will destroy him.

Bardan doesn’t know him nearly well enough to go around saying otherwise.

Tech also wonders offhandedly if any of the Mandalorian’s long-winded points would be less aggravating were he to adopt a bit of brevity.

“I am perfectly fine, as are my siblings. I am doing what I do for her,” he nearly whispers, and if a word or two catches in his throat, neither of them say anything about it. “I only want what is best.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Bardan answers quickly. “It’s clear how much all of you care for her. You made that abundantly clear to me last night. And she has a wonderful parental figure,” he adds, meaning Hunter. That may be the first entirely true statement he’s made since this whole damned mission began. “But I think it’s safe to say she needs you just as much as each of your brothers. Just… ask yourself if this really is what’s best. Do you really want to keep so much to yourself? Will that benefit the adiik?”

Tech opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it once more and… and he stops. Of course it’s best… it- she needs him to- to play his part the way he always has. That- that’s what’s best. Bardan doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t understand, not the way that he thinks he does.

“Yes.”

Bardan gives a curt nod. “Then I’ll take my leave. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tech adjusts his goggles on his nose. “Is that so?”

“Unless you have something else to yell at me for?”

Tech clenches his teeth.

“You are overstepping.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“We did not ask for your help. You asked for ours. I have come to terms with the fact that you could not tell us of your force sensitivity but I-“

“And what about her force sensitivity?”

Tech reels back, blinking. “Pardon?”

Bardan’s gaze feels like it’s burning a hole in Tech’s forehead. “You’ve come to terms with it?”

He doesn’t even have to think about that. “There is nothing to come to terms with. She is our sister. How we feel about her does not change.”

“And that’s fine. That’s good,” but the way that Bardan says so doesn’t exactly make it sound very good at all. “But even so, you’re going to choose to repress yourself? Feeling is part of what makes us sentient.”

“I fail to see how that has anything to do with coming to terms-“

“You haven’t once felt anything poor towards her since learning that she is one with the force?” he asks, folding his arms loosely over his chest.

Why he is continuing to humoring this discussion, Tech isn’t exactly sure. But he goes on anyway. “Of course not.” His tone is firm, unyielding. It possesses nothing but truth. He is telling the truth; of that, he is certain. Bardan may be… planting seeds of doubt in his mind regarding… other things, but not this. This has not changed, will not change, no matter what.

And yet Bardan shakes his head, as if to doubt him still. “Right. And that’s good to hear” he sighs, turning towards the door. Tech’s eyes blow wide. He isn’t just going to leave NOW, is he?

“Where-“

“Your sister is coming,” he nods in the direction of the hull. “Think she’s lookin’ for you. Just do me a favor and remember what I said.”

Tech bites back a growl. Remember what he said? Which part! He talks so much that he swears the man must be constantly out of breath! Not to mention that half of what he’s said is really no more than his opinion, what he thinks he knows about Tech, even though he’s only making guesses and putting his two credits in where it doesn’t belong.

Whether he may or may not be right, nor what about, doesn’t matter. Tech and his brothers may still have things to figure out regarding Omega, but as far as himself? He knows what he’s doing, he knows what he’s feeling, and he knows that he’s handling it just fine as it is.

“What are you-“

“Your emotions, no matter what they are, and whether you express them or not, will always affect others,” he murmurs, hand against the doorframe. “The good and the bad.”

The good and the bad?

Is that to suggest that Tech has felt something negative about his sister? Because he hasn’t, not at all. He doesn’t blame Omega, not for any of this. None of it is her fault. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t even know, for Maker’s sake.

Or maybe that isn’t it at all. Maybe he’s trying to say that it’s the lack of negative feelings, the positive, that is somehow having an effect on things. If so, what exactly? Other than the fact that the acceptance from him and his brothers, as well as the willingness to push through and protect her, - to do what they must - he can’t think of anything he’s said or done that would have influenced Omega positively. Not anymore than his usual kind attitude towards her.

He hates to prolong this conversation anymore than he already has, but the ‘not knowing’ may just be the death of him.

However, when he glares through his goggles, ready to rip Bardan a new one, because his indirect approach to everything is driving Tech mad, he finds that he’s disappeared.

Tech blinks owlishly, shocked. Where- there is hardly a trace of Bardan, as if he was never in here at all.

“Tech!” Omega is calling for him from the hull, some sort of eager energy audible in her tone. “Tech! C’mere!”

Sighing, rubbing a hand over his forehead, he pushes himself off the edge of the bunk and to his feet. He leans down to pick up the datapad, brushing dust off the screen, and tossing it on top of his pillow. He’ll come back to that later, perhaps when he can proceed uninterrupted.

Omega yells for him again, and suddenly, she’s standing just outside the bunkroom door, her little head of curly blonde hair bouncing as she rocks back on the balls of her feet. “Tech, Hunter showed me how to take a blaster apart and put it back together!” she informs him excitedly. “You gotta see! I’m really good!”

Tech raises a brow at that, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For something so simple that he and his brothers - that every clone, really - have been doing their whole lives to make her so seemingly happy warms his heart; she really is just a kid, and sometimes, the Galaxy allows her to be.

In the back of his mind, he notes how his prior frustrations suddenly seem to begin fading away, slowly but surely.

It’s funny, how that works. How Omega’s innocent eyes stare up at him with expectation, asking him to come along so she can demonstrate what she’s learned, and he feels… better. It’s a reminder of what he’s fighting for. What all of this is for.

For his brothers and sister. For his family.

What he is doing all of this for, all of this that Bardan seems to think isn’t quite right.

“I am coming,” he replies, allowing the smile to take shape, small but ever present. “Lead the way.”

And she does, grasping at his hand and pulling him roughly along behind her. He doesn’t mind that he almost trips, nor that he fingers gripping at his hand in a most uncomfortable way make his own fingers bend odd.

See? Bardan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, not entirely. His advice - or is it more of a warning? - about Omega will prove helpful, surely. It has put Tech back on the right path regarding his reasearch, and for that he is (somewhat begrudgingly) grateful. Clearly, however, Tech is doing just fine. Otherwise, Omega would not be tugging him around to show him things, and he would not be so willing to follow. His handle on the situation is obviously better than what Bardan seems to want to give him credit for.

‘Your emotions, no matter what they are, and whether you express them or not, will always affect others.’ There’s no use dwelling on all it is he said, not right now. Maybe another time, when he doesn’t have more important things than his ‘feelings’ to worry about. His ‘feelings’ are telling him that he is content, and his siblings appear to be equally so.

All is well. All is, for the most part, as it should be. As soon as the mission is complete, and they part ways with Bardan, things will go back to the way they should be; nobody will be around to try and tell Tech how to feel, or inadvertently put them in more danger than they already are. He can focus on what matters.

And so he pushes it out of mind with ease. He’s stressed enough as it is; he doesn’t need Bardan’s outside observations throwing him for a loop.

For all Tech knows, since he refuses to elaborate when such is needed, he could just be trying to mess with him. Who’s to say there’s any merit to it if he himself won’t prove as much?

So it doesn’t matter, and he puts it out of mind. He has more important things to worry about at the moment.

Best not to give it anymore thought than he already has.

Chapter Text

“If you aren’t pullin’ our legs, ‘m gonna pull one of yer’s right off of ya!”

Tech blinks, frowning, and rotates the pilot’s chair towards the cockpit doors when Wrecker’s booming voice reaches him from the hull of the Marauder. Whatever reason his brother has to be shouting at the moment, he hasn’t any idea. Last he checked, his brothers had been gearing up, whilst he took to the controls as the ship dropped out of hyperspace and over Coruscant.

They’re only a few minutes from being able to land. Roughly five minutes out from reaching the atmosphere, eight from touching down in a supposedly remote port location provided by Bardan. This, of course, also means that they are almost one giant step closer to finishing this job and putting the whole wretched thing behind them.

After Omega’s demonstration of what Hunter taught her in regards to blaster anatomy, the sergeant called for a mission debrief. Bardan’s seemingly extensive knowledge on the current state of Coruscant in combination with the squad’s own experience from over the years made for an extremely efficient discussion. With how specific he was able to be, down to coordinates and docking schedules, it almost feels like Bardan has an inside man.

Maybe he does, but if that’s the case, Tech doesn’t really want to know. He knows enough about the Mandalorian already. Anything else concerning, and he may just lose it.

Things have gone entirely smooth since then, everyone more or less keeping themselves busy until half an hour ago when Tech announced that they were beginning to drop out of hyperspace. He too has been able to stay relaxed, relatively speaking, knowing perfectly well that going into a ‘touch and go’ mission such as this, directly inside enemy territory, requires a clear head. To make matters even better, Bardan was able to provide them with all of the necessary authorization codes to dock unnoticed and without a second glance; all in all, surprisingly low stress.

He was actually quite pleased with the turnaround in his mood that Omega’s joy and the well-ordered meeting had brought about, even allowing himself to doze off briefly in the pilot’s seat.

Of course, nothing good can seem to last. Despite the fact that he has no idea exactly what is going on behind him yet, he can tell from Wrecker’s tone alone that whatever it is, he is genuinely unhappy. Or perhaps upset is the better word; Wrecker is very rarely just unhappy. Like Omega, he feels things very strongly, in his own way. Though he tends to be a tad more dramatic.

Unfortunately however, Tech is unable to get up and investigate at present. He’s navigating the ship through enemy airspace, and the Marauder isn’t going to land itself. Huffing a sigh, he turns his attention back to the viewport, hands tight around the controls. Whatever it is, he’ll enjoy the last remaining moments of bliss that he has solitary in the cockpit. He suspects it won’t be all that long until he’s made aware of the issue, anyway.

And of course, seldom wrong, Wrecker comes stomping through the cockpit doors mere seconds later.

“Will you let me-“ it’s Bardan who calls after him, and several pairs of footsteps are following behind Wrecker. Tech doesn’t yet turn around, trying to focus on the task in his hands.

Hunter huffs as he makes his entrance. “Let him explain first, Wrecker,” he says, a hint of a warning in his tone, though his own frustration does not go unnoticed. He puts himself down in the copilots seat, Omega trailing behind him, appearing to be listening very carefully, while looking somewhat pensive herself. “But he’s right. You better have some kind of an explanation.” His gaze is directed at Bardan.

Tech is acutely aware of Bardan somewhere close behind him, and Wrecker to his right, as well. He can only assume that Echo is here, too, even if he can’t quite place him.

Whatever it is that’s going on, it’s important enough that, apparently, they all need to be present. The cockpit becomes warm with tension, starting to feel unnecessarily crowded.

So much for keeping a clear head.

Bardan doesn’t respond right away, giving a short sigh of his own as he shuffles around the floor, placing himself in the middle of the space. Sparing him a glance, Tech notes that, for once, he’s the one who looks annoyed; go figure. “There’s been a change in plans on my end,” he replies, short and sweet and to the point, for the very first time since they’ve met him. “I no longer need you boys to finish the job.”

Tech nearly rips the controls off the console, bringing the ship to an instantaneous halt. The entire frame shutters, eliciting a surprised squeak from Omega while Wrecker grabs at the back of Hunter’s chair to keep himself from falling over. He practically slams the lever back to disengage the thrusters; if he had thrown it back any harder, it may have just snapped in two.

He whips his chair towards the group, noting Echo leaning against the door frame, head held in his flesh hand. The Marauder hovers idly in space, Coruscant below them.

“Would you care to elaborate?” he hisses, ignoring the startled look adorned by his siblings. He’ll apologize (both to them and his ship) for jostling them around later.

Bardan, however, looks unfazed, and - just like everything else he’s done - that bothers Tech. Not that he was trying to get a reaction out of him, and if he were, it would not be done by mistreating his ship (an accident, as he hadn’t meant for it to stop as harshly as it did). “Plans have… changed. I received a coded transmission from my father a few hours ago, and I’ve been given another… task. This will keep me on Coruscant longer.”

Tech furrows his brows, confused, and notices that Hunter does much the same. If he is still going to Coruscant, then what does it matter? They came all this way (and risked their lives), after all; they will simply adjust the plan of action. “How does that change things?” Hunter asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “We still brought you here. You’ll need a secure way out.”

“It will take another three standard rotations, at least,” Bardan clarifies, shaking his head. “I can’t retrieve my brothers until I’m finished. We were supposed to be gone by tonight,” he presses a hand to his side. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

For the first time since making the mistake of arguing that taking Bardan’s job was the smart move, Tech actually finds that he agrees with him. A few hours, half a day at most, is a huge different from what will ultimately become a minimum four days. Half of one standard week is a huge ask for a squad of fugitive clones, one of which is force sensitive, to spend sitting around on Coruscant. Not to mention that it isn’t any safer for them to wander, rather than stay put; not for that amount of time.

Maybe if it were the four of them, and they didn’t have Omega to worry about (Maker forbid), it would be a different story. That is not the case, of course. Omega, and keeping her safe, always comes first.

Hunter is the first to vocalize this sentiment. “That’s too long. We can’t take that risk.”

At this, and without hesitation, Omega shoots up straight, eyebrows raised. “Why not?” she asks, spinning her head around to look directly at her buir, - and he certainly lives up to the name in decisive moments like this - eyes blowing wide. “What about helping him get his brothers back?” The urgency in her voice grips at his heart.

Throwing a glance in Echo’s direction, Tech looks for any semblance of similitude in his own expression, but there isn’t any to be found. Usually, he would be the first to back Omega up in this sort of thing, but he’s clearly considered the situation and come to the same conclusion as his brothers. After everything that’s happened, this would be too much, even for him.

Omega doesn’t know. That’s not her fault. And for now, it’s best that she remains unaware, just a little while longer. Maybe one day, she’ll understand. But he fears they may have to disappoint her for the time being.

“Omega, Coruscant in the capital of the Empire,” Hunter sighs, gripping her shoulder with a gentle hand. “We have to be smart.”

Tech glares out the viewport. “As it stands, we are not being particularly smart,” he pipes up, gesturing with one arm towards the planet directly outside. “I cannot sit here much longer,” he adds, as if to ask for some kind of direction.

It’s now that Bardan seems to relax ever so slightly, shoulders slumping. “If you bring me down to the port that I’ve already provided you with clearance for, then that’s all I’ll need,” he says, a sort of uncertainty in his tone that Tech can confidently say is rather unusual for him. “I’ll still pay you the original, agreed upon price. And I’ll do it the moment we touch down. Then you can turn around and leave, or whatever else it is you want to do.” He offers a wary smile. “We can just call it cutting the job short.”

It sounds like a perfectly fine deal if Tech has ever heard one. A decent pile of credits, a ‘dump and run’ so to speak, and a constant thorn in his side gone from his ship once and for all? It almost sounds too good to be true, and he won’t believe his good fortune until he witnesses it with his own eyes, but he can’t help but hope.

Small victories are victories nonetheless.

Regardless, he must wait for Hunter to consent to the change in plans before he can bring the ship down to the surface.

To his never-ending relief, the sergeant meets his silent plea with a quick nod. Anxious to transport them out of vulnerable airspace as efficiently as possible, Tech adjusts his goggles before grabbing at the controls with embarrassing haste. The sooner they move along, the better, especially now that the end goal is staring him in the face, waiting just out of reach yet.

“But-“ Omega is distraught, blinking rapidly as she tries to keep up. He forces himself to keep his eyes in front of him, engaging thrusters at a steady pace. “You really don’t want us to help?” She takes a small step closer to Bardan, picking at the hem of her shirt.

Bardan tilts his head forward. “It’s fine, adiik,” he replies, smiling like he means it. As much as Tech hates to admit it, he stands by his initial observation: the Mandalorian appears to have a way with children, and maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. “Without your crew, I wouldn’t have had any way here to start. As for a way off, that won’t be so hard,” and he suspects that such a claim is accompanied by a wink, or something of the sort. “I know a guy.”

Tech arches a brow at that, but says nothing. He has had enough of Bardan’s secrets for a lifetime.

Thank the Maker, this seems to satiate Omega rather easily, as if giving her some peace of mind that he won’t necessarily be stranded on Coruscant. She gives a small hum of acceptance, and he can feel her moving closer to the pilot’s chair.

“So… what Coruscant like?” she asks nobody in particular, craning her head to peer out the viewport without getting too close to the controls at the console.

“Coruscant, the former Republic and now Imperial hub, is a primarily industrial planet that consists of a combination of tall buildings and subterranean facilities,” he explains. Behind his goggles, Tech squints to get a better look at the situation ahead; only one venator and a handful of ships coming and going. They should blend in just fine. “It can attribute much of its success as a busy location to the fact that it is connected to six major trade routes between a multitude of other worlds, as well as housing the Galactic Senate.”

Omega breathes deeply. “Woah.”

A message flashes across the console screen asking for an authorization code to enter the planet. While it usually would not be necessary, they are entering directly from a major hyperspace lane, with the goal of landing in a relatively private port to deliver Bardan. The more legitimate they appear, the easier it will be to land without any intrusion.

He punches in the code, a procedure he’s completed thousands of times. Of course, it is always a little less natural when life and death are hanging in the balance of its success, but natural nonetheless.

After a few tense seconds that seem to only have an effect on him, the console beeps in confirmation. Of course it did. Why would Bardan risk giving them illegitimate codes when it would practically doom every one of them on the Marauder? Besides, if he wanted to betray them, he surely would have done so already.

“No problems?” Hunter asks, sure to cover all of their bases, as always.

Tech nods. “Four minutes until landing,” he adds, pursing his lips.

Coruscant becomes clearer and Tech initiates the ship’s descent. It shakes and creaks when its enters the atmosphere, and Omega makes a small noise that is easily identifiable as excitement. It brings a small smile to his face, watching his eager little sister narrow her eyes to watch the air traffic fly by, the buildings growing in size the closer they get. Grays and brows and whites blur together as the Marauder picks up speed just enough to stay below the recommended ‘safety limit’.

It also invokes a slight sadness inside of him. He’s sorry that she isn’t going to get to see it, explore it. He knows it’s not their fault, that it’s for her protection. But that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty. He was this curious child once, many years ago.

Next to him, Bardan shifts, placing one hand against his side. “Sergeant, shall we sort out payment?” he proposes, gesturing towards the rest of the ship with his free hand. “Best not to worry about that once we land, so you can get in an out.”

And suddenly, Omega looks away from the viewport, seemingly uninterested in the city is if it wasn’t even there, or she’s been here all her life. She doesn’t say anything, but her pinched expression makes it glaringly obvious that something has caught her attention, triggered her apprehension.

If Bardan wasn’t in the room, then he might have asked her what was wrong. But he likes to think he knows her well enough by now to know that it is unlikely of her to share so long as he’s present. That, and - given just the right amount of time - she usually prefers to express her anxieties on her own terms; once she’s ready. Best not to push.

“Right,” Hunter replies, grunting quietly as he pushes himself up from the copilot’s chair. “After you.”

Bardan breathes a laugh, pushing off the edge of the console and leading the way out to the hull. Hunter is close behind, and the pair of them are gone in the blink of an eye, door whirring closed just as Tech spots the docking bay meant for their ship below.

It’s really almost over. It feels too good to be true.

The second they’re gone, however, Omega is quick to voice what it is that’s caused her to look as distraught as she does. “Why is everyone so worried about getting off Coruscant so fast?” she asks, wringing her hands and looking between her brothers.

He would be lying if he says that it doesn’t make him bristle. As calm as he is capable of being under pressure, not to mention that both Wrecker and Echo are still present, the inquiry is cause for trepidation.

Omega is still a kid, and will be for a long time, but she is nothing if not a genius. While sarcasm or social cues may not be her strongest suit, and there are certainly things that go over her head, she can pick up on most things like a hunting massiff. She’s far from stupid, and he‘s known since this whole ordeal began, deep down, that she was bound to sense (through the force or otherwise) that something was going on eventually.

It isn’t a matter of keeping her in the dark, but a means of keeping her protected. As he has always reiterated, preparedness is key, now more than ever. And if she knew that the reason for their desire to stay as far from the ‘core’ as possible stemmed from… well, her, there is a very good chance she takes it poorly. He wouldn’t blame her, either. He’s not so sure how he would react if he were to learn that he was a force sensitive individual in a Galaxy that already wants to kill him, walking on nuna-eggshells to survive.

There’s a time and place for everything, but not now.

Luckily, Echo takes the lead, sparing him the pressure of starting off with exactly the right thing. “Runaway clones aren’t safe here,” he replies coolly, as if there is nothing else to it. “And it’s easy to get lost. If we got separated and lost contact, it would be difficult to locate one another.”

“But we’ve been to plenty of dangerous planets!” she insists.

“Coruscant is different,” Echo shakes his head. “A lot has happened here, and still happens here everyday. It looks nice, but it’s got a lot of issues. Who knows how it is under the Empire?” The regret is evident in his tone. “It’s not a risk we can afford to take right now.

Pouting in that way that she does, trying her best not to be childish, but plainly unsatisfied, Omega hangs her head. “So we’ll never get to explore?”

“Not as it stands, no,” Tech answers, trying his best to sound sympathetic. It’s difficult not to feel bad, staring right ahead at the planet in question as he lowers the landing gear, just moments away from touching the ship down.

Omega sighs, defeated. The guilt that comes with disappointing her, even if it is far from his fault that this is the state of the Galaxy, rises in his chest.

Wrecker rumbles a small laugh, stepping around the copilot’s chair to clasp Omega’s shoulder. “Ah, don’t worry kid! I’m sure we’ll get to come back someday!” he tries to reassure her, grinning from ear to ear. “Yer not missing that much anyway, there’s just a buncha borin’ stuffy government here!”

This earns a small giggle, Wrecker’s knack for cheering her up shining through, however briefly. In any case, it does seem to satiate her displeasure, at least for the time being. She grips at her big brother’s hand on her shoulder, pulling at his large fingers. “Can I at least look from the bay, just a little bit?” she tries, eyes widening.

“I do not see why not,” Tech offers, trying to recover in some way or another. They came all this way, after all. As long as she stays close… “But I advise you to check with Hunter first,” he adds, just to be safe.

And so, at the same time that the ship makes contact with the surface of Coruscant, Omega bolts from the cockpit, dragging - figuratively, of course - Wrecker behind her.

There is some beauty in the simple pleasures brought about by flight. As a cadet, it was the only thing Tech ever really wanted: to be able to take to the stars in a ship of his own. When the Kaminoans had informed him and his brothers that he would be the one to receive full-fledged flight training to become the squad’s assigned pilot, he became completely obsessed with the concept of it. He read every book, every manual that Kamino had to offer, and many that they didn’t, until he memorized them all front and back. He wanted to know everything.

It is the combined freedom and fact that makes flying a ship, especially one of his own, so incredibly special. The freedom to go wherever he wishes, to command the ship to his fancy and nobody else’s; his to make the decisions for, his to control. But there is a required logic, a factual, scientific approach to flying a ship, too. Correct specifications, fuel, navicomputer, hyperdrive. Everything has a place, and must be kept accordingly for the ship to function. It is a science that must make sense, than can be explained, and therefore carries with it a required order.

As a cadet who could go nowhere, subject to logic and reasoning only, tested time and again on his knowledge of battle and mechanical engineering - two things he does enjoy greatly - without reprieve, he longed for some kind of latitude in his life, no matter how minuscule. He knew better than to hope, because he understood well enough that clones aren’t awarded with such privileges. But that only made it all the better when he earned his pilot’s certification, top of his class.

He suspects that this is how Omega feels in regards to traveling the Galaxy with her brothers. A ‘luxury’ she never thought she could afford, and now she is moving from planet to planet by the week. Even so much as a glimpse of unfamiliar life, a breath of fresh air somewhere new, is enough; it’s more than she was ever given before.

Satisfied with his landing job, as skilled as always, Tech pushes himself up from the pilot’s seat to find Echo still in the doorway, eyeing him with an expression Tech cannot interpret.

“Are you… good, Tech?” Echo asks, one brow hiked above the other. “You lost your cool a little yesterday, and then Bardan dropped all that, well, ya know,” he gives a vague gesture with his scomp arm.

Tech fights with the urge to roll his eyes. “I am as fine as I can possibly be given the circumstances,” he replies curtly, making to escape out of the doors before Echo grabs him by the arm with his flesh hand. “Concerned for Omega, of course. But I am prepared to do what I must. I am fine.”

And it is true. He is fine. Echo is grasping at straws.

“Whatever you say,” his brother sighs, squeezing his arm ever so slightly. “But if you come across anything else about it-“

“I will inform you as soon as physically possible,” he nods, and that is also true. No more secrets.

Echo smiles wryly, shaking his head. “Alright. Let’s get this over with then.”

Tech’s sentiments exactly.

In the hull, the ramp has already been lowered. Omega is peering around the corner, head outside the ship, gripping at the wall to maintain her balance. Hunter is lingering behind her, while Bardan stands on the ramp, hands perched against his sides. Coruscant air, the smell an oddly familiar combination of speeder exhaust and heat, wafts through the opening.

Out in the docking bay, Wrecker is stretching his legs, pacing aimlessing in front of the left wing. There’s a feeling of domesticity to the moment, bringing a small smile to his face. Adjusting his goggles, he approaches his little sister and her hovering buir.

“Go ahead,” Hunter urges her, tapping her back with one finger. “We’re not gonna be here long, so now’s your chance.”

Her eyes blow wide and she nods, hopping off the edge to the ramp and landing on her feet in the dirt. Her decision to forgo the stairs nearly causes her to lose her balance, but she manages to catch herself, grinning. “Got it!”

Bardan chuckles, which pulls Tech’s attention away from his siblings. His helmet is tucked under one of his arms, geared up entirely with his belt and blaster. He’s already prepared to depart, one foot out the door.

“Thank you, for getting me here,” he smiles, eyes darting between Tech, Hunter and Echo, as if unsure who to direct his attention to.

Echo rubs his flesh hand over his opposite shoulder. “Sure you won’t have trouble getting out of here?” he asks, just to be sure.

The Mandalorian nods in affirmation. “Like I said, I have a contact. It’s getting in that’s the hard part. I’ll be out of here in short order, once I get to extracting my vode,” he assures, replacing his helmet as he takes a short pause. “You boys take care, and give Cid my regards. It’s been a while since I saw her last. I think she was surprised that I’m still alive,” he laughs, sounding sheepish.

“We will,” Hunter replies, glancing into the port to check on Omega and Wrecker, who are about as far as the bay will allow them to go without exposing them. “If you need our help again, we might be… willing, depending on the job,” he offers, much to Tech’s surprise (and his undeniably obvious chagrin, if the expression he makes is any indication). “So long as you don’t keep any dangerous secrets in the future,” his brother adds, deathly serious. Though it doesn’t help.

Bardan tilts his head to one side. “Actually, I was thinking the opposite,” he says, lowering his voice, already muffled by the helmet. “I don’t want to be found out, and once I get home, I don’t want to be found at all. You’re hiding, too. You want to keep it that way. With the kid in your care, you need to keep it that way. I think it’s for the best that this is goodbye.”

With that, Tech wholeheartedly assents. Let this come to an end.

“You have a point,” Hunter crosses his arms. “And… Omega? All that you said about her…”

“With you boys around, I think she’s going to be just fine, no matter what happens,” Bardan cuts him off, straightening himself. “I wish I could tell you more, but there’s nothing I can explain about what I sense in the force. Not this time. But stay vigilant, be there for the adiik. That’s all you can do,” and then he turns towards Tech, expression hidden, clenching his hands at his sides. “And remember what I said.”

Tech narrows his eyes behind his goggles. He can feel his brothers eyes on him. “Good luck in your exploits,” Tech replies brusquely. He is not discussing this any further; it is over and done.

“You boys take care then,” Bardan laughs it off, starting down the ramp. “It’s unfortunate I never got to work with you during the war. You know how to get a job done.”

Neither him nor his brothers say anything to that, electing to watch him make his way to say his goodbyes to Wrecker and Omega. Tech takes his place in the doorway of the ramp, Hunter following wordlessly out into the open port.

“What was he talking about,” Echo inquires, both eyebrows raised this time. “About saying something to you.”

“He was criticizing my approach,” Tech snaps, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing of importance.” Because it’s true, and it doesn’t matter. It’s not important.

Standing on the top of the ramp, unable to hear a word of what’s being said between an extremely animated Omega and Bardan crouched at her level, Tech sighs, utterly exhausted. Maybe he’ll manage better rest tonight, while they are well on their way back to Ord Mantell, Bardan gone, and order around the Marauder restored.

Then he can get back to what matters; dismiss the last day and a half as nothing more than a very long dream. Of course, he will hold on to Bardan’s warning. He intends to investigate it further the moment that he’s gotten adequate sleep. It does pertain to Omega’s wellbeing, after all. But other than that, it will over and gone, and he can move on.

And they will never see Bardan, nor be made victim to his irritatingly cryptic approaches ever again.

The Mandalorian gives Omega a pat on her shoulder before returning to his full height, brushing off his knees. The little girl is grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and gives him a short wave goodbye. Wrecker beside her is not all that dissimilar, though displays less childlike enthusiasm and more of a polite farewell, slapping Bardan on the back just hard enough to push him forward without knocking him over.

As he reaches the archway the leads into the city, almost out of sight, he stops for just a few seconds under the guise of adjusting his helmet. But Tech knows instantly that he is casting once more glance behind him, and this overwhelming feeling that the look is directed towards him overruns his gut. Maybe Bardan is projecting that feeling through the force, or maybe Tech is simply unnecessarily paranoid.

‘And remember what I said.’

Tech would much rather put it out of mind.

The few seconds pass, foreboding feeling blissfully passing on, and as inscrutably as he came, Bardan fades into the bustling Coruscant crowd.

Chapter Text

Leaving Coruscant is refreshingly easy. There are no codes required to depart, in spite of the fact that Bardan had provided one should the situation arise, nor are they interrupted by Imperial air traffic control, who is too busy monitoring trade routes to bother themselves with ordinary, everyday comings and goings. It is the definition of ‘in and out’.

During the war, something like that would have given Tech pause; it was too easy. Now, there is no hesitation. He takes what he is given, thanking the Maker for ‘cutting them some slack’, as it were.

And just like that, exactly as Tech had hoped it would with Bardan gone, life moves on as it was before.

Cid is evidently surprised to see them back so soon, a whole day earlier than she had expected when she gave them the job. She curbs her usual comments, however, upon being presented with the hefty payment. The pouch of credits, as small as it may appear, is extremely heavy, and packed completely to the brim. While he does not know the exact total that Bardan paid, what he does know is that their cut alone is much bigger than any other they’ve received before. Whether it’s because Cid is in a good mood and throwing in a bit extra or not, he is unsure, but does it really matter?

And in accordance with her good mood, the cranky old woman takes her sweet time counting and recounting her share in her back office, dismissing them with a crooked claw and a rare smile. She even tells them to ‘take a break’, and that she’ll give them their next job ‘some time later’.

With the credits they’ve made for all their trouble, - and it was a great deal of trouble, more so than usual - a break is not only ideal, but genuinely affordable. He knows they should be smart, and make sure to save most of the credits away for later, but a few drinks or something to eat, or maybe nothing at all but some time to themselves, won’t hurt. If anything, it’s a rare opportunity to give Omega a proper childhood.

Not that any of them really know what that is, but they have a basic enough idea.

At present, the group of them have settled in the parlor, electing to remove the top halves of their armor and let themselves breathe. Echo and Wrecker are at the bar, sipping on something with a faded, mostly illegible label that Wrecker claims is perfectly refreshing. Meanwhile, Hunter, Omega and himself share two booths; Tech taps away aimlessly at his datapad, whilst Omega sits squished beside Hunter and fiddling with the sergeants helmet.

“When do I get my own helmet?” she asks, squinting to stare through the outside of the HUD view, as if to try and see through the helmet without putting it on. “Everyone else has one.”

Hunter raises a brow, picking at a plate of previously frozen lava rolls that they’ve been ‘sharing’ between the three of them, even though he has eaten most of what’s already gone. “You’re too young for a helmet,” he replies, stabbing one of the roles with the slanted edge of a sport with a rusty handle. “Besides, I don’t think they make ‘em for such small heads,” he teases, snickering.

Omega shoots him a glare, but it’s hardly intimidating, invoking a smile from both Tech and his elder brother. She furrows his brows, as if trying to come up with something, before settling with pursed lips. “Tech has a small head, too!”

Tech sputters in surprise, smile fading as his mouth hangs open. Hunter doesn’t even try and stifle his laughter, letting a series of amused rumbles cascade over his lips. Omega jumps a little in her seat, as if that wasn’t quite the reaction she was expecting to get out of her argument. Tech certainly wasn’t expecting that remark, not in one thousand light years.

His head is of average size for his height, weight, and age, thank you. Perfectly proportionate, last time he checked. He may not be the tallest brother, or the largest, but he is NOT small. “I do not have a small head,” he retorts, though not unkindly. He knows that there was not an ounce of ill intent behind her observation, - even if it is wrong - since he’s fairly sure that she isn’t exactly capable of being mean. She simply calls it as she sees it; to that, he can certainly relate.

“Yes you do!” she insists, now sporting a grin of her own. “It’s not that much bigger than mine! So I should get a helmet, too!”

Hunter shakes his head through his enjoyment at his brother’s expense, using his free hand to ruffle Omega’s hair. “Sorry ad’ika,” he replies in spite of her attempted insistence. “I’d rather you not have to worry about the kinda things that come with needing helmets. You’re still a kid. Leave the dangerous stuff to us.”

All jokes aside, Tech wholeheartedly agrees. The idea of Omega, as young and small as she really is despite her intellectual abilities, in proper armor for the sake of protection is a terrifying prospect. She shouldn’t need it, not at her age. Not even clone cadets who are physically her age are yet in armor. Training in protective gear, sure, but not geared up to expect the worse.

Then again… cadets her age were kept safe - as safe as it can be called - inside Tipoca City, hardly ever faced with real threats. The Kaminoans were far from nurturing, but regs were rarely treated anywhere close to how Tech and his brothers, or Omega ever were. Not that they know all that much about Omega’s time on Kamino, only bits and pieces since she doesn’t talk about it, and nobody wants to push her, but they can guess, and that’s bad enough on it’s own.

And now here she is, on the run with the rest of them, a force sensitive clone fugitive of the Empire. No, as adverse to the idea as he is, and as distraught he had been when Bardan mentioned armor in her future just days earlier because she is his little sister and it is his job to protect her, is this what it really comes down to? She SHOULDN’T need a helmet, but that scarcely means she DOESN’T.

“But all the other Bad Batchers have one!” Omega tries, eyes wide with determination. “And you can’t control danger! What if something unexpected happens! Then I’ll be prepared!”

This is far from invalid. She makes a good point, and although as her older brother, and Hunter as her buir, they would prefer not to have to invest in such things for her just yet… it may be in their best interest, the interest of protecting her, to do so. Especially given her force sensitivity, even if she is still unaware of it.

In all actuality, however, this is not a discussion they were prepared to have here and now. That, and the fact that Wrecker and Echo should have equal involvement in this decision, and are otherwise occupied at the moment. “Perhaps we may table such a discussion for later, when we are faced with the proper conditions to come to a wise conclusion?” he suggests, gazing between his siblings on the other side of the table.

“So you’ll think about it?” Omega asks, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

Hunter sighs, eyeing Tech. “We’ll talk about it,” he resigns, his struggle with his inability to say no to her getting progressively more difficult. “Later,” he emphasizes when her smile widens. “Now come on, lemme get outta the both so I can use the ‘fresher,” he adds, poking her playfully in the side, to which she giggles ever so lightly.

Sliding out of the booth, Omega doesn’t go very far, perching at the end of the table on the tips of her toes. Hunter follows after her, pushing the plate of lava rolls away from himself and tossing the spork down on top of it in the process. He grunt quietly when he gets up, back likely aching due to the way he had been hunched over those wretched sweets.

As the sergeant takes his leave, Omega turns her whole body towards Tech, an impatient look about her. She’s staring rather intently at him, set on something that she has yet to vocalize, forehead creased considerably in what can only be the determination of a goal yet to be met.

“You owe me a game of dejarik!”

Oh?

Oh!

Tech feels his lips curl into a large smile over which he has little control. “Yes, I suppose that I do,” he chuckles, starting to push himself out of the booth, too. “Though it has been a long time since I played last. I expect I may be rusty.”

“That’s okay!” she answers hastily, tremulous with energy. “We can play more than once! I-if you want!”

Adjusting his goggles on his nose and stretching his legs, Tech feels a stir of warmth in his gut. Perhaps this is what he needs: some quiet time indulging in normal, every day recreational activities that families who aren’t on the run from the Galaxy’s ruling power do on a regular basis. One on one time with his little sister, playing a game of all things. He believes that many refer to this as ‘unwinding’.

Which, in his case, usually means tinkering with some miscellaneous side project or another, or reading up on a wholly random topic, whatever is first to come to mind. During the war, this often meant that one or both were done to assist his brothers; a worthy pastime. More recently, such things have had to do with Omega, such as tending to AZI’s internal damage, or researching force sensitivity in various aspects.

Of course, there is nothing particularly productive about playing dejarik, and he prefers to spend all of his time very wisely. However, it does require great use of one’s mind to carefully select one’s next move, and that counts for something, especially because Omega is still growing. Any chance to expand her mind matters. And, perhaps even more importantly, it makes her happy.

“I will play with you as much as you wish, and as much as our time here this evening allows,” he replies, returning to a neutral expression as he feels his body relax, in tune with the atmosphere. His brothers at the bar, chatting and drinking, while the parlor remains otherwise unoccupied. “It is beneficial for young minds such as yours to spend time on activities that require your critical thinking. I am pleased to see you take such an interest in the game.”

Omega’s cheeks redden as she leads him to the closest holochess table barely two whole steps to their right. “I’m just really good at strategy stuff,” she tells him, sounding quite proud of herself as she scrambles up top the first stool before adding “And I need to practice when I’m not playing for Cid!”

Taking the seat across from her, which feels as though it has been raised incredibly high, causing him to have to stoop over somewhat, Tech tilts his head, questioning. “You have only played for Cid once, have you not?” he inquires wearily, praying silently to the Maker that that’s true. Hunter will lose his mind - and Tech won’t blame him - if she’s been gambling without their knowledge.

Or rather, if Cid has been allowing her, or worse, using her for such.

Thankfully, Omega nods, flicking the switch to turn on the board. “Only one time, don’t worry!” she giggles, as if she can sense the onset of fear inside of him, quelling it before it were to begin in earnest. She probably can sense it through the force, of that he is almost certain now. “But you guys are always saying to be prepared!”

“Indeed, preparation is key,” he says, simple as that. “It is important to have a plan for any scenario, and to have the ability to come up with new plans when the moment arises.” Just as he is doing now, researching, observing, for the day when Omega learns of her abilities.

The dejarik board stalls for several seconds before eventually flickering to life. The familiar blue glow of holoprojection engulfs the pair of them, tinting both themselves and everything around them with that same bright hue. One by one, the various small creatures come to life on either side of the board, too; four and four, two preset teams left behind by someone who previously enjoyed - or perhaps did not enjoy, one can never be too sure - a game of their own.

Omega makes no move to alter the creatures on her half of the board, seemingly content with who she’s been given in accordance with the board’s internal memory. Thus, Tech chooses to keep his as it is as well. No harm in working with what he’s given, and no need to prolong the start of a game that they should have had nearly a month earlier.

“The first move is yours,” Omega informs him, reaching one arm around the side to point to the yellow button glowing in front of him, indicating his turn. “Better choose wisely! First move can make a huge difference!” she giggles, dramatically emphasizing ‘huge’.

All too true, he thinks too himself as he examines both of their sets of pieces on the board. “It is my intention to prove myself a worthy opponent. I suppose I should aim to make a good first impression,” he answers, taking a moment to think.

His first move takes him no less than three and one quarter second to make, electing to begin with his Bulbous. One of the only three pieces boasting a health of eight, it serves well as a primary defense. This is often his first choice move, and has always reminded him of Wrecker.

Wordlessly, Omega takes her first turn without giving him a moment to breathe. The Molator, a passive first move, with only four health and two attack, but a considerable special ability. An interesting choice, and one she was readily able to make. It is wholly and utterly the opposite of what he chose. In simple terms, she has initiated a classical battle of stubborn strength and underlying wit.

Interesting.

“Thanks for getting Hunter to think about a helmet,” Omega chirps, not looking up from the board as Tech easily takes his next turn. His Monnok moves forward one tile.

He breathes a small huff. “Well, I believe you make a valid point. You can be quite stubborn,” he teases, leaning forward every so slightly when she scowls in response. “Though I cannot make any promises that such a discussion will amount to anything.”

“I’m not stubborn!” she insists, moving her Houjix next. “I’m persuasive,” she grins, a mischievous look in her eyes.

It’s amusing, how quick-witted she can be when the occasion calls for it. And now that they seem to have so naturally sunk into the rhythm of the game before them, of which they both possess considerable skill and experience by now, Tech can perhaps allow himself to relish less of the game and more in the conversation that accompanies it.

“Ah yes, my mistake,” he relents, all in good fun. His move. “And what is it, might I ask, that has brought about this sudden request? You have not specifically asked us for a helmet before today, have you?”

Her move. “No, not really,” she remarks, pursing her lips, narrowing her eyes in concentration. “Well, I did ask Echo, kind of. I asked when he got his helmet, and he said he got his first helmet when he became a soldier, and his next helmet when he joined you guys, cuz you made it special to fit him or something,” she shrugs without looking up. “But when I asked how come I’ve never got one, he said the same as Hunter. That I shouldn’t worry about fighting and stuff.”

So he knows where Echo stands on the issue, or where he did. That doesn’t surprise him, however, due to Echo’s tendency for rules, even now. Cadets never received proper helmets, not before graduation.

“I see,” and he makes his move. “We do want you to have the benefit of a childhood, if you can understand. We are far from normal, but there are opportunities in which we can limit your exposure to things such as battle. Thus, there is merit to Hunter and Echo’s stance.”

Omega blinks. Her move. Three of her pieces are approaching his starting half of the board, however the Molator remains stationary. “Well what’s your… stance?”

An inevitable inquiry, and one he is happy to provide his response to.

Nevertheless, he gives it a moment to simmer, choosing to take his next turn first, in which he deals damage to one of her creatures, - the Houjix - the first hit of the game. “I agree with the others, to an extent. It is my wish for you to remain as safe as is feasible in this current Galaxy. As our younger sister, it is our responsibility to manage that safety,” he starts, refusing to look up from the board out of fear that he may meet her gaze. He feels mildly vulnerable as is, and he loathes the sudden churning in his gut.

“That being said…” he goes on, and she makes her next move, returning damage to his piece - the Ghhhk - via the Houjix. “You are right to say that there are many factors we cannot control, and many situations that we can only counter, not prevent. It would be prudent to account for such instances.”

His move again, over and done with in mere seconds. “So… you think I should get one, too?” she asks hopefully.

This time, he allows himself to glance up at Omega. Sure enough, he meets her gaze instantly. Her eagerness and written across her expression, eyes ever wide with energy. The innocence, the excitement, is endearing.

“I believe that the final decision should fall to Hunter,” he says simply.

He is not bypassing the question by saying so, because it is truthful. Since the beginning, Hunter has - both as their sergeant and as her eventual buir - been the one to step first into the decision-making role when it comes to Omega’s well-being. Not that Tech and his brothers are unwilling, quite the opposite. When the opportunity calls for it, such as in Hunter’s absence, they are all prepared to take the reins.

But for something such as this, it is ideal to allow the final call to be made by Hunter. He has fallen into the role of her primary caretaker, after all; this is the job of such, the job of a parent.

“I hope he says yes,” she grins, taking her turn while hardly looking at the board, suddenly his Ghhhk is gone. “Helmets are so cool.”

Despite the loss of a pawn in the game, it is far from over, and Tech smiles. It’s some combination of pride in her quick success, and warmth at her enthusiasm. He doesn’t feel the need to say anything else, content in their consistently comfortable rhythm of playing the game. Omega doesn’t go on, either, and so they continue to take their turns in companionable silence, and the background ambiance of the bar.

(His turn again, and now hers.)

There’s a thing about silence, especially one as secure as this, is that it has the innate ability to cause his mind to wander on its own.

It begins with the fleeting memory of the last game he’s played before, a game against Crosshair during the war that Tech won by miles. It had ended with Wrecker lifting him up out of the chair and shaking him in the same manner he does Lula, declaring him the victor. Not that it came as a surprise. Even when Echo joined their squad and proved himself a formidable opponent, Tech maintained his prowess and came out on top amongst them.

(His turn, her turn, his turn, and one of her pawns is gone.)

He only lost to the former once, quick to reclaim his pride in a rematch. With the reputation that Omega has quickly earned, however, he isn’t so sure of himself. Hunter and Echo have both lost not once, but twice each by her hand, and while he cannot be certain that her connection to the force is the cause of her skill, he is sure that it plays a part. It must. There is no other possible explanation as to how she learned so easily, so effortlessly.

Although, that is what makes dejarik so compelling, isn’t it? The numerous possible outcomes outweigh the predictability of a game as a whole. Even if she can sense a next move, the overall results, the winner, relies on the course that each move takes. One determines the next, one at a time, over and over again until either player is left without any pieces. Every choice is a risk that will bring either reward or retribution. There is a required skill, one that she surely possesses.

(Her move, his turn, back and forth, as easy as breathing.)

When he was a soldier, the thrill of risk and recklessness was one that he enjoyed. He lived in a state of such unquestionable surety, knowing that his squad was built to succeed and would likely die if they didn’t, that he felt confident in their ability to rush in head first. He could predict the outcomes of battles, plan and prepare, because prior data and intense research drilled into his brain told him what he needed to know.

And if the Galaxy had other plans, threw them for a loop, then they took it like soldiers did and figured it out as they went along.

(Omega’s turn, and another one of his creatures is taken out. He responds in kind.)

It is almost amusing to think that the only instance in which he actively seeks any semblance of that thrill now is in instances such as these: playing a harmless game with his little sister. Ever since fleeing Kamino, he has lost that reckless part of himself; all of his brothers have. It saddens him to think that it took a lesson in loss and dispute, and the overtaking of the Galaxy to get them here, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

If not for that change, Omega would not be in their lives now. They might not have ever learned of her at all. The mere notion of such a thing twists his gut horrifically. He can hardly remember what life was like without her, and without this renewed sense of family that he has found, both with his brothers, and with Omega.

(Their next three turns each result in another loss on her side. One remains.)

It does bring with it immense challenges, proving itself to be not all that dissimilar to dejarik: wholly unpredictable, a case by case basis taken one moment at a time. The discovery of Omega’s force sensitivity has only increased their anxieties tenfold. But if that lack of insurance is the price to pay for the sake of keeping his family in tact, he knows that they will all continue to pay it willingly.

“That’s another one for me!” Omega pipes up, breaking the silence startling him back to the moment. She’s staring at him with an expectant look. “Your move!”

Tech refocuses his undivided attention on the board, hand hovering over the buttons on his side. Lost in his own head (and who is he to let himself drift so aimlessly?), he failed to fully notice the score of the game. His four creatures have dwindled down to one, the Bulbous, as have hers, leaving her too with her first move, the Molator.

He should, in theory, have the advantage. Both of their pieces are at full strength, Bulbous maintaining full health due to a well-timed healing mid-game, while the Molator has gone untouched. This should, in theory, be an easy win. It’s his move, and he has in his hands the ability to wipe the Molator out in one fell swoop. The pieces are directly next to each other, after all. It should be easy.

But he knows better than to get too confident. Overconfidence is asking for a mistake. Better to play it carefully.

“Clever play, Miss Omega,” he nods, pushing his goggles up his nose. He didn’t expect the game to go by so quickly. “I’m impressed.”

Glowing under the praise and blushing, his little sister grins. “I told you I’m pretty good!”

That she is. Thus, he chooses his next move very carefully. His Bulbous moves over one, still within attack range, and takes a shot.

The attack, however, does not land the way he would have liked, draining the Molator of three health points, but the opposing creatures managed to withstand the attack. In exchange for the blow, his Bulbous is now, due to the Molator’s special ability, left stunned.

Tech’s eyes nearly blow out of his skull and Omega gasps, her hand flying forward to input her next move, Molator attacking the Bulbous without needing to move. It cuts the health in half, now handing her a second consecutive turn due to his inability to move. The Molator takes a second hit, and it’s a total knockout, Bulbous keeling over, dead, with a muffled recording of a vaguely similar shriek to that of the real thing.

And just like that, Tech is defeated.

Omega jumps up from her seat, excitement bubbling over, squealing and hopping in place. “Yeah! I won, I won!” she giggles, shaking with delight. “Echo said you were really good, but I beat you! Haha!”

If it were anyone else, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Crosshair or otherwise, Tech knows himself perfectly well to know that he would be fuming, questioning his defeat. Not to say that he is a sore loser (he is), but dejarik is one of his many skills. It requires thought, and knowledge of the game, of which he has plenty. Omega hasn’t been playing long at all, or all that often, and yet, she has ‘wiped the floor with him’, as it were.

And yet, he cannot find it in him to be anything but thrilled, proud of her skill, and contented with the look of pure joy on her face. To think that she has surpassed him here, outwitted him, makes him feel incredibly proud. She is learning and growing so fast.

Not only this, but she could not have predicted the outcome of the machine, or the weight of his attack. She prepared, played accordingly, utilized the Molator’s special skill - the ability to stun an opponent - in order to take advantage of the opportunity to attack the Bulbous on its own. Even if the force does assist her in learning techniques and knowing what to expect from her other player, there was skill in a play like that. Undeniably so.

It’s as if the force, and her own mind, her own genius, work in tandem.

Intriguing, and absolutely incredible.

Her delighted squealing draws the attention of the others, Wrecker and Echo turning around from the bar while Hunter approaches from the booth to which he apparently returned some time during their intense game. Tech offhandedly wonders if he had been watching them at all.

“You beat Tech?!” Wrecker booms, matching her excitement. He raises his glass in their direction, Echo mimicking the gesture.

“Nice job, kid!” the latter calls out, a slight drunken crookedness to his grin. “Take his ass down!”

Behind him, Tech hears Hunter click his tongue at the language, but he doesn’t say anything to that effect. Instead, he lays a gentle hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Nice job, ad’ika. Someone’s finally here to take him down,” he teases, his tone dripping with a smugness that Tech knows all too well. “It’s okay, Tech. We all gotta lose some time or another.”

Tech shoots him a glare. “I am perfectly capable of accepting my defeat, and I do,” he snaps, though he is fully aware that Hunter is only teasing. “Omega took a unique approach to the game, and I look forward to playing more in the future,” he adds, expression fading into a smile as he looks down at his little sister.

He is met with her unwavering joy as she continues to bask in the compliments her brothers shower her with. “Good game, Tech!” she asserts, giggling again and again, unable to contain her elation. “You were really tough!”

And when she extends her hand out to him, expecting him to shake it, he does so without fail. Of course, his hand is much bigger, engulfing her own like a dense cloud to planet with a singular sun. He gives her a careful shake, mindful of being too firm given her small stature and thin arms. “It was a pleasure to be your opponent,” he replies, smiling, and vaguely aware of Hunter backing up just a little. “You have quite a knack for the art. We shall have to play again.”

“Right now!” she squeals, grabbing his hand already holding hers with the other. “Can we play again right now, please?!”

Tech must admit, he as just as eager for a rematch. Will she utilize the same strategy, or is there more tucked up her sleeve? Do her tactics change depending on the situation, or does she possess a tried and true approach to the game that can be applied to all scenarios? What is her plan of action in the event of an unpredictable critical hit from an opponent, where the anticipation of their next move suddenly changes?

But Hunter cuts back in, one brow raised. “It’s getting late already,” he says, nodding his head towards the door. “We should head back to the ship before it gets too much later.”

Omega sighs, giving him a pleasing look. “Just one more? We’ll go right back afterwards, promise!” she tries, bouncing on her toes.

Hunter does not relent, shaking his head. “Not tonight,” he insists, crossing his arms. “You’ll have plenty of chances to play again another time.”

Casting a glance towards the door for himself, Tech confirms that it is in fact getting later than he thought it to be. As dark as it is outside the parlor no matter what time of day, he can tell that there is most definitely no sun left shining above Ord Mantell at present, and the night life here is anything but friendly. It is in their best interest to leave.

“I will simply owe you another game,” he tells her, backing Hunter up.

This seems to work, getting her to look up at them both with a passive look. “Okayyy,” she mutters, releasing Tech’s hand. “Soon?”

“Soon,” he nods curtly. “I promise.”

And with that, she appears wholly content, shifting closer to Hunter and grabbing at his hand to hold without having to look. He takes hers with effortless preparedness, ready to take the walk back to the Marauder.

It is this usual rhythm, this new normal, the natural give and take of the familial life that they have all settled into, that makes the dejarik game feel so different. Tech has played dejarik hundreds of times before, and yet this time was unlike any other. Not just because he did not win, or because it was in a dingy bar in a backwater mid-rim city, but because truthfully, there was no underlying pressure; no weight of a war on his shoulders. He did not feel an expectancy to win.

That is what dejarik used to be: yet another means of training, or staying sharp. It was no different than running a simulation in the training bay of Tipoca City.

But this was purely recreational, just him and his sister playing for absolutely nothing at all. How freeing it feels.

“You boys ready to go, then?” Hunter asks, looking to his brothers for an answer.

Wrecker and Echo get up noisily from the bar, cups clattering against the counter. “Yessir!” Wrecker laughs, the two of them coming up behind Tech. “I’m full on real food, I need a nap!”

“Ditto,” Echo mutters, and Omega giggles at her older brothers.

And while Tech can’t say the same in terms of needing rest, - feeling more awake than ever, really - he can’t help but agree. It has been a long few days, completing a job that had tested his patience and put him through enough panic for a lifetime. Being ‘tossed’ around so much, doing mental gymnastics, and thrown for a loop over and over again; needless to say, yes, he is ready to go back to the ship.

He is ready to go home, with his family.

Chapter Text

In spite of the fact that Tech is a heavy sleeper, and hard to wake, he has always been an early riser.

It comes, in part, with being a soldier. They are trained to wake in the early hours of the morning from the moment that they are old enough to differentiate night and day. It is a habit that tends to stick, a second nature that is difficult to unlearn. For Tech in particular, this habit is only emphasized by the fact that he loathes the idea of missing any daylight, or any time viable for productivity, really. If he is awake enough to process his surroundings, then he is awake enough to spend his time on useful tasks.

When he and his siblings return to the Marauder, he makes the decision to turn in for the evening with the rest of them. According to Hunter, he had already checked in with Cid, who told them to come back in the morning to get their next job; credits really do put her in a good mood. Meanwhile, Omega, her rush of adrenaline caused by their game of dejarik and her subsequent victory fading, is practically half asleep by the time they step foot in the hull. While Hunter put her to bed, Wrecker and Echo took their turns in the ‘fresher, then Tech.

And the rest is history.

The simple pleasure of a full night’s rest, all at once and in a stationary ship, was a luxury that the end of the war allowed them more frequently. Even so, it never lost its appeal, and after all the rest that he did not get, - that Bardan’s uneasy presence robbed him of - the idea of proper sleep was all the more remarkable.

Needless to say, when Tech’s body tell him that it is time to wake up four hours later, he is feeling wholly refreshed.

He blinks at the ceiling a few times, filtering out the remnants of sleep, and stretches his legs out flat. The ship around him is completely still, the bunkroom completely dark, and the only thing that he can hear is the usual soft snoring coming from Wrecker’s bunk underneath him. Indeed, it is the epitome of what one may refer to as a ‘quiet morning’.

It takes hardly a few seconds for him to feel fully awake and ready to get moving, and so he wastes little time. He reaches for his goggles hanging from the pole that keeps his bunk from collapsing where they are usually hung, pleased to find them untouched. Not that there is anyone currently conscious who could have touched them, nor any of his sibling who would, knowing perfectly well what happens if they do, but the fear is still there; the fear that one day, he will reach around and they will be gone.

Tech pulls them up off the pole and, in the same motion, pushed himself off the side of the bunk, landing upright on the floor with a small thud. His brothers remain undisturbed in their own bunks, accustomed to his habit and plenty tired all on their own. Fastening his goggles around his head, pushing them up his nose, the room around him becomes ever so slightly easier to see in the darkness.

Not that he requires any light to find his way out. The door does not move, cannot move, and never will. Two steps forward, and it opens all on its own.

This, of course, is the precarious part of his little journey from bunkroom to cockpit: the hull. Omega is not a heavy sleeper, and Hunter, who let the rest of them take the bunks and settled himself down in the seat by the navicomputer, has the acute ability to hear a needle drop on a cushion from ten klicks.

He pads slowly through the hull, casting a brief glance at Hunter, chin tucked to his chest and arms limply crossed in his lap, and makes it to the cockpit without an issue. Sliding in, he settles himself in the pilot’s seat and retrieves his datapad from below the console.

Outside the viewport, the docking bay is just as quiet as inside the ship. The sky has begun to lighten up with the passing hours, but the sun will remain hidden for a while still. A dim but oddly comfortable glow is cast over the cockpit, and he cannot help but think offhandedly that Omega would enjoy this view.

Sighing and flicking on the datapad, Tech sinks fully into the chair. “Where to start…” he mutters to nobody at all, eyes flitting over the screen.

It has been a long time, - too long, or at least it feels that way - since he last had a chance to sit and focus on his research proper. In all of his recent experiences witnessing or being told of Omega’s force sensitivity making itself increasingly easier to discern, there are still too many questions that remain unanswered. Bardan’s claim that it seems to be ‘overcompensating’ did not help to ease his mind in the slightest. What in the Maker’s name does that even mean?

By definition, to overcompensate is to go to extreme measures for the sake of making up or making amends for one’s errors and/or shortcomings. The obvious issue that is derived from this observation is the simple fact that Omega has not made any significant errors for which the living force she maintains a connection with could be trying to rectify.

The only other lead he has for this particular vein is the fact that the only example any of them are aware of where she physically wielded the force was not only a mistake that she did not notice, but an example of a minor outburst. However, the way it was described to him hardly makes him believe that it was out of the ordinary of what a young force sensitive individual may experience without training. If the force were overcompensating, would it not have been much larger?

The complete and utter lack of information that he has, not on the force or the Jedi but on Omega’s situation as an individual, is beyond infuriating.

Staring down at the datapad, eyes fixed on the screen, finger tapping away habitually, he suppresses the urge to sigh again. He skims through the files for what feels like the hundredth time, knowing full well that nothing is going to change no matter how many times he tries to wish solutions into miraculous existence.

How is it that, with all of the hundreds of Kaminoan files he managed to download from their systems, the only one in his possession is the initial report that confirms her force sensitivity in writing? This cannot be the only report that exists, not with the implication that it is not the first, and the obvious fact that Kaminoans do not abandon opportunities to take credit for their ‘scientific exploits’.

Tech can feel his anger physically manifesting in his stomach. It makes his blood boil that his little sister was one of those ‘projects’.

Running a hand down his face, he gets himself up from the seat with a significant amount of effort compared to usual, and tosses the datapad down on top of it. This is going nowhere, and he does not feel like sitting anymore. It isn’t like he has much energy, but he is antsy; anxious and unable to proceed. He needs to clear his head.

Knowing full well how awful he would feel if he disturbed any of his siblings, and at the risk of accidentally stirring Hunter or Omega sleeping in the hull, he starts back out of the cockpit, leaving the early morning light behind. In the dim hull, Hunter remains the same, Omega’s curtain still closed, the bunkroom door shut. The blissful stillness of sleep, or more accurately, observing a state of sleep that isn’t his and its perpetual state of unchanging, proves a brief reliever of his stress.

He moves on the edges of his toes towards the ramp, pausing in front of the controls, hand hovering over them for several silent seconds. When he allows himself to press a finger to the controls, he holds his breath; the ramp is quiet, because that is how he modified it to be. It comes in handy during stealth missions, or around wildlife. And it lowers without much noise at all, as usual. It does not even do so much as rattle the ship.

But he throws a quick glance over his shoulder anyway.

When the ramp touches the surface, Tech is hit in the fact with a cool breeze. Hardly cool enough to deter him, though not that it really matters in thermal blacks, but cool enough for the difference in temperature inside and outside of the Marauder to be noticeable. Taking the few short steps halfway down the ramp, his eyes slowly adjust to the change in lighting, too.

Unlike sitting in the cockpit, the light coming from the sky is not burdened by the muffling of the viewport. The sun rises early in the mornings on Ord Mantell, and the more time that passes idly by, the brighter it becomes outside. Due to the unfortunate light and air pollution, thus a lack of a truly clean atmosphere, the planet is not awarded the luxury of a proper dawn, nor a subsequent sunrise, but it isn’t all that bad. It is, at the very least, a transitional phase into a new day.

That reminder that life keeps moving and he is still alive; that is what matters.

With an involuntary grunt, Tech lowers himself down onto one of the middle steps. The hard durasteel is far from the Galaxy’s most comfortable place to sit, but then again, it isn’t exactly build with ‘sitting’ in mind. All in all, it does the job well in spite of itself.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, breathing in the smells of Ord Mantell. Fuel and oil and motors and grilled meats, and the faint tinge of alcohol that is ever present.

It is a far cry from ‘fresh air’, but he can already start to feel the discontent leaving his body.

Nala Sé is either dead, or in prison somewhere. What use would the Empire possibly have for her, if Tipoca City is gone? None. No practical use, anyway, and the Empire is loathe to waste their time on people or places or things for which they possess no adequate, practical use. In the midst of this truth is his escape, his own personal rapture; the witch is dead.

Propping his elbows on his knees, Tech buries his face into two open palms, taking another deep breath. He chuckles quietly to himself, thinking of just how at ease he had been last night in comparison to this morning. It is amusing, how much time and the Galaxy has changed him. How perpetually impassive and indifferent he used to be, and how easily his mood is altered now.

“What’re you doing?”

The sudden hot breath of an unfortunate attempt at a low whisper somewhere behind his right ear nearly stops Tech’s heart from beating. His instinct is to physically react: throw his arm out, jump up from his seat, whip his head around, anything. Instead, his body does the exact opposite, each and every one of his limbs tensing as he goes deathly still.

There should not be anybody else here. The occupied docking bays are shut up tight overnight despite Ord Mantell’s general lack of security, and Tech is sure to check the lock personally whenever the lot of them decide to retire. The only way that anyone could have approached him, - let alone from behind - has to be from the Marauder, and one of the the only two occupants who does not know how to whisper to save their life is physically incapable of taking him by surprise. Which can only leave-

“I am beginning to think that I ought to fit you with some sort of tracking beacon,” he mumbles through his hands, grateful to feel his heart rate beginning to even out. “You are going to kill me.”

Omega makes an undistinguished noise, seemingly leaning closer to him. “I’m good at stealth,” she giggles, tone hushed as it can be, and he rolls his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he regains his mental composure.

“As beneficial as that may be, I would prefer not to be the victim.”

“I’m practicing! And you gotta be ready for anything, right? That’s what Echo always says!”

Hands hiding a grin he cannot fight, he teases “I am not sure how Echo would feel if your practicing were to lead to my untimely demise.”

Omega giggles again, shuffling one foot on the step. “I thought you have special training,” she teases back, poking his shoulder blade. “You can survive me!”

“Do not underestimate yourself,” he replies, and meaning it so sincerely even though he fears that it may be lost on her while they throw quips back and forth. He lifts his head to meet her gaze. Big, round eyes bugging out her skull and a wide smile greet him. “Anything can be deadly with the right amount of-“

He stops, biting his lower lip and looking away as quickly as he had looked up. ‘Force’. He almost says force.

And that… doesn’t sound right.

‘Anything can be deadly with the right amount of force.’ If only that weren’t true. If only that weren’t their reality. Her reality. The force, that is, and just how deadly this Galaxy is when one applies just the right amount.

Shit.

“What?” she leans ever closer, her hair brushing his temple, and he can see her brows furrowed in his periphery.

He has to salvage this. Fast.

Thankful that his lack of expressive reaction doesn’t give anything about his unexpected pause away, Tech clears his throat and glances back at her. “Under the right circumstances, that is,” he clarifies, and even though she has likely already decided his pause is unusual, he hopes that he can quash her natural curiosity just this once, before she has the urge to inquire further. “My apologies. I am afraid I am still waking up. It is uncommon, though not unheard of, that I appear to lose my train of thought when tired.”

Omega blinks, and wordlessly, fabric of her shirt rubbing against the sleeve of his blacks, she crouches down on the step next to him, if only to begin picking at her exposed socks. “Me too,” she says, craning her neck forward. “Which is why I’m extra-not-deadly right now,” she adds.

This kid… Either his answer was good enough to throw her off the scent, or she’s choosing not to press him. Regardless, he is not going to deny this opportunity to continue on.

And the sooner he can change the subject, and bury his missteps in some other conversation, the better.

“Speaking of,” tries, watching her pull at a thread hanging off of one sock. “Why are you awake? It is far too early for you to be up and about. A child your age-“

“Needs lots of sleep, I know, I know,” she grins wryly, repeating his and his brothers’ own words back to him. “You tell me all the time!”

Tech huffs a laugh, lightly jabbing her knee with one finger. “Because it is true. But it does not answer the question,” he raises a brow, hand retreating back to his side. “I hope I did not wake you.”

Shifts her weight to angle her body towards him, Omega shakes her head. “No. I just woke up a minute ago to use the ‘fresher and I saw you outside,” she answers, shrugging. “I wanted to see what you were doing, ‘cuz it’s super early… I think.”

“It is rather early still,” he nods, subtly looking for any signs that she may still be tired, - a stifled yawn or the like - so that he can have an easy excuse to send her back too bed. Part of the issue, and his lack of such excuse, is that he enjoys her company. The irresponsible side of him does not want to shoo her away. “Perhaps you would benefit from a few more hours of proper rest. There will be some time still before we are expected at Cid’s,” he proposes, shooting her a cautious expression.

But Omega simply shrugs again, tilting back and forth in rocking motions that almost appear anxious. “Can’t I stay with you?” she insists, looking up from her feet and turning her attention to the sky instead. “I like watching the sun when it comes back in the morning.”

If it weren’t for the anxious tone with which she said it, Tech would continue to argue that, one, the Ord Mantell ‘sunrise’ is hardly anything to look at, and two, there will be plenty of opportunities in her future to witness much better sunrises than this one. But there’s a twinge of apprehension in her tone that he suspects was involuntary, and proves very difficult to ignore.

His first thought, and the possibility that he is not at all prepared nor equipped to deal with, is that she experienced a nightmare and does not want to go back to sleep for fear of such coming back up. It is not like she is all that forthcoming in expressing her unease. He wonders briefly if he should go to the trouble of rousing Hunter, if only to let the most well-equipped handle the potential situation.

However, he cannot confirm or deny this to be the truth, nor is he all that certain he could forgive himself for such cowardice as passing off his little sister due to a perturbation that isn’t hers. He is capable of sacrificing his own discomfort, should her needs truly call for it.

“Is there something bothering you, Miss Omega?” he asks as carefully and as gently as he can possibly manage.

At first, Omega shrugs for a third time, hunching her shoulders forward and keeping her gaze up above her. When she remains quiet for what feels like much longer than a few seconds, Tech turns his head entirely in her direction. She sports a contemplative look, as if trying to decide whether or not answering his question is worth it, or perhaps, if something is actually bothering her at all.

Once those few agonizing seconds pass, she looks back at Tech, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I like watching the sun, but I like the regular sky too, ‘cuz I didn’t get to see it a lot on Kamino,” she explains, rubbing at one ruddy cheek with the heel of her left palm. “It’s so cool, and so big!” she giggles, smile widening into an even grin. “Looking at it is just as cool as flying in it!”

Okay. He can work with that. It is a far cry from the answer he was expecting, but it is also significantly better, as well as a feeling that he can directly relate to himself.

Because of how often it rained on Kamino, with a statistical one in two-hundred chance of any given day being a sunny one, it meant that going outside was an infrequent occurrence. Little happened outside the walls of Tipoca City, and all of the walkways and passages were covered to accommodate for the weather patterns of the planet, with the only exception being the landing docks.

The tinted blue windows in combination with the torrential downpours beating against them meant that it was inherently difficult to see anything clearly through them. From the time his squad began their training to the day that they graduated, he can only recall four actually sunny days wherein he was able to set foot onto the outer platforms on the edges of the city. For Omega, who spent her entire life up until recently there, she likely saw more sun than he ever did, but definitely saw a lot more rain, too.

While the beauty of regulated sunny days is something that lost its charm in terms of causing him to stop and observe a long time ago, Omega is just a kid. And in all honesty, he can certainly understand her more nuanced perspective on the matter: the sky is amazing, as is the space that lies above it. Why let that wonder go to waste, or pass them by unappreciated?

“I am sure that the perennial storms that Kamino was burdened by did make it quite difficult to enjoy any scenery,” he offers, attempting to sympathize.

And then Omega blinks, forehead creased in mildly vague confusion. “I guess so,” she replies, eyeing him briefly. “But I didn’t see that much rain, either, ‘cuz there were no windows in the lab or anything.”

It is, undoubtedly, the nonchalance with which she says it that disturbs him first.

Second, once her words catch up with him, is the heavy implications that they lay before him.

Omega never talks about her early childhood on Kamino, and none of them ever ask; they never want to push her to discuss things that she is not comfortable with, or dredge up memories she would rather forget. What they do know, the part that matters, is that it was no more pleasant than their own experiences, and that is more than enough. Aside from the remarks she’s made here and there, about being hooked up to machines or spending time alone in the lab, they are aware of next to nothing specific.

And while she made it abundantly clear that her experience with Nala Sé’s hidden laboratory, tucked away in the depths of the ocean, was rather vast, she never said how vast.

When rescuing Hunter from Kamino, it was Omega who was able to direct them through the tunnels and corridors of the private quarters without second thought. It was obvious that she knew what she was doing, where she was going, but at the time, Tech was too distracted by the urgency of their task at hand to think too hard about it. He and his brothers operated under the assumption that she merely spent a lot of time there, without much else to do when she wasn’t ‘helping’ her Kaminoan warden.

But in light of the last month’s worth of developments concerning his little sister, and the weight of her words, ‘I didn’t see that much rain, either, ‘cuz there were no windows in the lab or anything,’ he is suddenly beginning to think that he has perhaps grossly misinterpreted her understanding of Nala Sé’s private lab.

How does one live on Kamino and not often see rain?

Maybe, it wasn’t so much that Omega had nowhere else to go, but that she had been trapped down there, confined to the lab; maybe, she was not allowed to leave, with the exception of a few special occasions.

Oh so carefully, for fear of pushing her too hard for answers, Tech’s lays an unsteady hand on her shoulder. “You spent quite a bit of time in the lab?” and even though he frames it as a question, it isn’t really. He already knows the truth, now, but he wants to hear her say it.

“Pretty much all the time,” she mumbles, body tensing as she pointedly does not look at him, seeming to realize where this line of inquiry could lead. Is leading. “They always said that I wasn’t like the other clones, so I had to stay where Nala Sé needed me.”

They, as in the Kaminoans. Most likely Lama Su, or Taun We. Not like the other clones, as in force sensitive, a reality that they kept hidden in quite literally every sense of the word.

The feeling of boiling blood, and his stomach turned upside down, creeps back up his spine.

He doesn’t need to hear anymore; he can figure out the rest just fine.

For her sake, he needs to control himself. If he has learned anything from the time that they took her off of Kamino, - which also lends itself to the issue at hand, though he will not seek to get into that here and now - it is that children react according to how the adults around them are behaving. If he gets upset, then he risks making her upset, more so than she likely seems to be getting, and that will not do.

So instead, he does his best to give her a smile. “Well then, we will simply have to make up for lost time,” he starts, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze. This gets her to look up at him, though she is wholly unsure of herself. “You may sit and watch the sky as much as you please, so long as it does not begin to interfere with your sleep,” he tries for a light tone, teasing, and adds “Just this once, perhaps Hunter does not need to know just how early you got up, hm?”

This earns a smile from his little sister, who leans into his hand on her should. “Okay,” she murmurs, like all of this is their little secret.

He will have to tell his brothers, sooner rather than later, about his new discovery, and the extent of Omega’s… captivity, confinement, subjugation; he’ll take his pick when the time comes. And there is, of course, the issue that said discovery only serves to worsen: all that time in the lab, and still so few reports? It adds up even less now than it did before.

One thing at a time. For now, he will enjoy watching the sky, - some odd, newly acquired appreciation for Ord Mantell’s dull sunrise - with his little sister.

Omega wiggles out from under his hand, breaking the contact between them for a split second that feels like forever. Despite his own disappointment when she pulls back, he pulls his arm away, not wanting to overstep, but apparently, he misinterprets that, too; in no time at all, she lays her cheek on his shoulder, shuffling closer to him. He cannot possibly see how his shoulder is a comfortable place for such a thing, but she seems to settle without a second thought, so he does not question it.

In return, and without really thinking about it, Tech wraps that same arm back around her shoulders, tucking her securely into his side. Omega sighs quietly, sniffing the air before letting out a little giggle that he almost does not hear.

“What is so funny?” he asks, raising a brow even though she cannot see his face.

She giggles again, pressing closer to him. “Nothing. I just really like this.”

Chapter Text

In a complete turnabout of circumstance, the next job that Cid lazily assigns them is nothing like the last.

It is, in the simplest of terms, glorified surveillance. The client, unnamed and inconspicuous as any other, requires intel on a group of pirates known to frequent the jungle world of Ajan Kloss. It isn’t all that surprising of a location for such a thing, largely uninhabited, consisting of dense forests and vast oceans. Sitting comfortably in the Outer Rim, it’s a far cry from Ithor and Coruscant.

According to the mission brief, the pirates are expected to possess a set of comms that can be tapped and heard from a considerable difference due to the configuration of their network. Aside from that much, however, there isn’t a lot to be said about what to anticipate. Luckily enough, the Batch has plenty of reconnaissance experience.

Hunter, evidently thrilled in regards to the nature of the mission, had not hesitated to accept it; a planet in the Outer Rim, with no current Imperial presence? The shared relief about the brothers was palpable. Tech learned a long time ago not to go into any of Cid’s missions assuming that they would be easy. But due to the fact that, so long as they can move undetected, the job should be in and out, he’s trying to be optimistic as they approach the planet. Ironic, given that he is well aware of his generally narcissistic attitude towards Cid, a sentiment that his brothers tend to agree with.

That being said, that is not all that is out of the ordinary at the moment.

“Is this really all we have to do?”

Tech, leaning back in the chair closest to the ramp, turns his head to the side to eye his little sister sitting on the floor, slumped up against a supply crate at the back of the hull. She taps at his datapad, an obvious mix of boredom and disappointment written across her features.

“We spent the last five days going to Ithor and Coruscant, we could use a job that doesn’t throw us around so much,” Hunter replies simply, not looking up from the navicomputer to offer her undivided attention. His fingers brush over the console as he reviews expected weather patterns for Ajan Kloss over the next few days. “Besides, the Empire doesn’t hang around here yet. We have to be careful.”

Omega elicits a groan, hanging her head and dropping the datapad in her lap. “But we didn’t even get to really see-ee Coruscant,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing up through the hair growing over her forehead. The attitude in her tone, a pure and unbridled annoyance so unlike her, has been a constant occurrence over the last day or so, and none of them are exactly all that sure how to deal with it. “And Tech said that Ajan Kloss is just more jungles and stuff!”

“Omega, we told you why,” Hunter tries, voice level, but shaking just enough for Tech to notice that he is struggling to maintain his patience. “Coruscant-“

“It’s not safe ‘cuz it’s the Imperial capital, I know,” she huffs, cutting him off and sinking further against the crate, practically laying down on the floor. It hardly looks comfortable, though if she keeps this up, her comfort may be the least of her problems.

Now Hunter turns his head away from the console to look at her, and his face softens almost instantly upon the sight of her. Tech can’t blame him. She really does look like a right mess, entirely miserable, and if it’s breaking Tech’s heart to see her so down without any means of an explanation, than he has no doubt in his mind that, despite his own increasing exasperation and helplessness with the situation, it’s breaking Hunter’s, too.

It is not like Omega has never been in a bad mood before, or that her behavior is bad enough to warrant any kind of punishment, per say, but it seems that ever since watching the sunrise with Tech, she has been wholly unlike herself. It is like a switch was flipped, and as soon as the rest of their brothers had started to stir, she became restless and irritable.

At first, Tech had chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t gotten very much sleep, and perhaps he should have sent her back to bed in spite of himself. But in that same vein of thought, lack of sleep has yet to put her in a bad mood prior to this particular instance. Usually, it results in several hours of adrenaline-charged energy followed by an onset of grogginess and lethargy, until she inevitably falls asleep anywhere other than her own room and proceeds to clock several uninterrupted hours of deep sleep after being gently deposited there.

His second consideration was that it had been something that he said, and for a good hour or so, a terrible guilt had eaten away at his insides thinking that his sister might be upset with or because of him. Or worse, both. But when she settled herself on his shoulder, nestled into his side and undoubtedly content, that had largely been the end of their conversation. Afterwards, they had exchanged little more than observational platitudes. She had seemed completely fine when they initially parted ways for breakfast.

As far as any of them know, nobody did anything in particular to anger or frustrate her. And it could not have been because of the mission Cid chose to give them on Ajan Kloss, because the whole ordeal regarding her current state of affairs had begun prior to them receiving the assignment. No matter what he tries, he just cannot seem to get his metaphorical finger on the pulse of the problem, and it bothers him - all of them - greatly.

“Kid, I know Ajan Kloss isn’t very exciting, but you know that sometimes a job is just a job,” and Hunter is practically pleading with her to try and understand, at a complete and total loss as to how to help with a problem that he isn’t fully aware of. “But whatever is wrong-“

Suddenly, as if triggered, Omega whips her head up to look at him, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that creeps up her ears. Her eyes are dim, void of her usual enthusiasm and narrowed in an attempt to hide any emotion. “Nothing is wrong!” she insists, voice raised and on the verge of yelling. “I just wanna get this job over with!”

Tech, determined to remain as neutral as possible so as not to add any fuel to the fire, looks between his older brother and Omega. Hunter, physically stiff and visibly taken aback by her increasingly uncharacteristic behavior, blinks once, twice, as if thinking of what to say, but coming up short of words.

“Perhaps you would benefit from sitting this mission out as a means of getting some rest,” Tech intervenes, with the intention of coming to his brother’s rescue, even when he knows full well that he is no less knowledgeable about how to handle this situation than Hunter is. “I will not be leaving the ship with the others, and will be monitoring the targets remotely. I would not mind the assistance.”

It’s not a lie, or an excuse; he wouldn’t mind if she were to stay behind with him. He’ll never mind. But until a few hours ago, when her displeasure and disinterest in Ajan Kloss became more apparent, he had been operating under the assumption that she would rather experience the new location.

Omega only shrugs, looking back down towards her lap, glaring holes in the floor.

Desperate to help, ever incapable of letting anything go without a fight, Hunter pushes himself up from the navicomputer chair and clears the distance between them in two steps and kneels in front of her. “If you really don’t want to come along, you can stay on the ship with Tech,” he assents. Anything to placate the little girl. “But if there’s something wrong, you can tell us ad’ika.”

She’s a horrible liar, horrible at covering things up, but she is equally as stubborn. “Nothing,” she murmurs, refusing to meet his eyes even as he extends a hand to brush her shoulder. “I wanna stay here with Tech,” and she pulls at the end of her tunic with one hand, disquietude and despondency rolling off of her in waves. “…please,” she breaths, simultaneously hopeful and hopeless and Tech swears on the Maker’s name that it fills him with an unwelcome sense of dolor.

Tech rarely feels so useless. If only he could read her mind, sense how she’s feeling (and what a cruelly ironic thought that is). If only he could fix the problem, if only he knew what the problem was to, at the very least, offer her solace. But whatever it is that has made her so purely unhappy, she won’t say, and he isn’t going to push her.

Adjusting his goggles on his nose, Tech does the only thing he can think to try and help in such unfamiliar situations: remain calm. No outward emotional response, especially not a negative one. Appear normal, act as if everything is normal. That is what he is good at, after all, a continuity of his own making. Regulation. Control. Rationale. “Excellent. Then you and I will set ourselves up in the cockpit and prepare the equipment once we land and the others have departed,” he informs her, hoping that the finality of the subject helps some.

“Okay,” she mumbles in return, pushing herself back up into a proper sitting position, slowly but surely.

As if on cue, the cockpit doors creak behind them as Wrecker emerges, a passive expression on his face.

Unlike Tech and Hunter, he has spent most of the trip from Ord Mantell to Ajan Kloss in the cockpit with Echo. After several attempts at cheering Omega up earlier had unfortunately failed, he - understanding feeling the best out of all of them - has resigned himself to said failure for the time being. Not to say that he gave up, simply tried providing her with space, which for him, means creating a physical distance so as to resist his natural instinct that drives him to comfort until said comfort is thoroughly successful.

Keeping his voice relatively low, he looks between his siblings and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Echo says we’re four minutes from landin’,” he says, jerking his other hand, thumb extended, behind him. “And he wants to see ya real fast, Sarge.”

Hunter sighs, but quickly stands, releasing Omega’s shoulder while glancing over his own in Wrecker’s direction. “Comin’,” he answers curtly, running a hand through his hair before shifting his attention to Tech. “Start getting things together. The less we’re here, the less of a chance we have of drawing attention to ourselves.”

Tech gives a sharp, affirming nod, and Hunter immediately trudges forward, following Wrecker back into the cockpit.

This, of course, leaves him with two possible approaches to the task at hand: he can either ask Omega to help him assemble the necessary systems for conducting surveillance, to which he doubts she will say no even if she does not want to, or he can go on and begin preparations on her own, leaving her to make the decision for herself. Either way, he does not mind. Tapping comms is hardly a two person job, and he would hate to further aggravate her precarious mood, but her help is always welcome should she wish to provide it.

Logically, the latter feels like the better choice at present. Although Hunter means well, only wanting the best for his ad’ika, he did ask a lot of questions in trying to help. Both from his own experience and from what he knows of children, too many questions can often lead to annoyance. And while Omega tends to be the exact opposite both in asking questions of her own and answering any of their’s, this is, no doubt, a rare exception to that thirst for knowledge.

Wordlessly, Tech gets out of his chair to duck down in front of the navicomputer, under which is where he last left his box of tools. It rattles when he lifts it up before dropping it haphazardly on the seat, somewhat affected by the almost unnoticeable tremor that shakes the ship indicating that they have entered the atmosphere of Ajan Kloss.

Almost instantly, Tech notes how Omega’s head snaps up in the direction of the noise, eyes widening as she watches him. Her curiosity is getting the better of her, and a small, inadvertent smile tugs at the corner of his lips as a result. “What’re you doing?” she asks, furrowing her brows as if to get a better look from her view at ground level, voice dripping with a poorly feigned indifference.

“In order to listen in on comm chatter, I must first secure the connection on our end to prevent it from being traced back to the Marauder,” he explains, flinging open the box lid. “And in order to do that,” - and he throws Omega a quick glance - “-we need to temporarily install a digital cloaking program into the ship’s internal communications network.”

Omega shifts forward on her knees, fumbling over a few feet to crane her neck and look inside the toolbox. “It’s in here?” she asks plainly, tone far too dry and lacking her usual wonderment, but not all that uninterested. “Isn’t it already on the navicomputer like with the other uh-“ she stops abruptly, crease in her forehead deepening as she seems to try and recall the word she wants to use. “The… mm-“

“Safeguards?” Tech supplies, to save her the trouble (and further vexation). She nods, expression fading into something neutral and unfounded. “Unlike the typical protocols that remain running on the Marauder’s software continuously, this particular code is not required for everyday protection,” One hand braced on the arm of the chair, he begins to rifle through the box with the other, feeling for the small chip responsible for housing the protocol. “It is meant specifically for security in spy operations, to account for any unique vulnerabilities such as malware that targeted parties may have in place to counteract our efforts if they are expecting to be listened in on.”

It is also intended to bolster existing safeguards that are meant to prevent any efforts by the target to remotely shut down or bug their comm system, download sensitive information, and - as he has already mentioned to her - track interference back to the Marauder. While any and all of these risks have the potential to occur regardless of whether or not they are spying on someone, the consequences of them happening during surveillance are far worse than normal; the ship is more susceptible to enemy obtrusion whilst committing obtrusion of its own.

Thus, many years ago, in the early stages of their squad’s service to the Republic, Tech devised a backup defensive line to utilize for specific situations such as this job. During the war, they were sent on countless missions to gather intel, and while those were often accompanied with the order to eventually move in and either neutralize or kill the target, the first steps are still the exact same. The only difference is that Wrecker does not like the former half all that much, and is most definitely disappointed that the client said rather explicitly in their instructions not to engage the pirates directly.

Although, Tech leaves all of this out of what would otherwise be a rather long-winded explanation of things. On any other day, he would allow himself to prattle on, but for the sake of attempting to gradually mollify his little sister, he suspects that reining it in as best as he knows how would be beneficial.

“Well why’s it in here?” she asks again, picking at the hem of her shirt and sitting back on the balls of her feet.

Still digging through with meticulous care in order to prevent getting pricked or scraped by any of the various sharp tools surrounding his hand, Tech narrows his eyes in concentration. “Because I built it myself, and would be unable to replicate it in any short amount of time,” he replies, just as his finger finds a small flat thing at the very bottom of the box. “Reconstructing and recoding it would take a very long time, even for myself. It is best concealed where one would not expect it.”

Monotonous, Omega asks “Who’s gonna steal it?”

Procuring the chip, a small smooth metal chip with a short wire attached to an input, and holding it up between two fingers, Tech blinks. “It is best to be on the safe side.”

And rather than nod in agreement, or ask to see it for herself, Omega actually scoffs, though whether at him and what he said or because she is agitated, he cannot tell. Either way, it is yet another response that is wholly unlike her, a reminder that something is so horribly wrong, and he has yet to do anything productive to help. He thought that this sort of work would, at the very least, provide a distraction for her, but it is all too apparent that that was a wild miscalculation.

Then, slowly retreating into herself, head hung low and back hunched, she mumbles something of which Tech does not make out a single word.

Throat tight and dry, he dares to inquire. “Pardon?” he murmurs, with the mind to place the chip on top of the console so as not to misplace it.

Eyeing him through her lashes, she sighs, burdened in a way that a child her age never should be. “Why are you guys being extra careful all the sudden?”

Tech blinks, lips pulled into a thin line, her words rotating in his brain like an outdated processor running unfamiliar code. “Pardon?” he asks a second time, and it’s all he can manage.

“Ever since Aargau you guys are being even more careful of everything than you were before!” she exclaims, frustration, and what he recognizes as the pent up anger caused by unknowing seeping through her voice. He understands that feeling. “Hunter didn’t even want to get off the ship on Ithor, and everyone hated going to Coruscant! We left immediately! But then when Cid said we were going to come here, you guys all agreed super quick! I don’t get it!”

Physically, Tech hardly moves, merely staring down at his little sister, exasperated and confused and huddled on the floor. Inwardly, however, his stomach is filling with ice, drowning his mentations in the cold and foreboding feelings of inevitability and uncertainty.

This was bound to happen, Omega catching on to things, and the difference in their recent approaches. It isn’t like he hasn’t already noticed her catching on over time, particularly in the instance of Bardan. She is intelligent, sharp. He does not doubt her ability to sense their feelings in at least some capacity, especially given her handling of him following his argument with Hunter. And while he never expected her to determine the cause, her force sensitivity, from intuition alone, her deliberate recognition of change has been a long time coming.

Why she’s asking him, and not Hunter, however, he cannot begin to guess.

“Omega-“ he starts, hoping to come up with something, anything, to explain it without lying to her outright. He isn’t prepared. Not yet. None of them are. They just need more time. He needs more time-

“And when I sat to watch the sky with you, you got all tense and stuff when-“ she clamps her mouth shut, clenching her hands into white knuckled fists. Hoarse and low, the corners of her eyes glistening with a buildup of tears and emotion, she mutters “-when I talked about Kamino. It was like I said something wrong.”

Oh.

Maker help him.

He had thought he kept his visible response under control, at the time. Clearly that is not the case, but the fact that he has played a part in all of this causes his heart to clench in his chest. All of them have contributed, though unintentionally, but for her to have let him in on such a thing, her life on Kamino, only for her to throw is back in his face because he had not kept his composure as well as he had thought he did?

This is why; why his ability to control is so important. Why he has to stay strong for her, let Hunter and Wrecker and Echo offer themselves as emotional pillars while he remain rational, fearless. Because he never knows how to handle it, not when it matters. And she noticed that, she sensed it, along with everything else that has been building up as she’s taken it to consideration.

How long HAS this been building up?

He is supposed to be regulating his emotional response to events, not HER. She is supposed to tell them, rely on them-

“Omega…” he murmurs, crouching at her level in the way that Hunter always does. “We have to protect you. That is our job. Our duty. It is what we want to do. The Galaxy-“

“I know it’s not safe,” she sniffles, and oh, now she’s crying. Shit. “I- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to be mean to- to you and Hunter and- and everyone. And I know-“ she blubbers on, wiping vigorously at her cheeks with the heel of one hand. “I know you said in the beginning that we have to lay low, and I know the Empire is bad, and dangerous. And they’re getting more powerful but- I just feel like…”

She stops, staring at her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks, hanging precariously off her chin, dripping on her palms.

Almost inaudible, Tech whispers “What do you feel, Omega?”

Looking up at him with sparkling brown eyes, hair plastered to her forehead, she draws in a shaky breath. “I- I don’t know what I feel. I just… I feel a whole lot and… and I don’t know why!” her breath hitches, caught in her throat. “But I feel like I’m missing it- like… like you know something dangerous and you don’t want to tell me!

“Did something bad happen? Did I do something wrong that put us in danger?”

Here she is, feeling left out and guilty, having tried her hardest not to say a word all day, fearing the worst, because the gears in her head have been turning. But she brushed off the thoughts, the things that she picked up, because everything always worked out just fine; everything always made sense in the end.

This morning however, talking about Kamino, must have been the final straw, the moment she realized that something is decidedly odd. And it’s a stinging feeling inside of him like he’s being slapped across the cheek again and again. All because they have been trying to protect her, and never stopped to think of how overbearing it must be for her as an onlooker unaware of the reason for their caution, jumping to her own conclusions.

Swallowing heavily, Tech finally understands it, leaning forward ever so slightly. “I assure you, Omega, you have not done anything wrong, I promise you that,” and he feels as though he is making a plea, begging her to get it. Begging her to listen to him. It’s the truth. None of it, none of this, is her fault. “The Empire is growing in strength and in numbers with every day that passes, and we are adapting to the Galaxy as such occurs.”

Omega curls in on herself again, back heaving with sobs she cannot control, body shaking. Tech feels as though he might throw up.

He isn’t prepared for this. What is he supposed to say? ‘You are force sensitive and the Empire wants to you twice as dead, but I have no explanation for any of it, including the powerful abilities that were imposed on you before you were born?’ Yes, that would go over just swell.

He isn’t ready for this. He isn’t equipped to help her, isn’t prepared to offer information on any of it. This is precisely why she can’t know yet that she is one with the living force, that she can connect with others, that her emotions are enhanced, that she can move things without touching them. Because that is far too much to burden a child, his little sister with, without so much as an inkling as to why it is the way it is or how it works. No guidance.

He needs Hunter. Hunter is better at this, best for this. Hunter is her buir, and that is who she needs. Her buir. Not her foolish older brother, in over his head and flying blind, incapable of so much as calming her down when she’s crying, sobbing into her knees-

And suddenly, the entire Marauder jolts, pulled roughly to one side.

Tech is up on his feet before he even registers the rough movement and the clanging of the toolbox falling off the chair, contents spilling out onto the floor. The navicomputer alarm is blaring, indicating that the ship has taken a hard blow somewhere outside the hull. Behind him, Omega squeaks in surprise, jumping up almost as quickly, looking around with frightened haste.

As if the shock and adrenaline have scared the tears out of her, she surges forward, gripping at his arm to maintain her balance when the ship violently shakes a second time.

The cockpit door whirs open and Hunter stumbles out, fumbling with his helmet in his hands. His eyes seem to search the hull, taking quick stock of things, before settling on Tech and Omega in front of him.

Sucking in a heavy breath, he marches towards the ramp, drawing his blaster and forcing his helmet onto his head with his other hand.

“Gear up, we’re under assault from the ground.”

Chapter Text

“Under attack?!” Omega yelps as the ship rattles again and again, as if a giant set of hands were grabbing it on either side and rolling it around to inspect it. “Who is it?!”

Not far behind Hunter, Wrecker comes stalking out of the cockpit, already boasting the familiar air of steadfastness and rough confidence that his brother is known to possess in high stress combat situations. Blaster in one hand, he clutches a rappelling cable in the other, eyes narrow and determined.

Regarding Omega with a tilt of his head in her direction, Hunter the veritable regret is audible in his tone. “The pirates we were sent to gather Intel one,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I dunno know if we were set up, or if they saw us comin’ and assumed we were a threat, but they’re steps ahead of us.” The Marauder shudders and jerks forward as if it were preparing to do a nose dive, and Hunter braces himself on the wall with one arm while Tech grabs the nearest chair for balance. “They’ve got restraining wires.”

In other words: terrible news. The pirates, anticipating the Marauder as an enemy vessel, assembled a set of industrial strength cables and hooks capable of catching on and digging into the sides of the ship; a primitive tractor beam of sorts. It’s not all that difficult to construct, so long as one can get their hands on the necessary equipment, and concoct some means of planting the opposite ends of the wires deep enough into the ground that they come loose. If anyone can access said equipment, it’ll be the sort of pirates who live to steal valuable materials.

They must have a scanner to look out for incoming ships, or a scout in place to protect their camp. The moment the squad got close enough to entering the atmosphere, the pirates would have ample time to prepare an attack, or a capture. All they had to do was wait for the Marauder to lower the landing gear and descend close enough to the surface. And why wouldn’t they have defenses in place, considering that - as Cid had said - they frequent Ajan Kloss?

In fact, they’re carelessness to account for a possibility such as this means that they practically handed a victory to the pirates.

His carelessness, something that only seems to worsen with every attempt to better himself, compose himself, in any given situation. Every time he allows himself credence, he takes a blow twice as worse than the last. And it’s his own fault.

But dwelling on it now, in the midst of battle, will do all but make it better.

Tech’s brain is suddenly functioning on autopilot, the instinct built from his extensive training kicking in just as it should. “Where am I needed?” he asks, voice raised, and he straightens himself out. Behind him, Omega lets go of his arm and mirrors the way he clutches at the chair. He can feel her eyes watching the back of his head.

“We have to sever the wires,” Hunter responds shortly, turning to Wrecker. “Echo will keep the ship off the ground.” The ‘because if we try to land, we risk malfunctions that can cause combustion’ is left unsaid, both for the sake of sparing Omega the additional fear, and because the rest of them are already fully aware of the high-risk consequences that come with failure in this scenario. “You go left, I’ll go right, Wrecker will go out the hatch and flank ‘em.”

Nodding an affirmative, Tech turns on his heel, mindful of Omega behind him, and hurries to the back of the hull to retrieve his helmet and pistols from where they were last discarded near the crates Omega had been sitting against. The little girl spins with him, whipping her head around every which way, unable to settle on any one of her brothers to follow.

“W-What should I do?” she asks, no doubt trying to appear brave despite the slight waver in her voice.

Hunter responds almost immediately. “You stay put. Get into one of the secure chairs by the cockpit, pull the bar down,” he instructs, tone firm and unyielding, though not unkind. “Stay there, no matter what.”

And Tech, without needing to look up as he fumbles to grab his helmet and adjust it on his head proper, knows exactly the look on Omega’s face.

Furious would be more than an understatement. As innocent and bubbly as she is by nature alone, sweet and forgiving, being told to stay back, to refrain from taking action or fighting alongside them because of danger or risk factor, never goes over well. It is a necessity, a critical step in maintaining her safety to the extent of their abilities. But that will never matter, not so long as she is still a child, plowing through whatever the Galaxy throws at her, adamant to ‘do her part’.

“I can help!” she insists, feet pattering against the floor as she pursues Hunter. Tech glances over his shoulder as he holsters one of his blasters, and sets the other to lethal (he has no need nor want to waste stun bolts on pirates). Her cheeks are bright pink, eyebrows deep on her forehead, eyes blazing with a Will to fight. For several seconds, Tech’s stomach churns at her eagerness; eagerness like that of a soldier. Omega is a child. Never a soldier.

She grabs at Hunter’s hand when the entire ship shakes once more and Wrecker starts towards the hatch at the back of the marauder underneath the gunner’s mount, nearly colliding with Tech. “You need more backup than Wrecker since Echo-“

“What I need is to keep you safe!” Hunter retorts, terrified urgency seeping through his words. Now he’s losing his patience, gentleness forgotten as his usually well-hidden fear makes itself abundantly clear. “These are pirates we’re dealing with-“

“We’ve fought pirates before-“

“Not head on! Secure yourself, NOW-“

“But-“

“Now, Omega!”

The ship rattles in a far too violent way, and Wrecker lurches forward, feet planted firm on the floor, reaching to grab the neck of Tech’s armor with the hand holding the rappelling cable. He feels a weight in his stomach drop, and if he weren’t trained to keep his body under control, he might just regurgitate his breakfast. The short stack of crates that had only just housed his gear tumble to the ground, rolling for a moment before smacking the ‘fresher door with an awful thud.

And then, as if it had never moved in the first place, the Marauder goes deathly still. The silence that follows, save for the rumbling engine, is deafening.

Omega is trembling, eyes wide, mouth pulled into a thin line, and Hunter pulls her into his side. “What happened!” he calls to Echo.

“I’ve steadied the ship against the cables!” Echo yells back to them from the cockpit, all panic and unsurety. “You need to hurry and cut them off!”

The sergeant is moving before Echo’s finished speaking, ushering Omega to the shuttle seats and briefly taking advantage of her daze, when what Tech can only suspect are protests die on her tongue and she opens and closes her mouth, to carefully nudge her into one. The part of him that hates making her unhappy feels badly for it. But Hunter is right; Omega needs to listen. “Sit,” he mumbles, and nothing else, before directing his attention to Wrecker. “Go. Out the hatch and get them from behind. Tech, with me.”

Wordlessly, Wrecker releases his tight grip on Tech’s armor, and Tech trips forward two steps, simultaneously brushing himself off for good measure. Not that he’s gotten anything on himself, but it is out of the habit of doing so after being more of less tossed around.

Hurrying up the ladder, Wrecker disappears behind Omega’s curtain suspended above the gunner’s mount. Tech closes the gap between himself and the ramp, Hunter only just beating him to it and sidling up against the right side. He throws a series of rapid hand signals at him, and Tech catches every single one in effortless succession; ‘Ramp. Guard. Scan. Report. Engage’.

In other words, a simple protocol of which they have made use countless times before. Nothing all that complicated, but hardly benign or ineffective. A time-tested success, in and out, and the sooner they detach the cables from the ship to prevent irreversible or expensive damage, the better.

With a curt nod and a flick of his wrist, Tech lowers his visor at the same time that Hunter punches the ramp controls.

As the ramp lowers, Hunter presses himself flush against the wall next to the control panel. The natural light of the sun reflecting off of the adjacent planet Ajara and onto Ajan Kloss illuminates the world outside, gradually flooding in through the growing gap. The moment that it opens just enough for a person to perhaps crawl through, a blaster bolt from below clinks against the rim of the entryway, bouncing back before fizzling out midair.

Tech leans forward, just enough for his helmet to get a thermal reading of the situation on the surface. A multitude of blaster bolts smack the outside of the ship as he does, one nearly flying through the open ramp as it lowers completely, but Tech has done this before; he knows exactly where to peer around the side and how far to get the most accurate scan without missing anyone. After a few precarious seconds, another bolt hitting the rim and eliciting a fearful squeak from Omega that only the back of his mind registers, his visor beeps to indicate that a thorough scan has been completed.

Evidently having recognized the beep without missing a beat, Hunter lifts his head expectantly towards Tech. “Nine hostiles precisely ten-point-seven-two feet below us,” Tech reports, raising his visor and drawing his second pistol all in one brisk motion. “Three on starboard, four on port side, two at the nose.”

“Echo! Keep it steady!” Hunter calls over his shoulder, while throwing Tech a somewhat belated thumbs up in response.

Then, without another moment’s wait and no warning at all all, Hunter throws himself forward and leaps out of the Marauder, shots ringing out from his blaster before he hits the ground.

Tech braces himself on the doorway, ready to follow, but pauses to throw a glance back into the hull as Omega’s frightened noise not long ago catches up with him. Of course, she is physically unharmed, having given in and followed Hunter’s instructions to buckle down in the seat. She now clutches to the sides of the bar keeping her in place with white knuckles. Her expression, however, is unreadable, and whether it is because she is masking fear, running purely on the adrenaline of survival instinct, or plotting, he would rather not find out until after all of this is over.

He hopes his silent mental plea for her to ‘stay put’ gets through to her. He hopes that she can sense his own apprehension, or any of her brothers’, and take it to mean that she should refrain from doing anything stupid. With all that she’s just revealed to him, pouring her heart out, he feels all the more frightened by the turn this all could take if they fail to execute it properly; if anything happens to them or their ship.

He does not know why, but it’s this sinking feeling of foreboding deep in his stomach that’s screaming at him to move forward with caution. This small nagging in the back of his mind telling him that ‘something is about to happen’. The exhaustion embedded in his heart begging for his gut to be wrong. Maybe it’s just the rush of battle, scaring him into action. Maker, he hopes that it is nothing more than that. As it stands, he is not quite sure he could handle any more than that.

The sound of expeditious blaster fire no doubt coming from multiple directions causes Tech to whip his head back around and launch himself out the entryway. The light shining down on the planet is significantly brighter once he’s fully outside, and he squints as he tries to quickly adjust in the short time between his feet leaving the floor of the Marauder and landing the ten-and-some feet on the solid ground below the ship.

In all honesty, the short jump feels vaguely disorienting, which is both alarming and uncomfortable. While it has been a long time since he last had to do this, - leap a considerable height and land in the middle of blaster fire to immediately take action - he has leapt a lot further than ten feet on countless occasions. Maker forbid he’s losing his touch the less that his more intense combat training is required of him. Though, dwelling on it now will only serve to distract him, make things worse, in spite of the fact that he almost loses his balance upon landing.

Luckily, knowing full well that faltering now is hardly an option, he is able to keep himself upright and regain his composure just on time to dive to the left and avoid a blaster bolt flying towards the side of his head. He finds himself landing beside the base of a tree, on the border of the clearing wherein they were trying to land. Behind it stretches a vast forest of thick vines, touring grass, and identical trees, covered by canopies of moss and leaves. An endless expanse of natural green-tinted-blue and dark browns.

The perfect place to hide out when you do not want to be found, the epitome of a landscape capable of interfering with transmissions and cutting off mechanical connections.

Tech presses his back against the trunk of the tree and whips his head around to finally look at the scene with his own eyes. Not that there’s all that much to observe that could not be expected or inferred by the mind’s eye; the Marauder, pinned in midair by four hefty wires, and the pirates - all nine of them Nikto by the look of it - either attempting to protect the cables where they are burrowed in the ground, or fend of Hunter on the end and Wrecker in the back.

“I got two of ‘em!” Wrecker’s voice fizzles over the comm in Tech’s helmet, boisterous and rushed.

Hunter responds hurriedly. “Keep it up. You boys get rid of ‘em, I’ll sever the cabl-“ and his voice is promptly drowned out by the sounds of battle.

If it weren’t for the fact that he is within Tech’s line of sight, he would be concerned, but he can plainly see that the sergeant has it handled, taking a shot clean through the throat of a Nikto who had lunged at him, a vibroblade raised to strike Hunter in the side. Not that it would have done much damage, most likely to have hit the rim of his chestplate.

At almost the exact same time, Wrecker knocks one over the head with the rear end of his blaster, more than enough force to concuss the pirate if not knock him out now only to leave him for dead later.

Tech takes stock of the Nikto nearest his location; two, one guarding the cable hooked to the lower left end of the hull while the other continues to fire at the tree, as if hoping he may manage to hit his mark in spite of the fact that the angle at which he is taking aim provides more than ample coverage for the time being. As smart and fast-acting at the lot of them must have to be in order to pin the Batch by their ship, they all seem to be terrible shots.

Throwing his arm around the tree, Tech takes a shot at the Nikto on the offensive, hitting him in the leg. The pirate stumbles back into his closest colleague, and the latter is knocked to the ground, grumbling swears in what sounds like huttese.

Meanwhile, the former’s body smacks into the edge of the cable, jostling the ship. Tech winces at the awful creaking sound it makes, and almost as if on cue, Echo’s urgent voice flits through the comm.

“Watch it down there! I can’t hold it forever!” he snaps.

Tech, biting back a snarl, smacks the side of his helmet with the heel of one hand. “I am trying my best!”

At the same time, he rolls out from his cover and shoots both of the Nikto with one of each of his pistols, clearing the immediate ground around him. The instant and simultaneous death of the two pirates is a short lived relief, but a relief all the same, truly, and when the dirt kicked up by his boots skidding across the ground as he comes to a halt in front of both them and the cable flies towards his face, he elicits a heavy exhale.

Across the way, Wrecker yells something fierce and powerful and incomprehensible, a determined battle cry, raining down blaster fire over Hunter’s head, tucked tight into his own chest, upon another Nikto screaming bloody murder as he tries to take them both on from behind.

The obnoxious noise coming from his throat is brought to an abrupt end when several of Wrecker’s blasts collide directly to his unprotected torso. He crumpled to the ground like a decaying leaf, hitting his forehead on a rock when he meets the ground, as if Wrecker’s bombardment was not enough to complete the task.

On Tech’s right, from the rear of the ship, another Nikto surges towards him, but with a shot that he barely registers taking, he’s falling to the grass in much the same manner as his brethren, eyes wide in shock as if to suggest he hardly expected to be the one beaten in such a pursuit.

If he can give the pirates any credit for anything at all, it’s their seemingly unbridled will power. None of the remaining men make the move to turn tail and run after witnessing more than half their allies drop like dekk flies. Perhaps it is because they have little left to lose. Or maybe they really do think they can succeed. Either way, they refuse to admit defeat even when as much as plainly imminent.

Suddenly, and rather unexpectedly, an odd sort of silence falls on them. Turning his head this way and that, Tech squints through his goggles, surveying the land, suspicious of the eerie quiet. The cautious part of him, always on alert and ready for action, is wary of some surprise attack, an ambush lying in wait, well hidden by the dense woodland behind him. But several seconds pass, and not a sound is made other than the whirring of the Marauder’s thrusters fighting with gravity to keep it upright and in the air.

The hauntingly familiar scent of blood drifts through the air like the scent off an incense lamp. It only makes sense, of course, the Nikto’s still corpses scattered across the grass, some of their fatal wounds particularly visible, while others are left only with smoking blaster holes, none of which are all too revealing. While he was trained to kill in more ways than he will ever count on one finger, and as well acquainted with death as he is, it has been a while since Tech last killed like this; he become gotten so used to stunning the enemy ever since the war ended.

“Is- is that all of them?” Wrecker asks slowly, pushing his helmet up over his brows to scan the area with his own two eyes. “Did we get ‘em all?” He’s panting, audibly unsure of himself.

Hunter tilts his chin up, helmet still on, Tech instantly recognizes the movement: he is listening and feeling for any unnatural disturbances, anything or anyone they may have missed. Several seconds pass, static passing through the comm channel on Tech’s end, before Hunter nods a firm approbative.

In cursory terms, all clear.

“One ran off, but there’s nothing here for miles,” he calls, yanking his knife from the sheath attached to his vambrace. “Leave him. Not worth going after. Let’s get out of here.”

Without need for further instruction, Tech returns both of his blasters to their respective holsters in favor of the hexdriver, secure on his belt. Stepping carefully over the two dead Nikto by the base of the nearest cable, he kneels beside it and begins carefully disconnecting the wire from the base by turning the first screw out of place.

Hunter and Wrecker, each with their own vibroblades, will be able to slice through the cords with just the right amount of force and repeated concentration on the same area. While it will take several minutes, so will Tech’s method of removal. The screws used for things such as this - keeping large, heavy things pinned down - are rather long. With the three of them working at once, the overall task should hardly take very long, but unlike port security systems, it is not so easy as punching in a code, either.

As he haphazardly casts aside the first screw and moves on to the next with contrasting conscientiousness, carefully inserting the hexdriver and twisting the screw. He cannot help how his mind wanders, distantly aware of his brothers presence, sawing at their respective cords on the other side of the Marauder.

He wonders, first and foremost, how Omega is doing on the ship, other than likely still unhappy due to being forced to remain out of harm’s way. He takes some amount of comfort in the fact that Echo would have commed them if the situation was too heavy for him to handle alone, or if Omega had somehow been injured. As far as they are aware, she is physically safe within the confines of the ship, though he does not doubt she’s been shaken.

That, and there is a more pressing emotional situation that they must assist her in dealing with. As he takes to the third screw, eyes narrowed, in part concentration, as well as to block the sunlight from obstructing his view, he tries to sort it all out in his mind; what Omega has revealed to him about how she is currently feeling, that is. Lost and confused, guilty and unsure, knowing that there is something afoot of which she possesses no immediate knowledge.

And that may just be worse, if not for the fact that it is she who lies at the center of her brothers’ apprehension that they had tried so hard to conceal, than for the fact that she may not take any of it well. Hence, preparations; regulation, control, rationale. The ability to provide her with endless knowledge, to explain the fundamentals of the force and how is exists within her until his lips turn blue. Yet, he still knows so little. Hardly enough to satiate her curiosity, to explain why they can help her, how they will protect her. To calm her in the highly probable scenario where her reaction is that of a panicked, unaware child.

The expected scenario.

There are so many factors for which he does not know how he will or should respond. So many questions she will surely pose about what this means, in every sense of the word. What this means for her, for them, for the Galaxy. The only one that he is certain of his answer to is what this means in terms of how they feel about her. He is perfectly in tune with the fact that that is a terrible fear she has; abandonment, lovelessness.

But the answer is plain as day, even if she may worry; she is their little sister, Hunter’s ad’ika. Force sensitivity or not, that will not change things. It never has, not from the moment he first found out, and certainly not now. Nothing about her could ever change how much they love her.

That, at least, is simple, even if nothing else about it will be.

Even if he cannot find the words, and he must leave it to Hunter to express.

Surely it will be easier, when Hunter is around to take the reins. He knows what to do. Besides, nothing has been revealed to Omega yet. Perhaps the pirates were a needed distraction, and they can handle her unhappy disposition without giving anything away about… any of it. Keep it a secret, just for a little while longer.

Yes, that’s what they’ll do, and it will all be alright, more time to prepare, adapt, and-

A high-pitched clinking noise grabs his attention. Lost in the midst of his thoughts, he neglected to notice how he had already finished with the third screw. Only one left, now.

Upon lifting his head for a moment, he finds that Hunter is still working at his wire, but almost finished. Meanwhile, Wrecker has disconnected the first, and moved on to the one in the back beside the topmost left that Tech is currently working on. Nearly done now.

The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and Tech feels strangely… calm. The immediate threat to their lives has been eliminated. Once the ship is free, they will leave, and they will, as a squad, determine the best course of action to take with Omega. Talk with her some more, gauge the severity more thoroughly than Tech could alone. Hunter will know what is best, surely. At the very least, if now happens to be the time when they have no choice but to reveal to her her connection with the living force, it is under their control. No accidental discoveries on her part, nor surprises on theirs.

At the very least, there will be a level of control, a means by which to contain the extremity of her response within the comfort of the Marauder.

At the very least, indeed.

One thing at a time.

The last screw comes loose, and all on its own, the wire slips from the base. At almost the exact same moment, the sound of another being cut in two twinges against his ear.

Wrecker is already approaching him, vibroblade in the sheath at his calf. “Got it?” he asks, grinning from ear to ear as he no doubt can already see the answer.

“It was not issue,” Tech replies, and he feels a small smile curl his lips, even thought it’s hidden by his helmet. “From my visual analysis alone, it appears that any significant damage to the ship has been adequately prevented.”

Not all that far behind, Hunter manages to slice the last wire, following after Wrecker. “Well done, boys,” his audible relief is almost concealed by his helmet. He presses a finger to the comm, vibroblade still in hand. “Echo, the ship is loose. Brings ‘er down for us and we’ll get outta here.”

As if he has been waiting with bated breath, his hand on the speaker, Echo responds in an instant. “Roger that. Need any help with the hooks once I land?”

“Already got one of ‘em off all the way,” Wrecker shrugs, gesturing with his thumb behind him.

Wonderful, truly. Assuming it came loose whilst Wrecker had been cutting the wire clean through, that is to say with little strenuous effort, then it can also be inferred with great confidence that minimal damage was done to the outside of the ship. They had likely freed it just on time, as precarious and unpredictable of a situation as they had been in.

The ship slowly grows closer to the ground, Echo making the smart decision to remain cautious. That being said, little more than ten feet above the surface at the edge of the ramp isn’t all that large of a gap for a relatively hulking mass such as the Marauder to close. In seconds, it is secure in the grass, thrusters disengaged.

“Great. I’ll get the one on the other side, you two take care’a these,” Hunter mutters, nodding towards the cables on either side of them before walking off. Shouting over his shoulder as he goes, he adds “Get back on board when you’re done!”

Wordlessly, Wrecker and Tech disperse in different direction, Wrecker nearly tripping over the open ramp as he hurries passed it. Tech grabs his wire, giving it a very light - albeit stern - experimental tug. The cable shakes, nearly freeing itself from the ship with that alone; this will prove a much easier removal than it would have been if they did not have a means of separating them from their support systems in the ground.

Pulling at it a second time, the hook wriggles free from the Marauder and falls aimlessly without anything to stop it, hitting the dirt with a firm thud. Squinting through his goggles, Tech attempts to further survey the area the hook had caught onto. Barely a scrape, no hole deep or long enough that it cannot wait to be patched up until they return to Ord Mantell.

“I’m starvin’” Wrecker rumbles, and Tech turns to face him. With a hook in his hand, swinging it around before tossing it aside on the ground, Wrecker thunders up to the ramp. “Been a while since we did somethin’ like that!” he chuckles.

Tech removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm, and pushes his goggles up his nose. “That is a good thing,” he replies, following his brother slowly up the ramp, glancing out at the grass as the smell of blood hits his nostrils strong again. “We do not want to get involved in such gory conflicts on the regular. This could have gone much worse.”

Wrecker grouses under his breath, something or another about action or lack thereof, and Tech shakes his head, tossing his helmet onto the nearest console chair as he reaches the hull.

Instinctively, and with a desperation to know for certain that she is alright, Tech’s eyes wander until he finds Omega idling by the seat Hunter had pushed her into. She wrings her hands in front of her chest, eyes wide and unsure, accompanied by a glint of apprehensive fury. Her blonde curls stick up in the back, most likely from having rubbed up against the headrest of the chair, but it only serves to add to the distraught sight she is in the wake of the last half-hour’s events.

She shuffles toward her brothers at the same time that Echo emerges from the cockpit, flesh hand crossed over his scomp. Her gaze flits around the room, likely looking for any sign of Hunter. “Did you get ‘em?” she asks, craning her neck to look outside the entryway.

“Yes, the issue has been properly eradicated,” Tech replies, voice taking on a naturally more gentle tone than what he had previously used with Wrecker. “Hunter is taking care of the last of it, however, the pirates have been taken care of in full,” he adds quickly, and she seems to stop wringing her hands when she recognizes his attempt to soothe some of her anxieties.

Echo, visibly displeased, cocks a brow at the three of them. “Next time, one of you holds the ship in place,” he mutters, pointing with his scomp. “My shoulder’s gonna be sore for at least the next day.”

“I’m not allowed to fly-“ Wrecker quickly reminds him, narrowing his eyes. “Tech doesn’t LET me-“

Omega giggles, a sweet sound, and an even sweeter relief. Tech rolls his eyes, though only teasing, and elbows his brother in the side. “There is a reason for it. You know full well why you are banned.” He shudders at the thought, and the memory that it dredges up; one of the worst crash landings of his entire life, letting Wrecker give the Marauder a go a few years back. A near death experience, truly.

“Banned from what?”

Hunter, helmet in his hands, steps up through the entryway, forehead creased as if trying to determined the nature of the conversation.

“Pick one,” Wrecker complains, throwing his hands around in an exasperated motion. Omega laughs again, following her brothers with her eyes, a small smile on her face.

Thankfully, it does seem that the pirate’s attack, and subsequently ideal results, seem to have both distracted Omega as well as put her in a better mood, at least for the time being. He is not so foolish as to think she has simply forgotten her previous upset, but calmed down enough that she can indulge in the lighthearted discussion concerning her older brother’s antics, and his petty indignation.

Hunter makes a sort of shooing gesture in their collective direction. “A’right, really, let’s get going,” he urges, though not unkindly. “Maybe we can still get something for the mission, since we dealt with the pirates,” he suggests hopefully, and it is a possibility, though Tech won’t get his hopes up, knowing Cid. Best not set himself up for disappointment.

“I will take over flying,” he offers, shooting Echo a glance that he hopes is more sympathetic than pitying. He does not pity him, and he knows that Echo hates the idea of being treated as such, but he does feel badly that, in the urgency of things, he had been the one left responsible for keeping the ship in place when it should have been Tech. The pilot of the Marauder. “If you are in need of treatment for your shoulder, there are spare med patches in the ‘fresher.”

Echo grunts nothing in particular, and pushes passed his siblings to presumably retrieve aforementioned med patches.

“I’ll watch out the ramp until we get further in the atmosphere, just to make sure the ship is working fine,” Hunter says, handing his helmet off to Wrecker to free up his hands. He takes a step towards the opening, before turning halfway backwards and looking down at Omega, eyes unmistakably soft. “You okay, kid?”

Omega’s cheeks flush red, and she blinks, staring at her feet. “Fine,” she murmurs, picking at the hem of her sleeve.

The sergeant seems to bite at his lower lip, as if he has something else to add, but decides against it, moving to the ramp and standing on the edge. Tech can take a good guess, anyway. He wants to talk about earlier, and Tech knows that he may have to fill Hunter in on what Omega told him, on the event that she doesn’t. Either way, they should clear the atmosphere of Ajan Kloss first, and make it safely to hyperspace, before they can count themselves out of danger entirely.

Turning on his heel and making for the the cockpit, Tech breaths a heavy sigh he wasn’t wholly aware he had been holding in. The exhaustion of it all is beginning to catch up again, unfortunate for him. The sooner they get out of here, the better. He never wants to see this wretched planet moon again, not so long as he has a say. Anywhere but here.

It’s a big Galaxy. He can afford to avoid a planet or a few.

He is not so much as both feet through the cockpit doors when the sound of blaster fire is ringing in his ears, that awful sound of plasma against durasteel.

Omega’s horrible, fearful yell that follows sends his mind into overdrive. “Hunter!”

His legs are moving before the panic has time to fully set in, hands reaching for his pistols at his sides, both drawn and aimed at nothing in particular as he skids out into the hull to survey the situation.

Wrecker stumbling out of the bunkroom without his chestplate on, Echo, darting out of the ‘fresher. Hunter, in the entryway, grabs at his leg, seconds from keeling over, while the other hand fumbles for his blaster. Behind him, eyes flaring with annoyance and a last-ditch confidence, a Nikto pirate, with a sizeable gash in his head, and a wooziness to his step. Unsteady on his feet, but evidently determined not to let them win.

Tech lifts his blasters over the sergeants head, assisted by the fact that his brother is not exactly all the way upright, - a concerning observation, and he can feel his heart thumping against his chest - but he is still unable to get a fully clear shot. Hunter wobbles, trying to push himself up on what appears to be an injured leg, and Tech loses his view.

“Get out of the way!” he shouts in terrified anger, surging forward.

And at the exact same time, no doubt entirely overwhelmed and horrified beyond belief, eyes bulging out of her skull, Omega yells something incoherent and fumbles towards Hunter, completely careless of the fact that she has no weapon, no protection, and no way of fending off the Nikto.

The pirate, dazed and unprepared, trains his blaster on her the moment that she draws attention to herself. His shot misses by a mile, thank the maker, hitting the upper rim of the entryway instead.

In all of the chaos and confusion, the lot of them thoroughly caught off guard, Tech feels a surge of panic shoot up his chest, deep from his stomach. She’s going to get herself hurt, or much worse. She’s going to get herself killed-

Wrecker moves forward in seconds, reaching to pull Omega out of the way of danger, while Echo, unarmed but still geared up, reaches for a blaster that had, at some point, been discarded on the console. Omega almost nearly avoids her brother’s large arms, but he manages to catch her against his chest before she can slip away.

Hunter, gathering his bearings as best he can in his current state, that of which Tech cannot fully determine other than wounded and disoriented, whips around on the Nikto, ready to lunge at him if his leg allows.

But he never gets the chance, and as suddenly as he appeared to take them by surprise, the Nikto is sent flying back, a good foot in the air, smacking into the tree that Tech has only just used as cover some ten odd minutes ago.

The silence that falls over them makes Tech’s head begin to ache. It is haunting. Heavy.

What in Maker’s name HAPPENED.

Tech is breathing extremely heavy, a fact he neglected to notice in the moment, and one he continues to neglect for the time being. He lowers one blaster, keeping the other pointed in the direction of the Nikto. He glances around the room, first at Hunter, hunched over and panting, clearly in some level of pain, but not paying it any mind. Shock engraved in his expression, his gaze, eyes wide with disbelief, falls in the middle of them, on Wrecker.

Or, more specifically as Tech is now beginning to put two and two together, the little girl tucked in between Wrecker’s large arms.

Omega, one arm limply outstretched over Wrecker’s, the other gripping at his bicep, stares out the ramp. Her eyes, bleary as if exhausted, glimmer with unshed tears building in the corners. Her shock is worse than Hunter’s, dread rolling off of her in waves.

Echo and Wrecker appear no better than their sergeant, their own faces mirroring his near perfectly.

“Omega…” Hunter breaths, wincing as he clutches at his leg, trying to push himself up on the side of the entryway.

She snaps her head over to look at him, mouth ever so slightly agape. “I-I… did I-“ she murmurs, stutters, unable to form any real words.

And then it clicks, the scene before him, all that he just witnessed, slowly but surely making sense.

Nobody ever touched the Nikto, ever shot him, ever got close enough to grab him. Yet, there he is lying in the grass, palms in the dirt, trying to push himself up on all fours, and struggling greatly in doing so. And there is one of them, and only one, who did not have to get close to the pirate, close enough to touch him, in order to throw him back with the force of one thousand Kaminoan storms.

Tech lowers his other blaster, and a lump, awful and terrible and terrified, forms in his throat, as Omega lifts her head all the way, bringing her hands to her face, before staring through the gaps between her fingers at her two elder brothers - at Hunter and Tech - in front of her.

Her voice is barely a whisper when she parts her lips, and with a painfully perceptible tremble, asks “Did- did I do that?”

And Tech’s mind is simultaneously dead, and racing a mile a minute. Words die on his tongue, if they ever even make it that far through his subconscious to become mentally coherent.

‘Did I do that?’

Yes, she did. She did throw the Nikto back, she did send him flying, in what Tech can only imagine was much the same manner as how she threw the strill on Aargau.

Yes, she did do that. She did, in fact, wield the force. And this time around, all of them, Omega included, seem to be wholly and truly witness.

Chapter Text

Wrecker is made to check whether or not the Nikto actually survived the ordeal, given that he had been trying to push himself up last that any of them checked.

Apparently, from what Wrecker tells him, it was the same Nikto he had hit over the head, proven by the open wound at the back. He thought he had knocked the pirate out cold, if not killed him, though evidently, that was not quite the case. When he went to check his status, he found the Nikto still breathing, seemingly unaffected by the impact with the tree, other than being significantly more dazed and confused than he already had been.

The Nikto spoke a language Wrecker didn’t know, so his slurred speech was doubly incoherent. According to Wrecker, he babbled on about something, putting his hands up as if in surrender. But he knew he couldn’t leave the pirate to live, nor did he ever intend to. Not after what he saw; what was done to him. Even if he had been too out of it to realize, they have to cover all of their bases. Anyone who may know the truth of what is hidden inside the Marauder, possess even an inkling of knowledge, is a threat. To them as a whole. To Omega.

As for Hunter, the pirate shot him in the back of his calf, but the combination of his bumbling state being equivalent to that of a rambling drunk, and the fact that he already had questionable aim, means that Hunter came out of it rather lucky. The wound is hardly anything to worry about, and ultimately superficial. It was an unfortunate situation of fading adrenaline from battle and the shock of the moment that had caused his leg to buckle in spite of how painless the injury actually ends up being.

Tech patches him up in no time at all, and bathed by eerie silence.

‘Did I do that?’

Omega’s question, so full of shock and fear, pure and unbridled, hangs in the air like an unpleasant odor.

The only one who had been able to meet her eyes and give her a reply was, unsurprisingly, Hunter. His answer, albeit brief, is as straightforward as straightforward could possibly get: ‘Yeah. Yeah ad’ika, you did.’ And Omega’s response is to whimper, to curl up into Wrecker’s chest and bury her face in his shoulder, back shaking with every audible breath she sucks in between muffled sobs.

She doesn’t say anything, not even when she’s passed off to Echo to check her over whilst Tech handles Hunter and Wrecker handles the Nikto. Her eyes are glazed over with exhaustion and sheer confusion, and for several long moments, she looks as though she may throw up. Unknowing and compartmentalizing their individual shock, they wait for her increasingly pale face to regain most of its color again before they move her, or try to talk to her, for fear that she’ll get sick. The last thing any of them want is to overwhelm her.

And once they’re all back on the ship and in as well enough of a state as they possibly can be for the time being, Tech steers the Marauder off the surface of Ajan Kloss and takes them into hyperspace, course plotted for Ord Mantell.

It is, without a doubt, the longest fifteen minutes of his entire short life.

Omega sits curled up in Hunter’s lap, forehead pressed against her knees, while he runs a hand slowly up and down her back, the pair of them in the co-pilot’s seat. Both his little sister and the sergeant are strangely and uncharacteristically calm. It is making Tech nervous, how neither of them have blown up, started freaking out just yet, even though he knows full well that it is inevitable, indisputable. The terrible question is who will be the first to erupt.

Seated behind them is Echo, hunched over with his left palm pressed visibly hard over his mouth, elbow propped up on his knee, while his scomp arm hangs limply at his side. His eyes are trained on Omega, and one can see the gears turning behind them, trying to make sense of things. Meanwhile, Wrecker occupies the seat beside him, leaning back, and staring at the ceiling for the most part. But Tech does not fail to notice the occasional flicker of his eyes in the direction of his siblings, of Omega, wary, also clearly waiting for something to happen. He isn’t going to be the one to break the silence, that much is certain.

Personally, Tech remains rather unsure of how he is supposed to feel. He knows, first and foremost, that how he feels should not matter, not now. It is how Omega feels, how she is dealing with this internally, and how they can help her navigate that emotion, that matters. It is not his place to let his own anxieties interfere with his little sister’s no doubt very complicated response.

But because she has yet to speak on it, to ask any questions, make any remarks, there is nothing he can do. Not that he’s all that confident that when she does decide she’s ready to talk, he can be all that more helpful than he would be otherwise. He still does not know enough, does not have the answers, the reasons, for any of… this. The force. Her force sensitivity. It is, in every sense of the word, an utter mystery. And that is, as he has thought on it time and time again, categorically horrifying.

But he must remain… vigilant. Regulate his own distress, control his fear, rationalize events. He does not have a choice; he has to, for Omega’s sake, and the sake of his brothers.

His current state of calm, however, surprised even him.

Deep down, in some awful box locked away in a forbidden and unwelcome place buried in his mind, he wants to freak out. To scream, to throw something. To panic. What is he going to do? What are any of them going to do? They have no IDEA, not so much as a LEAD, a clue or any kind. They are completely and totally helpless, DIRECTIONLESS, and the Galaxy feels as though it is either out for their blood, or falling apart around them.

Either way, how can it be good thing, the position that they’ve been put in? All he can see ahead of them is a dark tunnel, run down and dreary, with no light, let alone an end to find one at.

How can the position that Omega has been put in be fair, justified? She doesn’t deserve this, nor does she deserve the way that the Galaxy looks at her, that the Empire hunts her. She hasn’t done a single thing wrong, not a one, and yet-

“I did it?”

The murmur is almost too quiet for him to catch, and if it weren’t for the awful stillness of the Marauder now, he may not have. But all at once, Tech and he brothers look up, as if snapping to attention, rigid and self-aware, to gaze at the little girl sitting in the sergeant’s lap.

Her face is slack, bright red and stained by tears, eyes brimming with dark circles, distraught creases at their corners. The perplexity of reality seems to weigh on her, tugging at her lips, drawing them into a frown as she glances around the room before she settles dreadfully on Tech. Of course it does. Why would it not? Where else would she look for answers, other than the one who often seems - even to himself, a notion he believed true until she came into their lives - to have all of the answers to life’s greatest queries.

If only he could offer that guidance, the explanation her look so desperately seeks from him.

And since nobody else seems to be able to say it, let alone - in Hunter’s case - a second time, their silence must speak volumes. “How did I do it?” she asks, voice hoarse and uneven, unsure. “I- I never touched him- Wrecker-“ she sucks in a breath as if to try and steady her voice, ground herself, but it is hardly effective. “I didn’t mean to I- I promise I didn’t I-“ and her worsening state of being, as her words catch in her throat and she curls ever further into herself, squeezes his heart in a death grip; twisting and pulling at his heartstrings.

Hunter squeezes her shoulder with one hand, pulling his arm, wrapped around her torso, just a little closer inward. “We know you didn’t, kid,” he mutters, rocking to the side ever so gently. “We know.”

“Don’t worry, ‘Mega, yer not in trouble, ya didn’t do nothin’ bad,” Wrecker adds, trying to console her from behind.

And what exactly they know she didn’t do remains unspecified. That she didn’t touch the Nikto pirate, never physically shoved him back. She didn’t mean to, she didn’t know. ‘Pick one’, Tech thinks grimly to himself, fighting the urge to run a hand down his face, or pinch his nose. He would loathe to express his stress, and add to hers, because she is staring at him, eyes boring into him with dim fervor. Expectant, daunting.

Not that she cannot likely sense his mental strain, his extreme apprehension, regardless. She most certainly can. No more ‘what if’s’ or ‘maybe’s’. He is sure of it now, after what he’s seen with his own eyes, the eerie naturality with which the Nikto seemed to have been sent back. Even though she didn’t do it on purpose, even though she had no idea she even could, it still appeared as though… as though it had been…

As though it had been lying in wait.

“But-“ Omega sniffles, drawing in loud, shaking breaths. “How?”

The force. That’s how.

He suspects that, deep inside of her, she now knows that it was some special ability to which she cannot quite put her finger on the name. How is one not even acutely aware of the force, with or without a label, especially when she has heard mention of the Jedi countless times both in passing and from stories they have told her? Echo in particular.

But how much have they actually ever taught her? As far as Tech knows, having heard most if not all of the aforementioned stories any of them have ever told her due to how easily sound travels on the Marauder, when have any one of them ever really TOLD her about the Jedi? Explained how they used the force, or what the force was? Never. Have they ever so much as mentioned the force by name outside of little swears or prays?

They never talk about it, because until discovering that it was something that Omega is so closely connected to, neither the Jedi nor the force ever really played that big a part in their lives, sans Echo.

Not only that, but as he has already established, she most definitely never experienced direct exposure. Nala Sé certainly would not have taught her about any of it so long as she was trying to hide the fact of Omega’s connection. There was a Jedi, kindly Master Shaak Ti who spent most of her time during the war on Kamino, charged with keeping an eye on operations there and maintaining some semblance of ethics about the facility. But whether Omega ever met her is out of the question; she never did. Otherwise…

Otherwise, none of them would be here right now. Not like this.

Hunter shoots him a look, then one to Echo and Wrecker, a silent plea for help. His cluelessness, his lack of readiness, is anything but helpful. The sergeant, Omega’s buir, his oldest brother, doesn’t know what to do. And hell, Tech never should have believed him to. In hindsight, why would he know anymore about this than the rest of them? What a fool he was for thinking that he could place such a high and wildly unfair expectation on Hunter, even if only in his own head.

“Omega…” Tech says, slow and careful, testing the waters of his own vocal stability. Which is to say, not all that on par with what he would like it to be. Uneasy and unqualified. “How much do you know about the force?” he asks, leaning forward. And he hates to have to ask like this, to put her on the spot, but how else will they have any idea where to start without some foundation only she can provide?

“The force?” she blinks, lifting her head up to look at him without the obtrusion of her knees. “Like… like what the Jedi had?”

Tech nods, biting his lip. “Yes. Yes, like the Jedi.”

She furrows her brows, looking back at Echo and Wrecker as if searching their faces for some kind of reaction, to which they give none, as equally stone-faced and weary as they have been. “T-They could… feel things?” she tries, wholly unsure of herself. “Like… know where things were? I think,” she murmurs, cocking her head to the side, face flushed a deep shade of pink. “Echo said that- he said once that his commander could tell them where to go- b-because they could… they just knew, because of the force, I think. It let them… know things…”

Then she bows her head, almost as if she’s ashamed, and adds “Nala Sé never told me about them, a-and, she didn’t have any files about them so- so I never really learned,” She picks at the hem of her shirt. “Sorry.”

Maker, his stomach lurches when the tiny apology passes her lips. As if she has anything at all to apologize for; as if she ever will.

He isn’t sure why, however, he finds himself grossly unable to vocalize at much. “It is alright,” he says instead, voice conscientiously light. “Are you… are you aware of what the Jedi are often referred to, in relation to their connection with the force?”

Hunter shoots Tech a look over her head, reluctant and probing, asking ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Of course, the truth is that he does not, but what other choice do they have now, then to, at the very least, lay the truth out in front of her? No matter what direction this takes, it is simple and painful fact that they cannot fail to, at the very least, put a name to ‘it’ for her. They owe her so much more, and he knows he cannot give it all, but he will do what he can, at least until he starts to…

To fall apart? Lose his mind? Whatever comes first, perhaps. Not that he can allow as much to occur anytime soon. So he will try. For her, again; Try because she’s his little sister, and because she’s special in ways that he may never fully understand, that neither of them may fully understand. And because after the Galaxy has only ever dealt her bad hands, hands that she’s never deserved, he could not live with the knowledge that he didn’t try to make it better. That he did try to be the big brother she needed: the big brother with logic, and reason, and answers. Calm and collected.

Even if his insides are begging for some kind of sweet release. Begging for him to scream at nothing and anything. Begging to simply tell her that… that he loves her, and if that is all that he can do, if it helps some, then he will make sure that she knows. But his emotions are his to bear alone, not burden her with. He cannot forget that.

‘I do not know what I am doing,’ he thinks to himself, meeting Hunter’s eyes with a matched sadness, hoping to communicate as much. ‘But what choice do we have. Why delay the inevitable any longer?’

“N-No,” Omega mutters, eyes growing wide. She’s starting to realize, perhaps.

“The term is force sensitive,” Echo chimes in from behind, before Tech has the opportunity to reply. He’s grateful for the brief reprieve, grateful that somebody else is able to speak up in spite of himself. “Those who weren’t Jedi, but could also sense things and use the force like that Jedi could, they’re called force sensitives. And that’s what the Jedi called little kids who they found and took into the Order to teach.”

Omega blinks, looking now between Echo and Tech. “I- but what about… what about what I did- h-how I pushed him,” she sputters, voice gradually gaining volume. “What’s that have to do with- with the Jedi-“ and she draws in a harsh sniffle. “I-I don’t get it!”

If Tech recoils back in his chair as her low tone becomes a proper yell, he hopes to the Maker that she doesn’t take notice of it. “Miss Omega,” he says, and Wrecker sits up in his seat all the way. “Those who are force sensitive possess a potential for multitude of unique capabilities, one of which includes moving objects, or… people… with their minds,” he explains, suddenly unable to look at her any longer, finding a jagged shadow on the floor to stare at instead. “In other words, moving things… without making contact.”

Omega leaps out of Hunter’s lap the moment that Tech stops talking, feet thudding against the durasteel floor. Eyebrows creased deep down her forehead, mouth turned down in a thin line, she nearly smacks the sergeant on the side of head when she flails to keep her balance in the wake of her visceral physical reaction. Hunter reels back to avoid the contact, eyes blowing wide, hands pulled back as if to give her space, startled by her abrupt maneuvering.

“I- that doesn’t mean-“ and the panicked distress in her voice betrays the tough look she tries to give. “I’m not a Jedi or anything!”

Well… no. She is not. That much is true. She was never found by the Order, never trained. Though he doubts that the specifics will really mean all that much to her right now.

“No, you’re not, ad’ika,” Hunter tries to soothe, easing forward and placing a careful hand on her shoulder. In turn, she whips around to look at him, the angry expression melting back into the pure unknowing fear of before. Tech bites his bottom lip; it’s the only thing he can do to stop himself from frowning, chewing at the thin skin under his teeth. “You aren’t a Jedi. That- that isn’t what we’re saying,” Hunter clarifies, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder blade. “But… anyone can be force sensitive… without… ever becoming a Jedi.”

Hunter barely gets the last word, the accursed term, out. “I’m not force sensitive either,” her response is immediate, defiant and disputatious.

For the second time, their initial silence says more than enough by itself.

Grabbing at Hunter’s wrist as if for support, her grip visibly powerful, Omega’s eyes dart around the cockpit. “I’m not,” she insists, shaking her head repeatedly. “I- I mean, it kinda felt like I pushed him- in my arm and my hand I mean- b-but Wrecker- I couldn’t reach him!”

Tech never really did know what to expect from Omega when she found out, and yet, somehow, her reaction is worse than he could have imagined. Denial, the worst form of rejection to a concept, the outright refutation of the idea, without the acceptance of proof or the time to take it into consideration. And what is worse, but when it comes from one with a curious and open mind such as hers, that of a child, who has, heretofore, given any thought the chance to make sense.

She squeezes her hands ever tighter around her buir’s wrist, but Tech knows that it could never be enough to cause Hunter actual pain or discomfort, and thus, he allows her to hold on as firm as she finds herself needing. Thank the Maker, because Tech also knows that he could never provide that kind of comfort; he doesn’t know how. Thank the Maker for Hunter, that he may be a source of even loose security while Tech continues to let her down, not knowing what to say or do other that lay out facts.

Lifting her chin, she goes on, zeroing in now on Echo. “I never did it before,” she insists, and tears continue to gather in her eyes, but do not fall. “I never moved anything with my- my mind before. D-Don’t you have to be born with the force? ‘C-cuz I’ve never moved stuff, not ever.”

Oh, if only that were true, too.

“Kid,” Echo sighs, getting up out of the chair slowly but surely, taking a few small steps closer to her. “You… you have before. Once, at least.”

She lifts her chin a little higher, a sign of a challenge. “When?”

“On… Aargau,” Echo murmurs, gaze saddened, no doubt by the prospect that he is disappointing her so. That sentiment is shared among them. “You thought it was Wrecker who pushed the strill off of me, but… he didn’t. When you tripped and fell, you pushed the strill back on your own.”

She looks to Wrecker as if hoping that he’ll say it isn’t true; that it was in fact he who wrestled the strill away. But solemn and reserved, heartbroken in his own way, the same way that keeps him from being able to say much at all, Wrecker shakes his head. “Wasn’t me that day, kid. ‘Was you, I saw it too.”

“I never touched the strill!”

“No… no, you didn’t. But neither did Wrecker.”

“H-How d’you know it was me?”

“I saw the Jedi during the war, Omega. I know what it looks like… when they… wield the force.”

“But- you said I’m not a Jedi!”

“You’re not, but you have some of the same… abilities that they did.”

“Well- I-I didn’t- I didn’t wield the force! ‘Cuz I didn’t even know! It- I didn’t do anything!”

“Maybe not on purpose, but accidents can happen, kid.”

Tech‘s goggles start to fog up on the inside, a light sheen of sweat building on his forehead. This is only going in circles. It seems that no matter what they, she isn’t all that willing to listen. And can he blame her? No, not in any manner at all. How would he feel, being told that he possessed a connection to a mysterious force that controls the Galaxy, that he does not understand, has never been exposed to, that he never knew he had, and his guardians - those whom he trusted to protect him, to explain to him the secrets of the universe - are incapable of understanding, too?

Terrified is hardly the word, a vicious understatement. He would think the Galaxy cruel, hateful. He would feel, perhaps, as though he was the target of some wicked plot. And in many ways, Omega was, before she was even alive. When she was an infant in a tube, referred to only as ‘the vessel’, with no consciousness, no agency, no awareness at all. An awareness that was then stripped away without her knowledge even when she could walk, and talk, and begin to take in the world around her. The effects of that plot, hidden for the personal preservation of her creators, only to come back and hit her like a concussion missile later, when those creators were nowhere to be found.

Which is why, when Omega turns to look at Tech again, a sort of anxious bile rises in his throat as she tries one more time. Her last ditch effort to prove that they MUST be wrong. “Nala Sé always said that- that I wasn’t special,” she sputters, voice watery as the first of many tears tumble over the precipice holding them back. “S-She said I d-didn’t have any- any skills like you-“

“Ad’ika, she… Nala Sé lied to you,” he Hunter says regretfully, reaching forward with the hand free of hers to brush her bangs out her eyes where they start to stick to her cheeks from tears. She only spares him a sorrowful glance, ducking her chin to her chest. “She… she had some reason to keep it a secret. I- we don’t know why, but I’m so sorry, kid.”

Throat dry, Tech inhales deeply through his nose. He tries to ignore the way that Hunter looks at him again, pleadingly, because Tech is the only one who read the Kaminoan’s report in full. The one who has done all of the research before passing it on to his brothers. Research that did not yield the results he hoped for, nor did it reveal nearly enough about the specific cloning project that ended with Omega. Or maybe it’s because none of them want to be the one to tell her that her only ‘caretaker’ up until some many months ago lied to her for her entire life, and all of that is simply the justification.

Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together on his right hand, a sort of only slightly calming repetitive motion, and a rare alternative to bouncing his knee, Tech nods. “While I do hate to say it, I am afraid that it is true, Miss Omega,” he murmurs, loathe to have to back it up, to offer confirmation.

“H-How d’you know?” she demands, letting go of Hunter’s arms to tug at the bottom of her shirt with both hands balled in tight fists. “I-It could have just been a weird accident, j-just this one time! Like- like Echo said, h-how accident can happen!”

“Unfortunately, I discovered proof that Nala Sé was fully aware of your force sensitivity. This was not a one time occurrence, however,” Tech persists. “Both the strill on Aargau and the Nikto provide very explicit examples of the force being wielded, and I believe that there have been multiple other occasions where you have made use of your connection to the force without realizing it. It is not your fault. You had no way to know. But that does not make it any less true.”

“I- I told you I never moved anything before!” she squeals defensively.

Tech closes his eyes and bows his head, unable to bare of the sight of her despair that much longer, in need of some kind of temporary relief. “How did you know that the lizard we recovered for Roland Durand was called Ruby?” he asks, pursing his lips when he pauses. “Why were you so insistent that the bitz bug you discovered that day on Ord Mantell required your help? How is it that you found it so easy to befriend Muchi, or locate and compromise with the Ordo moon dragon? Why were you so easily able to identify Cid in her parlor, when she made no indication of her identity?”

“The bug look scared- R-Ruby just- and Muchi and- and the dragon they- I don’t know, I j-just knew!” she rambles for a moment, eyes wildly fearful. “C-Cid I just… I just looked at her and I- I could tell! I don’t know!”

Echo edged forward just a little more. “How could you tell?”

“In my mind!” she snaps, all fright and insistent denial. “M-My brain just- it just knew! I- I didn’t really have to think about it I… I just KNEW. I looked at them and…” she starts to trail off, and for the first time, the realization that she does not have an excuse, any kind of explanation, is evidently beginning to hit her. “I looked at t-them, and I just knew r-right away. I t-thought… with Muchi I just thought that… that I wanted her to l-like me, and s-suddenly she let me- let me ride her back. And Cid- I could tell- I don’t know how- it was like the universe was… telling… me…”

Her voice is barely a whisper by the time she finishes, shoulders sagging in resigned defeat. “It was like you could sense it?” Hunter urges in an equally low tone.

“Omega, you must understand, these tasks are hardly as easy for most as their were for you,” Tech adds, picking up his head to peer through his goggles and take in the whole of her obfuscated alarm. “You are force sensitive, and while it may not have been as obvious in you as it has been for many before you, it is still there. It is not your fault that you did not know. You are not the first to go so long without learning as much, and I guarantee that you will not be the last.”

“I-I never e-even thought…” she chokes out, and Tech’s chest clenches. “I mean- I guess i-it just h-happens s-sometimes…”

So it has. Part of him wants to ask whether or not she finds the same ease in identifying the emotions of those around her, or at the very least reading the moods of those close to her well enough even when not explicitly expressed. But he opts to keep such inquiries to himself for the time being, as he would be loathe to overwhelm her more than she already is.

Hunter pulls his hand back to give her space, leaning back in his chair. “You didn’t have any way of knowing.”

“Then h-how do you- how do you know for sure?” Omega asks, eyes narrowing minutely. “You… you said you h-had proof t-that Nala Sé- that she lied to me.”

Right, Tech did say that. And it is true. He does have it. Nala Sé’s report is stored securely on his datapad, fully decoded and lying in wait. But he knows what that file says better than he knows the back of his own hand by now, with the amount of times he’s read it over, the hours he’s spent pouring over it. So he knows, better than anything, two things; one is that the language, the cold, impassive terminology used by the vile scientist is heartbreaking. How would Omega take it, absorbing what was so dispassionately and inhumanely written about her.

The other, and perhaps the only mildly less severe as the former, is just how dissatisfying the report is. How disappointing the lack of information will turn out to be. How it will only result in further cluelessness, fear, and heightened confusion in the midst of a sea of questions with no definitive answers.

His brothers appear to have come to the same conclusion and share the sentiment, if the growing apprehension in their expressions is any indication. But what is he meant to do? Lie? As if that lead anywhere good for him, for any of them, before. He can’t. Not again.

“Yes. Among the files that I… borrowed from the Kaminoan labs last we were there,” and what a way to put it. He’s kicking himself, mentally. “But I regret to inform you that it is severely lacking in detail, and I did not… recover anything else on the topic, assuming that there was any additional material to find. My knowledge outside of the confirmation of your connection to the force is very little, if nothing at all.”

“I-In Nala Sé’s files?” Omega sniffles, brows furrowed.

Tech nods, adjusting his goggles. “Well hidden and written in a complicated code, but not impossible to-“

“I-Is that why you didn’t w-want to go to Coruscant, and why we left so quickly? And why- why you don’t wanna take certain jobs from Cid?” she squeaks, raising her voice. “‘C-Cuz of me?”

Yes. And no.

To protect her, yes. But it isn’t her fault, and he- they will tell her that again and again, no matter how often or how loud. But he knows her well enough, - recalls her upset from earlier today because he is sure it is resurfacing now, in part - to know that she will blame herself for a long time to come should any of them fail to choose their next words very carefully. It is Nala Sé’s fault, the Empire’s fault. Never Omega’s.

Pushing himself out of the co-pilot’s seat to kneel at eye level with her, Hunter puts his hands on both her arms to draw her attention fully. “We have to protect you, ad’ika. We can’t afford to be careless in this Galaxy. It’s not because of you-“

And while the rest of it, everything that came before, has not gone over well thus far, then it is this that is her breaking point; the very idea, the twisted belief in her mind, that she is somehow the one to blame for where all of this has led them.

“Yes it is!” Omega snaps, jolting away from his touch and stumbling back into the cockpit console behind her. Hunter reels back again to give her the space. “It is my fault! I-If I-I’m really like a Jedi! The- the Empire- the Empire killed the Jedi!” Her lower lip wobbles as the tears pick up in pace, rolling faster down her face, dripping off her jaw and her chin. “I- h-how are you- how do know-“ she stutters over every word, every syllable, drawing in heavy breaths near hyperventilating.

Biting his tongue, Tech stands up out of his chair, as well, in the case that she push herself to the point of exhaustion with such awful breathing as this, and require assistance. “I know that all of this is a terrible shock, Omega-“

“You need to take deep breaths, kid-“ Echo speaks up, bracing himself on the headrest of Hunter’s chair.

“C’mere, ‘Mega-“ Wrecker offers gently, spreading his arms out wide while joining the rest of them in getting out of their seats as a means of reactive preparation, but refrains from any further of a physical approach.

Omega shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. It pains Tech, how little that does to lessen the tears streaking her cheeks; inexorable things that they are, too heavy for a little girl like her. His little sister, undeserving of such malaise. And he is only making things worse with every utterance. That is what he appears to be good at, after all. Helpless, powerless to make this better, to be there for her in the way she needs it most, or to even identify as much-

“I- I didn’t mean to-“ she whimpers, the weakness of her voice unbearable. They all go deathly still, terribly silent, terrified that the smallest moment will knock the nearest planet on the other side of hyperspace out of orbit. “I just- p-please-“

Hunter, strained and unsteady, says “It’s okay, kid. Take your time-“

“Stop!” Omega howls, anguished and inundated, and draws her arms around herself to hug her own shoulders in one swift motion that makes the space around Tech seem to spin.

For the first several seconds of the sensation, he thinks he must be dreaming. Either that, or the stress of the situation has caused him to go lightheaded, and he must have lost consciousness only to collide with whatever solid surface it is that his back and rear make contact with first. Whether it is the floor, the console to his left, or the chair behind him, he does not know. All he is initially able to register is that he does not hit his head, which is both very important and a terrible relief.

His vision goes black, if only for a moment, and when it returns, tiny white dots litter the corner of his eyes. He’s staring at the cockpit, or rather, the ceiling of the cockpit, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards due to the momentum of moving backward, and he quickly takes stock of himself in whatever vague capacity he is able, noting no immediate pain, and the distance he travelled was no more than a foot, but just barely less than that.

He groans quietly and shakes his head, blinking owlishly as the dazed feeling of having no bodily control begins to fade mercifully out of his system. Feeling around with his hands, he identifies the sides of the chair under his palms. The pilots seat, where he had been just a few minutes earlier. Gaze traveling around the cockpit, peering through his goggles, he looks for any signs, and clues, as to what exactly put him in this position.

It takes him all of three seconds to put it together.

His brothers, all previously having been standing, are not quite where he remembers them being, and equally as startled. Hunter has fallen off balance, sitting on the floor with his palms supporting him against the floor. Echo braces himself on the arm of the chair that he had occupied earlier, while Wrecker has planted his feet firmly on the floor to maintain his balance, as he had almost been thrown off. His eyes are wide, and trained solely in front of him. Tech follows his gaze, even though he does not need to in order to KNOW what he’s looking at.

Omega, eyes bugging out of her skull, hands pressed up against her mouth, obscuring the horrified look on her face. The distress and mortification of reality rolls off of her in waves.

It is the result of her fear and the burden of the truth being unloaded upon her, that she caused what he can only think to refer to as a tremor, some vague manipulation of the force that pushed them all back without much effort and no semblance of malice behind it, but as some unintentional means of an emotional outlet; a poignant response to too much all at once. Wielding the force without having meant to at all. Without knowing. Without trying. Without control.

“Omega-“ Hunter croaks, slowly starting to push himself up. “Ad’ika-“

“N-No,” she whimpers, muffled by her hands. “I- I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to- I- p-please-“

Echo steadies himself, brows furrowed. “It’s okay kid, we know. We can help-“

“No!” she chokes out, and before any of them can react or think of something, anything better to say, any comfort to offer her, she bolts for the cockpit door. Heavy, fast footsteps terribly unlike hers smack the floor under her, until she clears the few feet between her and her exit, pausing for just a moment in the open entryway. Back turned to them, she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, tugging anxiously at the seam. “P-Please- please l-leave m-me alone-“ she pleads, sniffling and audibly choking down a sob. “L-leave me a-a-alone.”

And she trudges forward, out into the hull, leaving Tech and his brothers dumbfounded and desolate, the mutual feeling of utter failure in the air around them, behind her.

Chapter Text

There is something about silence that Tech is not all that sure he enjoys anymore.

When he was a soldier and nothing but, silence was a gift of peace, a fleeting moment before or after battle during the war in which he was in a perpetual state of motion. Always alert, always watching, to ensure the safety of his brothers and himself, to serve his purpose in the army of the government for which he truly cared very little. Solitude was a blessing, personal space was a luxury. Total quietude was a rarity.

But for Omega, it is the exact opposite. Confined to Kamino, most often locked in the labs below, with little company and no way out. She was, most likely, engulfed by silence. In the same way that Echo despises being alone, Tech cannot imagine that she is all too much a fan of the quiet. And in that same vein, he no longer finds himself seeking it out so often, either. Omega’s joy, her boundless energy, her feet pitter-pattering against the durasteel, her giggles and her cheerful voice drifting through the ship and eliciting similar responses from her brothers; the lack of such has come to feel nothing if not unnerving, uncomfortable, unnatural.

It is a reminder, a stark indication, that something is dreadfully wrong.

The last time that Tech can think back to where it felt as daunting as it is in the present, is when Omega was kidnapped on Bracca, and not a single one of them had any clues as to where she had gone. There were several hours, between the time they escaped Crosshair’s small fleet and the moment that Omega managed to contact them, where their time was spent in reticence, each taking on a different task that revolved around tracking her down. It has never been this unpleasant before or since. Not until now. Not until today.

It is only made worse by the fact that everyone has dispersed, gone off to do Maker knows what - if anything at all - on their own. After regaining their physical bearings, Echo and Wrecker suggested that they give Omega some time and space; crowding her would do little to help, and persisting would only serve to further overwhelm her. As much as Tech loathes the idea of leaving her to herself, her choked sobs audible throughout the ship, and Hunter wholeheartedly sharing the idea, initially defiant that he could not leave her be, Echo was right in the end. Why make things worse than they already have? Though it was with a great pain and reluctance, Hunter and Tech agreed.

As far as he is aware, Hunter and Echo retreated to the bunkroom after, whether to talk or for the sake of giving Omega space, he does not know. The latter went up to the gunner’s mount, up to her room, and pulled the curtain tight over the opening, concealing her entirely from the rest of the Galaxy. Her crying has since died down, only the occasional muted sniffle to be heard. Wrecker sits in the hull, lifting Gonky as a means of relieving physical stress.

Tech remains in the cockpit, and, wholly unable to sit still, has done nothing but pace, hands folded under his chin, deep in thought and processing the last day’s worth of… everything, for however many hours have passed. There’s an aching feeling, embedded in his gut, present behind his skull, the physical culmination of his stress, and the weight of his failures. Hyperspace swirls around him on the other side of the viewport, and without the accompaniment of his little sister, gazing out at the bright blues in a wonder that never seems to cease, it is awfully, terribly dull.

His mind bounces from one aspect of the problem to the next; Omega’s sorrowful response, his and his brothers’ collectively ineffective attempts to help, his own personal shortcomings, the answers that he does not have, the comfort that he does not know how to give. The gray area, all of the knowledge that exists between Nala Sé’s experiments and the ultimate product of Omega’s force sensitivity. Bardan’s warning, one that still makes little sense, and his criticisms, his insistence that Tech does not handle his own emotions accordingly under the conditions he has been given.

Tech is incompetent in his ways, inadequate in his behavior, of that he is well aware. It is, in a word, depressing. Some dark, evil little voice implanted near the edge of his subconscious tells him cynically that his lack of genius would have gotten him decommissioned, once. Terminated. Fed to the loth wolves, as it were. Labeled a nonstarter, a nobody. A mistake; a bit of grime in the cogs that simply need be washed out.

The rest of him, however, the part that occupies the remainder of his brain, that can be accredited with pushing him this far, somehow manages to overpower that odious opinion of himself, if only for the fact that he possesses an eternal refusal to give up on Omega. He would despise himself far more than he does here and now for his shortcomings if he were to give up on his little sister, or any of his family at all, for that matter. What kind of brother would he be, if not outright repugnant, if he were to accept things as they are?

Miserable and misguided.

And therein lies the problem.

How, pray tell, does an incompetent man, who is simultaneously cognizant that he should possess the genius to solve the problem, solve the problem? He feels like he is staring at a puzzle, compromised of large, substantial pieces, yet he is lacking the only link capable of allowing it to all make sense; the last critical piece that forms a completed picture.

In what facet this theoretical last piece lies, he has no idea. He doesn’t even know where to begin looking. But they has always been something to Omega’s force sensitivity that he hasn’t been able to put his finger on; something unique. That constant nagging feeling that whatever it is that is different about her, as Bardan had said, must be the key.

Because if it isn’t-

“Get ahold of yourself,” he mutters to nobody at all, grinding his teeth and running his hand down his face. “You are a fool to suggest such a thing, that you should have the gall to fail again.” He brings his hand up to rub his temple, turning on his heel to march the opposite direction before he collided with the side console of the cockpit. “You are her brother. It is your duty to protect her. How can you so much as entertain the very idea of failure after all that you have already failed to do?”

How can he continue to allow the little sister that he cares for, that he LOVES so dearly, to wallow, upset and afraid, wasting his time chasing leads that lead nowhere but back where he began?

“There is an answer,” he growls at his toes, clenching his hands together beneath his chin, peering his goggles becoming ever so slightly fogged on the outside of the yellow lenses. “There has to be an answer. You are simply not looking hard enough!”

Banging his fist angrily down against his leg, Tech stops suddenly in his tracks, glaring holes into the durasteel floors below his feet. What is his missing? What is it that is so well hidden, so easily masked, that no matter how many times he reviews the facts, no matter how closely he looks for something that he could have missed in the midst of all the chaos, the missing piece cannot seem to be found?

So he starts from the beginning. Again. Pacing forward. Legs stiff. Feet angled. Breath heavy through his nose.

Sometime, some ten odd years ago, - by his estimations - Nala Sé was instructed by an anonymous commissioner of decidedly dubious origin to create a force sensitive clone. After several trials and a substantial amount of errors, she was… ‘successful’. Omega was created. However, for whatever odd reason or another, she never left Kamino, the project was seemingly stopped, the commissioner never made contact, and the entire thing was buried. It was a secret, a secret so important, that not even Omega knew, and she was subject to prolonged confinement.

‘They always said that I wasn’t like the other clones, so I had to stay where Nala Sé needed me.’ That is what Omega told him, and that is what she was told by way of a reason.

Because Omega never knew, and because the files were uniquely coded, anything that occurred between the time she was decanted and the time they found her (or she found them, perhaps) in regards to what Nala Sé did or did not do is a mystery. As is to be expected. But what he does know is that much of her connection to the force is emotionally driven. Communicating with animals and creatures, an intuition that allows her to sense the feelings of others without the typical social cues to assist her.

This only serves to further initiate additional discussion, additional inquiry. It is the overcompensating that still bothers him more than most of what he does not know. What is it that Bardan had said exactly? ‘Her presence in the force is unusually strong for her age, especially considering she’s untrained and unaware. It’s almost as thought it’s overcompensating for something… or catching up, so to speak.’

If her presence is in the force is as unusually strong as he says, than why had Tech not recognized it sooner? Why had it taken him months and months of spending every day with her, of observing her, learning about her, for him to put two and two together? Why has she only recently run into situations where she is accidentally wielding the force in spite of the fact that there have been a plethora of incidents prior to Aargau that presented the force within her the same opportunities to inadvertently make itself known?

The only reason that he can possibly consider at this stage, is that there is a condition of some kind; perhaps her current lack of experience or training in any capacity means that an extremely specific set of factors must be involved in order for the living force to go as far as to allow her the ability to utilize it.

That… is not yet something that has occurred to him. Is there in fact a common thread between the three incidents? Something that they have in common, regardless of extenuating circumstances? In truth, there is not much that comes to mind.

What does first occur to him is whether or not the environment she is in could play an important role. But what similarities are there to be found between Aargau, Ajan Kloss, and the Marauder? Not much, really. Aargau and Ajan Kloss are both largely populated by forests, and thus surrounded by plants and wildlife, but that is about all there is to it. Obviously, the Marauder cannot be categorized in the same way.

Perhaps it was the urgency of the various situations? Haste, fear, sadness. In times of stress, it is true that one is more likely to act irrationally, or take bolder measures to succeed. Perhaps her stress manifested itself via the force, and so long as she is still learning and grasping the concept of her abilities, it will prioritize exposure of itself for when she is in the most dire need of it. It is not a far-fetched idea, after all, since the force is in tune with how she is feeling, whether that be towards herself, or others.

He knows he must give her the benefit of the doubt, because she is certainly still getting wholly accustomed to that sort of extreme emotion, as it likely had little time to properly develop since-

Since Nala Sé… kept her in the labs…

And she must be… learning still… how to connect with others… especially now… knowing that she can sense…

Tech stops abruptly, in a motion that is akin to skidding to a halt, and he feels his muscles tense as his body goes completely still. In his mind, a thought that he banished to a pit of ideas he is loathe to recall, there is one that cries out to him, now. One that he cannot ignore. Because he already tried that, - ignoring it - and look where that has gotten him.

There was something else, the separate conversation that Bardan had with Tech, entirely against his will, while they were ferrying him between Ithor and Coruscant. He told Tech, in no uncertain terms, that he believes he understands how Tech operates on an emotional level; gave some awfully invasive spiel about the ins and outs of what led him to this conclusion that Tech is ‘destroying himself’ due to the fact that he prefers to keep his own feelings at a certain level of control.

At least, at the time, Tech thought it invasive. And perhaps it still is, as it was a topic broached without his desire. But what if…

What if it was not merely a criticism of Tech’s personal approach to his emotions, but an extension of his earlier warning? A cryptic sort of clue.

‘I would hate to see you… destroy yourself. Both for your sake, and your sister’s.’

Shit.

Tech hurries across the cockpit, sparing the viewport a quick glance as he fumbles for his datapad, hastily flicking it on to fetch his notes. His fingers move so quickly he hardly sees them do so, until he is open to a blank document, fit for taking new notes without further cluttering the old.

At the time, he had been so… unnerved and displeased by the unwanted opprobrium of his character that he had not really stopped to consider it passed how it first sounded. But in light of recent events, in light of what Omega told him while they watched the sky, and in light of the metaphorical clearing of the fog over his eyes that prevented him from recognizing the nature of Bardan’s words…

‘I don’t know. I just… kinda know? It feels like- I mean, I know it must be scared like this.’

‘At first, I had attempted to chalk it up to having an ability similar to Hunter’s, but it is undeniable that her… senses are operating on a vastly different spectrum.’

‘Nala Sé always said not to get upset ever, but you guys always tell me that it’s okay. And I believe you.’

‘After all that she has been through, primarily in her childhood, separating her from Hunter and refusing her the connection that they have would no doubt end poorly.’

‘As she is not yet aware of her ability, then it stands to reason that you have only scratched the surface of what it really is to her, what she can do.’

‘She’s going to need you more than she already does.’

‘She did something to Omega. What did she do?’

What if it was never about what he was missing, but what Omega HAD been missing. What if it was never about what Nala Sé did, but what she DID NOT.

Maker help him, he’s got it-

The Marauder rattles rather suddenly, catching him off guard, shaking him from his own head, and if it weren’t for the beeping at the console indicative of the fact that they were dropping out of hyperspace, his initial reaction would have been rather more frightened, being wrapped up in much more important things than paying mind to where exactly the ship is at the moment.

Of course, they are nowhere near Ord Mantell, still a solid day and then some from the mid rim at all. It is for the reason that Ajan Kloss was the location of the job to begin with that they are stopping at all: the cost of travel, the need to refuel somewhere around the halfway mark.

He tosses the datapad to the co-pilot’s chair, baring the blank screen waiting to be filled, and approaches the pilot’s seat, practically falling into it. Peering out the viewport, he is met with the recently familiar sight of Ithor below him, and Tafanda Bay up ahead.

It is, for all intents and purposes, the ideal location for them to stop long enough that they can both refuel and restock without fear of the Empire showing up, since they realistically possess no urgent interest in controlling the inconsequential city. It is extremely convenient to the job, really, especially given the unforeseen outcomes. Thank the Maker, somewhere that they can lay low and spend the time to reach out to Omega in the way that she needs.

His brain can hardly register what is going on outside of it, far too preoccupied by his revelation to be outwardly alert. He is not concerned. He is able to function on both muscle memory and training alone, thankfully. So he will do just that: bring the ship down, dock, prepare for a supply run, and…

And he only need verify something with Hunter, as a means of secure confirmation, proof of his hypothesis, although he is sure he already knows the answer. Confident, in fact. But it never hurts to be sure. Besides, he needs a moment, just a one, to wrap his head around it; to evaluate how best to put it into words, even within his own subconscious. He cannot get this wrong, especially when it entails the well-being of his little sister.

Especially when it is the breakthrough that he has been pleading with the Galaxy to gift him, whether by mercy or by genius.

The missing piece of the puzzle, the key to Omega’s force sensitivity.

And to think, not only does the answer lie ever so neatly inside the exact same place where this whole thing began, but in the end, Bardan Jusik, that overzealous bastard, was right all along.

Chapter Text

“Alright boys, let’s get this over with,”

It is Hunter’s sudden presence behind him that manages to snap Tech out of his stupor, high on the feeling of long awaited success and far too busy rifling through his numbing mentation to notice the initial whirring of the cockpit doors that grants his brothers admittance. If it weren’t for the fact that the sergeant’s voice is an inherent source of grounding in high stakes or high stress situations, if it had been anyone else who spoke first, he may not have taken notice of them for some time.

He is running on a highly trained, automatic physical response, the product of years of experience both as a pilot, and in handling multiple facets of a circumstance at once. It’s only now that he begins to catch up with himself, first becoming consciously aware of the fact that he’s already brought the ship down into Tafanda Bay’s artificial atmosphere, mere moments away from landing in the port. He can feel the ship controls under his palms again, hear the console beeping incrementally, and the light sheen of fog over his goggles is still just barely present.

Peering out the viewport as he slowly takes better stock of his surroundings in his slow trip out of his own head, he is met with the familiar sight of the towering battle droid-copper walls and flat stone below him. Fluorescent lights beat down on the docking bay and reflect off the shiny, well kept expanse of the walls. If it weren’t for the dimming blue of the viewport and the yellow tint to his goggles, it may have caused a glare.

He next turns his head over his shoulder to glance at his brothers as they file into the cockpit. Hunter approaches the console, standing in between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats, his feet heavy and shoulders slouched forward, while Echo trudges in and takes the co-pilot’s chair, nudging Tech’s datapad to the side. He rubs at the top of his right arm, the space wherein his scomp is attached to what remains of his authentic arm on that side, with his left thumb. Wrecker brings up the rear, idling behind Hunter and Tech, uncharacteristically quiet.

The lot of them appear exactly as he last saw them, and expects them to be: exhausted, guilty, and sorely defeated. Tech shares the sentiment, as goes without saying. None of them were ever prepared for Omega to learn of her force sensitivity this early, let alone so abruptly. And that is perhaps their greatest weakness, their lack of preparedness, just as he has always suspected it would be.

But it is not too late to make things right, and that is exactly what he is going to do, because he’s got it now, he really does, and he can fix things. He can make things better. He understands, for the first time since that evening in Cid’s parlor that set this entire investigation in motion, exactly what he is doing. Exactly what he is looking for. He understands what Omega needs, and in the cruel twist of fate that has come in tandem with his discovery, they have - inadvertently - been doing it all along without ever having known, nor anyway TO have known.

It is natural, after all, and so it has happened over time without conscious effort, without - seemingly - necessary thought. But ignorance is an enemy, and to function in oblivion even with a rate of success that outdoes itself is still oblivion.

He is not sure whether or laugh or to cry, his inner relief that comes with having answers mounting as, slowly but surely, that reality starts to sink in. The wicked implications, and the dire truth of it. But he knows that allowing himself to wallow in it now is futile. He worries that he will only spiral, and he has not even managed to mentally articulate things yet, let alone communicate his findings to his brothers.

That, of course, takes precedence.

Echo, still rubbing persistently at his arm, takes an audible breath through his nose, staring out at the hership city below as it grows ever nearer. “I’ll stay behind with Tech and we’ll seal the holes on the sides of the hull,” he offers, leaning back into the seat and blinking tiredly. “With both of us, it should only take half an hour, give or take,” he adds, shrugging noncommittally.

“Sure,” Hunter mumbles, equally as interested, in response. He tilts his head in Wrecker’s direction, frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wrecker and I will go purchase fuel and come right back, then we can all go back out for whatever supplies we need to make the trip to Ord Mantell alive. I don’t want to spend any longer here than we have to.”

And oh, the sound of his voice is nothing short of harrowing. Disinterested in the menial tasks ahead of them, distracted by something bordering on ashamed, and utterly worn out.

Tech knows perfectly well by now, from years of personal experience and time spent with his eldest brother, that it is not easy for Hunter to divert his attention elsewhere when there is a parlous situation at hand that he feels responsible for rectifying. His characteristic guilt is often far too powerful for his own good, - not that Tech can possibly speak to that effect without sounding hypocritical - and until he feels as though he has done right by those who have been wronged, he will remain fixated on setting things straight.

It’s not like Tech blames him, really, as this is most often is the case only when any of his siblings are involved; thus is the instinct of the oldest brother. Omega, however, is an entirely different story. Despite the fact that the responsibility falls on all of them equally in this particular scenario, and it therefore must be a joint effort to fix it, Hunter - much like Tech - despises the idea of said situations that he personally cannot repair. Willingly taking on the role of her primary guardian, of her buir, he is sure that the accountability Hunter feels is deep-seated. Fervid.

All the more reason for Tech to get on with things.

He opens his mouth to speak, however, and is immediately cut off by a loud, almost pained groaning.

“Are we really gonna keep leavin’ ‘Mega in her room like this, all by ‘erself?” Wrecker grumbles behind him, huffing a laden, drawn out sigh, hot breath tickling the back of Tech’s neck when he takes an exasperated breath to pause afterwards. “I know we said to give ‘er some space and all but- but she was cryin’ all night! I could hear ‘er!” He slams his hand down on his chestplate, turning to look pleadingly at Hunter, and the expression on his face, eyes wide in that same way Omega’s often are when she is upset, makes Tech’s stomach lurch. “There’s gotta be somethin’ we can do, sarge!”

Hunter only casts him a weary glance, much less physically expressive, crossing his arms over his chest. “We don’t want to make things worse by… pushing,” he replies curtly, clenching and unclenching his fists over his biceps. “We don’t have a plan… or any idea what we’re doing. We can’t charge into another discussion that I- we- we… need to better prepare, okay?”

Stumbling over his last words, the sergeant mutters something that Tech doesn’t catch.

Echo scoffs, and stops rubbing at his scomp, glaring suddenly at Hunter. “Wait- we aren’t talking to her about it before we go out? You didn’t want to give her space before, and now all the sudden you wanna let it fester?” he protests, and Tech can feel the annoyance rolling off of him, gripping the controls just a little tighter and staring forward in front of him as he brings the ship down further. “Wrecker is right. It’s been hours and she hasn’t seemed to calm down at all. I said we should give her some time, not let her drown. You of all people should have heard her last night!”

Oh dear.

Tech clears his throat, determined to stop this before it gets out of hand, and before he loses his opportunity with everyone present - sans Omega, of course - to inform them of his breakthrough.

There are two key components that he figures matter most to making said approach work in an optimal manner.

The first being that, in the same way that he did not want to have to deliver the news of Omega’s force sensitivity to his brothers individually, nor does he want to have to explain the answers behind it more than once. No matter how he cuts it, he will have to elucidate; there is no room to leave out any details, thus, it will take time. That, and the sooner that they are all caught up to speed, the sooner they can help Omega, which is dependent on all of their thorough understandings.

The second is that he would like to do so out of earshot of the little girl to which it pertains, not for the sake of keeping her in the dark, but for the sake of easing her into… the rest of things. Overwhelming or frightening her further is a risk he is not willing to take. She has been through enough already. He loathes the idea of causing her further distress.

And given that both of these conditions are currently being met, and he is not sure how much longer he can sit on his discovery before he will burst, it is imperative that he not waste another moment.

“On the topic-“ he starts, just as the Marauder is met fully with solid ground below it, and they are encased by the port on every side of them.

It is Hunter, however, who cuts him off this time. Angling himself towards Echo, lips drawn back into a faint snarl, he glared down at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re her buir, Hunter, and you’re the one who should call all the final shots,” Echo growls back, shaking his head and matching the sergeant’s glare. “What’re we supposed to do, just leave her here while we all go pick up supplies? We should talk to her first!”

“And make things worse?”

“At least we would be trying! We won’t know if it’ll help or hurt her unless we try-“

“Echo-“

“-but if we don’t do anything at all we know it won’t help!”

“But there’s still so much we don’t know! We’re useless-“

“Actually-“ Tech tries, louder still. But for the third time, it falls on deaf ears.

“We’re only useless if we let it sit!”

“She’s just a kid, we can’t throw everything at her at once!”

“We already have!”

“How could we? We don’t KNOW anything-“

“I have more experience with the Jedi, maybe I could help-“

“Don’t call her that-“

“I wasn’t!”

“She isn’t-“

“Enough!”

Tech slams his fist down on the console, jumping out of his chair and turning on his brothers, eyes narrowed. The pair of them are silent immediately, and Wrecker’s eyes blow wide, startled and evidently upset by the bickering. “That is more than enough out of the both of you,” he snaps, tone sharp. Sharper than he is sure he’s ever heard it. “What do you think this foolish arguing will accomplish? Do you truly believe that THIS will do Omega any good? You are running in circles around one another for the sake of blowing off steam! Get ahold of yourselves!”

Wrecker backs away, falling into the seat behind him. Echo stares down at his knees, pointedly refusing to look at Tech, while Hunter does the exact opposite, expression slack when he turns to face him.

“Tech-“

“Hand me my datapad, Echo,” he mumbles, forehead creased. He already feels his bout of anger simmering out of him, and if it weren’t for the fact that they have pressing matters to attend to, he might feel bad for his tone. But he doesn’t. And he is right. Arguing will amount to nothing.

Echo grabs at the datapad with his flesh hand, extending it to Tech, who accepts it hastily.

No more wasting time.

“Hunter,” he starts, meeting his eyes and inhaling heavily. Now or never. “How many times now have you been shot in Omega’s immediate presence?”

He isn’t really sure what kind of a response he expected to that particular inquiry. But he isn’t sure he expected Hunter to go pale, either.

The sergeant’s eyes bulge out of his skull, and he blinks owlishly at Tech. He looks instantly confounded, if not a little uncomfortable, cheeks turning white as a sheet. In his periphery, he notices Echo and Wrecker have similar reactions, but instead of turning to stare at Tech, they share a glance between them that does not go unnoticed, equally aghast.

It makes Tech feel a pang of guilty, now, for the rather blunt approach to a… sensitive subject. He knows that no matter how he broaches the topic, it is not all too pleasant of a start, and there isn’t any better way to preface it really than getting straight to the point. It will get better quickly, that he can assure, but only so long as Hunter can grant him the patience and decidedly not panic under the nature of the question.

“I- w- you- what?” Hunter sputters, dropping his arms at his sides.

Tech goes on, adjusting his goggles with his free hand. “Twice, correct?”

He already knows the answer, but it never hurts to be certain. Especially now.

Hunter nods numbly. “Yes. Twice.”

“Right. And once was just yesterday, on Ajan Kloss?” he asks, glancing at Echo, whose mouth hangs slightly agape, behind him.

Hunter nods again, blinking. “What’re you up to-“

“I have found the reason behind the situation regarding Omega’s force sensitivity,” he replies curtly, gripping at the datapad as his stomach churns, in some combination of relief and anxiety.

His brothers pause, and the space around them becomes entirely still. For several beats, Tech is wholly unable to read the room, not sure if it is shock, or fear, or a gradual mitigation. Perhaps a bit of each, or none of at all. But it causes his chest to tighten, and he feels sweat gather in his palms. In the short time that has passed between reaching his conclusion and now, he never had the opportunity to anticipate their potential reactions, nor had he really gotten that far.

In all honesty, he is still… catching up himself.

All the more reason that it is for the best that Omega not be present for this initial explanation.

Echo breaks the silence first, running his hand over top of his head. “H-Hold on, back up a little,” he mumbles, brows pushed tightly together. He seems to consider his next words for a moment, before slowly proceeding in a hushed tone. “That- how? When? What does that have to do with Hunter getting shot?”

Resigning himself to his own patience, and breathing a careful sigh for the sake of releasing some of his own physical tension, Tech feels himself starting to ease. “I will have to start from the beginning, in order to illustrate the importance of such an incident,” he clarifies, pursing his lips. “I only needed to confirm my theory before proceeding, if you will forgive my obscurity for the time being.”

Hunter immediately makes a vague gesture with his hand, his face unreadable, tone neutral. “What’d you find?”

“That… is the thing about it,” he says slowly, biting his bottom lip and lifting his datapad, hand hovering over the screen. “It was not about finding anything, more so… realizing, if I am making sense.”

Clearly exasperated, impatient, Wrecker groans and leans back in the chair, causing is to creak under his near dead weight. “Yer not! What does any of that mean!”

It’s a matter of articulating the facts without error, for which there is no room. Getting this wrong means worsening an issue that cannot possibly handle such, and while it makes perfect sense, that does not mean that putting it into words will be nearly as simple. Every words must be meticulously chosen, in the right tone, with the right meaning and a natural follow through.

But he’s been here before, hasn’t he? Only a few weeks earlier, when all of this began. And who is he, if not steadfast, faithful to his research. Who would he be, if he were not to see this through? The monster who left his family, his little sister, directionless and in danger, no different from Nala Sé. Taking a deep breath, through his nose, Tech stares blearily at his datapad.

“Something that bothered me, above all, from the very beginning, was how I could have gone on so long without ever having realized that Omega is force sensitive,” he starts, and his fingers begin to fly across the screen, taking note of his own words as he speaks. “There were multiple signs, dating all the way back to our encounter with the rancor on Ord Mantell, that something was different, but I had been willing to chalk it up to her intuition and leave it at that. By the time I finally figured it could not be that simple, Omega had already had substantial time to grow under our care.”

Hunter frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I follow,” he murmurs, pressing a palm to his chin.

Tech hardly waits for him to finish speaking. “For most of her childhood that was spent on Kamino, Nala Sé kept Omega confined to the underwater lab that we were only made privy to when we went to rescue you from Tipoca City. She was hardly, if ever, permitted to leave the area to which she was designated, and so few knew of her existence that the only sentient beings she regularly communicated with were Nala Sé, and her elite team of dedicated Kaminoan assistants.”

He forces himself to pay no mind to the rising tension shared amongst his brothers at the mention of this. He pointedly dismisses the faint red dancing across his vision, and the feeling of his blood boiling under his skin.

“This was done on purpose, for the sake of limiting her exposure to the rest of the Galaxy, and concealing her force sensitivity even from her. For what reason, I do not know. But there is a reason that Omega’s connection to the force is inextricably linked to her emotions,” he’s typing almost as fast as he’s speaking. “Kaminoans are loathe to affection, and to emotional connection, especially those who resided on Kamino, driven only to find success in their scientific exploits, and for continued self-preservation.”

It does make sense, to an extent. Those who are driven by logic, reason, and provable fact are less likely to make important choices based on personal opinion. They find it easier to compartmentalize their feelings, and make use of them only when they matter the most. Tech knows all too well, because he is one of these beings, who cannot be easily swayed by his emotions (or at least, he used to be).

But just because it makes sense, it does not make it right; sentients exist on a spectrum, and there are extremes in such a personality that result in this behavior becoming dangerously harmful, both to themselves, and to others.

A truth that Tech has perhaps… neglected, up until far more recently.

“Omega never had an opportunity to connect on a mental and emotional level with others in her life, and therefore, in the same way that the living force within her missed out on the key developmental stages that should have accompanied her in her earliest years, she was deprived of critical emotional development that children need in order to grow,” he explains, gut sinking with the weight of the issue, and the thought of the cruelty she was unknowingly subjected to.

Echo hums thoughtfully across from him. “But… I thought we already established that she’s emotionally driven? How is that possible if she didn’t have… that?”

His previous thoughts exactly, yes

Tech nods, not looking up. “It is stronger than simply a drive as I initially expected. Because the two aspects of her being were simultaneously suppressed-“

“They’re simultaneously developing, too-“ Hunter pipes up, and Tech glances at him through his goggles, fingers freezing over the screen, hovering with no directive.

He feels a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Precisely. That is what Bardan must have meant when he informed us that her presence appeared to be overcompensating,” and Maker above, it feels incredible to say as much out loud, for the first time. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders and shattered into one thousand tiny pieces. “Both the force inside of her and her emotional growth have been subjected to internal build up, meaning that now that she has been provided with an outlet, namely her exposure to the rest of the Galaxy, both are trying to make up for ‘lost time’ concomitantly.”

Hunter, beginning to fully catch on to what he is trying to say, steps in a second time, eyebrows raised. “Now that she’s allowed to connect to things emotionally, and the force isn’t being intentionally hidden, she must be overwhelmed, and one is reacting with the other,” he mutters, sounding utterly horrified. Why shouldn’t he be? It is exactly as he says. Omega was deprived of the growth she required, and now it is causing her pain, and suffering. A turmoil that she is too young to deal with.

Wrecker huffs deliberately, shaking his head and glaring at his feet. “If I ever get my hands on one of those- stupid long-necks-“

“Easy, Wrecker,” Tech frowns, sighing. He can certainly sympathize, and he would be lying if he said that he did not have those exact thoughts on multiple occasions, however… “There is nothing that we can do to change what has already happened,” he murmurs, gripping the datapad a little tighter still. “But we have already begun to make things better, in that regard, and we can and must continue to do so going forward.”

And therein lies the key to this entire thing.

Echo pushes himself out of the co-pilot’s seat, leaning on the console to get closer in with the rest of them. “How so?”

Tech’s expression remains neutral, looking up from his datapad fully. “Omega has formed bonds with us, both as individuals, and as a whole. That is why she has wielded the force primarily in moments during which we were in danger. Echo and myself on Aargau, and Hunter on Ajan Kloss,” shaking his head, his gaze travels between them. “In the several months now that she has been our care, those bonds have been rather strong from very early on, however, the living force took longer to catch up, and now feels comfortable enough to manifest itself in times of need.

“She is fearful of losing us, in the same vein that we are her,” he pushes his goggles further up his nose. “While she should not have to, she feels a responsibility to protect us, most likely out of that same fear. Now that the force has begun to, as I stated, catch up, is is responding to that desire. I believe that, on Ajan Kloss, unable to discern the severity of the hit you took, the worst was assumed. She experienced a trauma response, concerned that the injury was like that of what occurred on Bracca.

“But if we continue to express the… the love that we hold for her, she will continue to develop in a positive manner,” he allows a wry smile to grace his cheeks, making eye contact with Hunter. The sergeant has softened considerably, some mixture of sadness, relief, and care. All around, a gentle determination.

Tech’s own feelings exactly. “It is up to us to nurture that growth, and to offer needed support by demonstrating through acts of love, that she is no longer trapped. And in time, the overwhelming strength of the force will begin to peter out into an even flow that she will eventually be able to control,” he concludes, pride swelling in his chest. “We have been focusing on the force itself, when our focus should be instead on allowing it to come as naturally as possible whilst we concern ourselves with her emotional well-being.”

A reposeful beat passes between them, and Tech breathes a mental sigh of alleviation. There: he has gone and laid it all out, substantiated the truth and brought it to a point of convergence easy enough to understand and to pursue in the best interest of his little sister.

And that is why Bardan spoke up in the way that he did. ‘I would hate to see you… destroy yourself. Both for your sake, and your sister’s.’ It was not a criticism, but a clue. And whether or not is was intentional, Tech does not know. But it is the truth. Here he has been, all this time, determined not to let his own emotions interfere, to leave it all to Hunter when…

When it is what she needed all along. And he hadn’t any idea.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Hunter says first, breaking the silence. His expression has melted into something much more decisive, much more evidently purposive. “Omega is… she’s our real purpose. It’s up to us to do what we can, now that we know. Whatever it is she needs, no questions asked.”

Wrecker jumps up out of his chair, pounding his right fist into his left palm. “Anything!”

Echo nods, his own smile faint, but entirely present. “Of course. Now we know what we’re doing. We have to make up for it.”

Tech’s small smile spreads into a large grin. “Indeed. I believe that our own lack of surety that she could both see and sense contributed largely to her personal apprehension ,” he adds, placing his datapad down on the console. “We must start by doing our best to curb that fear, so that she is provided with a solid foundation.”

Omega may not have had an ideal upbringing in her early childhood, but that does not mean that she does not still have a chance to make up for what she was so evilly denied. They have a chance to make up for it, and that is exactly what they are going to do.

He has never once doubted the care that he has for her, nor that her brothers feel towards her. If only he knew sooner how that love was effecting her. He was too involved in facts, and the obscurely scientific aspects of her force sensitivity, even in regards to its emotional drive, that he failed to recall that not everything is built purely on fact. So much of the Galaxy, perhaps the most important aspects, such as his relationship with his family, his little sister, relies on feeling.

And he was too afraid to think that he may be given the responsibility of properly navigating that feeling.

No longer.

“Hold on.”

Hunter holds a hand up, asking for silence and stillness as he snaps Tech out of his brief thread of introspective thought. The sergeant’s nose and brows bunch up harshly.

There’s a look, a look that Tech knows all too well by now, that Hunter gets when his enhancement is… at work. When he can feel that something is wrong, by sound, or smell, or lack thereof, singularly. The bunched up expression, exactly as he wears now, eyes narrow, posture tense. When they were cadets, before they had ever ventured on to the battlefield, and it was merely a reaction to poor sensations picked up by his sensitive senses around Tipoca City, he and his brothers used to tease him for the look; little giggles, asking him if he had forgotten to wash his hair, or if whatever expression Crosshair wore was so sour it stunk.

But after needing it for the first time, during a live training exercise right before they graduated, they realized - Hunter included - just how valuable his senses are. Time after time, it has proved critical in their survival. Whether it be a ticking bomb, a rapid wild creature in the woods, droid battalions marching through dense terrain. His hearing and his smell have led them to enemy bases in under the black cover of night.

However it is that look, that particular expression, that is most important.

It is a look that, no matter time, or place, is an instantaneous indication of danger.

“What is it?” Wrecker asks curtly, he he too recognizing the look for what it is and whipping his head both ways as if to look for any immediate threats.

Wordlessly, Hunter starts for the cockpit door, and it whirs open to grant him exit. He stops in the doorway, head held high, and at the same time, both Tech and Echo move to follow him.

Tech barely feels himself moving, a sinking feeling in his gut propelling him forward. “Hunter?”

Hunter marches forward into the hull, clearing the length of the ship in mere seconds before coming to an abrupt halt in front of the gunner’s mount. He does not do anything, not at first, simply standing there, looking at the curtain, and tilting his head to one side. He is listening for something, and in spite of the growing pain, the foreboding feeling overtaking his stomach that he is certain his brothers share, he does not dare to say anything at all.

After what feels like decades, much too long a time gone in only a few moments, Hunter calls out, “Omega?”

To Tech’s growing alarm, many seconds tick by and there is… there is no response.

Not from behind the curtain, nor from the direction of the bunkroom, or the refresher parallel. No little girl’s voice calling back ‘yes’ or ‘what’ or ‘in here’. No little footsteps against the durasteel floors, no blonde head of curls peaking around the curtain. Not even a squeak in surprise, or a harsh indicator that she wishes to be left alone. Nothing at all.

Hunter reaches forward and grabs the curtain, pulling it back without asking for her a second time until he’s already gotten it halfway open. “Omega?”

Tech doesn’t need to look to know. Not by the silence, not by the way that his brothers behind him, gasp, the way that Wrecker suddenly surges forward. Not when he can hear the urgency in Hunter’s voice that tells him that he cannot hear any sort of response, and movement either, as clearly he can see the light of the twin suns on Tatooine.

The gunner’s mount is empty, the ‘fresher door is open and unoccupied, and the bunkroom is entirely still.

Omega is gone.

Chapter Text

For the first time in his life, Tech’s initial instinct is to panic.

He isn’t sure whether that means to yell, or to cry, or to lose total control of himself. But he knows that it is a primitive sort of thought, the idea of panic. Childish, foolish, maybe. But realistic. And at the moment, it would be entirely warranted.

A small part of him, somewhere in the back of his mind, and overshadowed by his trepidation, knows that to react in such a way would result in an unrelenting blow to his pride, in the end. But it doesn’t matter, because Omega is missing. He is staring at her empty room, and at Hunter’s expression, fearful and heartbroken, that tells him all he needs to know. Omega is missing, because no matter where she is on this ship, even if she says or does nothing at all, even when she is fast asleep, Hunter can hear her. Her breathing, her heartbeat,

The look on Hunter’s face, and the slight tremble of his hands, tells him that his eldest brother can hear neither.

“Omega!” Hunter howls her name, whipping around and releasing the curtain with such a force that it rattles the rings keeping it up.

Echo, frozen in much the same way as Tech, horrified as a slow realization dawns on him, does not make a move. He only glances at Tech with a deepening frown.

Wrecker pushes (gently) passed the both of them, stomping through the hull and peering into the gunner’s mount for himself, as if he does not believe it without seeing it up close and personal for himself. He climbs the first two rungs to lean his torso into the room, bracing himself on the edge. The curtain falls over him, but Tech can see the shadow of his head moving frantically from side to side, until he gasps, lunging forward to grab something before stumbling his way backwards and out.

“Her bow’s still here! And ‘er comm!” he reports, holding up both in one hand, waving them around, before his expression morphs into something dark. “D’you think she was taken?” he growls, clenching his free hand into a ready fist, gritting his teeth hard against one another.

No. No, she could not have been taken, Tech’s mind helpfully supplies, as if it is any consolation. It is not. But it is still an important distinction of fact nonetheless. There are no signs of anyone who did not belong here having been inside the ship. No dirty footprints too big to be Omega’s, no indication of a break in at the ramp. That, Hunter would have heard for sure. How he missed Omega… leaving is unprecedented as is. Tech will not point that out. Hunter has already realized this himself, and if he is not beating himself up about it by now, then Tech does not know his brother; there is not a doubt in his mind.

But he definitely would not have missed an infiltration.

And while that does not lessen his urge to lose himself to his trepidation, - the fact that she was not kidnapped - someone must keep a level head and accept the circumstances for what they are, at present. The visible state that his brothers are in tells him that it is going to have to be him first.

Hunter’s chest is heaving, eyes wild and darting around the ship looking for some kind of clue, fists tight at his sides and - Tech suspects - white-knuckled under his gloves. His hair sticks up at the ends, lips drawn into a thin frown. In not quite so many words, his resolve is crumbling. Life gets better, momentarily, before inevitably getting worse again. And that is how things always seem to go, isn’t it? The sergeant is strong, at least he tries to be. But how long that can last, Tech does not know. And he can see that in every ounce of his brother’s being, here and now.

Wrecker must notice it, too, the way he stares, beguiled and afraid, as if searching for security within their eldest only to find nothing at all. He drops his hands defeatedly, the bow and comm clinking against his armor. His brows furrow, waiting for someone to say something. For some kind of a response.

While Echo appears stable enough for the time being, his apprehension is not exactly nonexistent, either. He is always the last to allow himself to feel discouraged in times like these, but none of them what to be the one to say it out loud, the truth, nor does he make any moves to do just that. So it is up to Tech. And for their sake and Omega’s, he will accept the responsibility.

He shakes his head, and makes a conscious effort to ignore the trembling of his hands at his sides. “No,” he murmurs, still unable to meet Wrecker’s eyes in spite of his determination to proceed, focusing instead on a speck of dirt on the floor by his foot. “She left of her own volition, most likely via the back hatch, so as to sneak away easier,” and it pains him, heart caught in his throat, to utter such a thing. But it is true. And it does not take much thought, if any at all, on his part, to figure out… why.

“W- well home come ‘er stuff is still here then?” Wrecker insists, and his shoulders sag. He weakly waves the hand holding the items in question up in front of himself. “She wouldn’t leave without tellin’ us or bringin’ her gear, right?”

She would if she were trying to run away from them. If she were trying to make a quick escape, and limit the possibilities that she be found. Her comm is easy enough to track, even while off. It is a failsafe that he implemented following Bracca, and one that she is aware of, in an effort to help alleviate some level of stress at the time. Her bow, while not equipped with anything to track, relies on energy and electrical pulses that are extremely easy for Hunter to pick up via his senses without having to try. She left them behind intentionally.

That, on top of the easily discernible fact that she was not taken by some malicious force out to get them, tells him for certain that she left with the probable intention not to return. She felt the need to leave, and the why is just as easy to determine as the rest of it, though he is uncertain of the specific argumentation that led her to such a questionable deduction; that running away is not only a viable option, but something that she should or ought to do.

It is neither, of course, and he can already see the wheels turning in Hunter’s head behind his eyes as they morph into something… most displeased. Angry is far from the right word. He isn’t angry, at least, not at Omega. Why should he be? But the wild nervousness dissipates into some combination of unhappiness at the situation as a whole and sadness, perhaps, at her sudden departure. A flicker of steadfast resolution passes over his gaze every few moments, as he seems to consider his next steps, his critical approach, very carefully.

Eliciting a shaky sigh, Hunter shuffles forward, shaking his head. “No, Tech is right,” he starts, leaning against the nearest chair at the navicomputer with his palm. “She’s still upset, and because we- I-“ he stutters for a moment, as if trying to decided on whom he wishes to pin the blame, before squeezing his eyes tight and grimacing. “She ran away. She probably feels guilty,” he says quietly. “And she’s afraid.”

Tech nods, biting his lower lip. “I believe that there are a multitude of reasons that could have compelled her to flee, though I am concerned that it may not be any one in particular, more so recent events regarding her force sensitivity as a whole,” he adds solemnly, adjusting his goggles on his nose. “I wager to guess that she has become far too overwhelmed. It is most often that children resort to such extremity as this when they are unsure of what to do and conclude that leaving will in turn eradicate the problem.”

A beat of silence passes between them. Wrecker, with the dejected demeanor of a beaten massiff, places her comm and bow slowly on the chair against which Hunter is supporting himself.

When Omega first came into their care, Tech took it upon himself to conduct an abundance of research concerning - primarily - child rearing and development, during which he dedicated a short period of time to educating himself on defensive or rebellious measures that children may take should they find such a thing necessary. While his resources for such research is limited, he did find ‘running away’ among the list of things adolescents her age tend to resort to. At the time, he remembers, he chuckled to himself. She does not seem the type, after all.

Then again, at the time, they did not know she was force sensitive.

“We’re all to blame,” Echo replies pointedly, backtracking to Hunter’s vacillation and cutting through the tense quiet like a sharp blade. “And we’re all responsible for making it up to her. We’ll go out and look for her, and we won’t come back until we find her.”

Hunter nods curtly, pushing himself off the chair and moving around the hull, weaving passed his brothers to retrieve his blaster from atop a crate by the ramp housing their gear and helmets, holstering it with a click. Tech follows him with his eyes, but does not turn his head, reaching down towards his own belt to feel absentmindedly for his own pistols, both of which are where they should be, he notes. Not that he anticipates needing them, nor does he want to have to, especially because of… what that would imply.

Omega being endangered post-departure, even if nobody took her initially, is not a thought he wishes to entertain longer than his preparation for such an unbidden possibility requires him to.

The sergeant turns on the group again, simultaneously pressing the back of his hand to ramp. As it lowers behind him, bright light flooding the hull, casting an odd sort of shadow, vaguely ominous, over his face. “Tech, you’re with me in the market,” he orders bluntly, cocking his head in the direction of Tafanda Bay behind them. “Wrecker and Echo, check the port and its perimeter. She couldn’t have gotten very far. When you find her-“ When, not if, Tech reminds himself, trying for optimism, because none of them intend to stop looking until she is safely beside them again. “-comm us.”

Wrecker marches forward, snatching his own blaster up from beside where Hunter’s was as he goes, reaching for his helmet, lying on the floor nearby, at the same time. “A’right. Let’s get going,” he rumbles, brows drawn in determination.

Wordlessly, Hunter turns on his heel, and he does not look back, trusting Tech to follow without further instruction. Naturally, he does precisely so, hurrying after him, boots smacking the durasteel floor hard as he rushes to snag his own helmet off the crate on the way out. He does not think he’ll need that, either, since Hunter did not bring his own, and opts to tuck it under his arm rather than equipping it.

He is hit with a strange wave of heat the moment that he descends the ramp, the moderate controlled temperature of the herdship city comfortable enough against his face. While he and Hunter clear the docking bay in a meager few steps, quick to slip out the front doors, he does still take note that, now that it is in front of him, nothing about the bay has changed. Plain and tall, stone-paved walkways underneath him, sturdy and easy to move about at a rushed pace, contrastingly unlike their last visit, during which they were in no rush at all, really.

They emerge from the port and into the market, and he is hit with a second blast of air, as well as the noise accompanying the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. The sight causes Tech to wrinkle his nose, biting the inside of his cheek with a bit more effort than he intends to, coaxing a drop of blood from beneath the skin. He barely realizes it, however, far too distracted by the state of things ahead of them, and the unexpected metaphorical monster that they appear to be up against, to pay it any mind.

The current condition of Tafanda Bay is, much to his instantaneous chagrin, far less of a ‘condition’ and more of a plight, given their outstanding agenda, and the chain of events that led them to such an outcome as this.

The walkways are not merely busier than last time; they are flooded with patrons, residents, and salespeople alike, flitting about from one side to the other with reckless negligence for those around them. He sees many of them colliding with one another and saying nothing of it, moving on without a second glance. As he tries to peer ahead, he finds that he cannot spot an open gap of any kind through which they will be able to move freely.

To make matters worse, a series of potent scents, some pleasant and some hardly so, waft through the air from the direction of the food stalls lining the left edges of the walkway. Meats and sweets and baked goods, and what he suspects is… fruit, perhaps? Sour and mildly unpleasant, kind to his nose on its own, but not while in coalescence with the variety of other smells.

In short, when Hunter stops abruptly ahead of him, causing him to nearly stumble back over his own two feet, he knows immediately that the situation has gone from bad, - an understatement as is - to worse.

“Shit,” Hunter mutters, face going slack. “I won’t be able to pick up a trail like this,” he growls, little creases of upset pulling at the corners of his eyes.

Tech frowns, stepping around him to get a better look, rather than staring at his brother’s back. “It is roughly the same time of day that we were last here, strictly speaking,” he blinks, pressing a hand to his chin in thought. “Not quite half past twelve-hundred hours, by their artificial time zone. I would assume that it would not yet become quite this busy until further into the night, before petering out some short time after twenty-three hundred,” he informs him, sighing. “That… is what I read, at least.”

“We don’t have that long,” Hunter shakes his head, biting his upper lip.

“The nightlife here is not unsafe, by any means,” Tech adds half-heartedly, trying to help some, if such is at all possible. Though he does not really convince himself, either.

The sergeant scuffs the bottom of one boot against the pavement. “That doesn’t matter. I already can’t… I already can’t find a distinct trail, Tech. I had it, for a minute. But if she went towards the market, anything she left behind will end up dampened by everyone else’s throughout the day. I can just barely catch it now. And her heartbeat will get muddled by whoever is closest to me. She doesn’t have anything on her that I can look for-“ he says pointedly, trying to project cogency. But Tech can see just as clearly through this facade as any other; urgency, disappointment, disheartenment. “The dark will only make it worse.”

Determined to get ahead of Hunter’s increasingly impeding anxiety, before he gives himself a headache worse than what he will likely leave with anyway, Tech takes a few steps forward and scans his eyes over the crowd, looking for something that they could perhaps use to their advantage.

Not thirty feet away, on the edge of the market, not quite in the crowd but right on the cusp, stands a short, round Pantoran man donning a cap and uniform, dark red and white, resembling that of a guard’s uniform. A local officer, perhaps, his mind swiftly supplies. Tech studies him for a moment, his skin, a darker shade of blue, yellow markings across his forehead and jawline. His eyes are kind, or at the very least, passive; reasonable. Or so he hopes. At the very least, he is clearly on duty, keeping still and watching the world around him tentatively.

At that moment, the Pantoran lifts his eyes, as if he can feel himself being observed, and they meet Tech’s, questioning. Suspect.

Tech clears his throat. “Follow my lead,” he mumbles under his breath, tapping Hunter discreetly on the leg.

His brother raises a brow, gaze traveling skeptically, but he does not protest or inquire, trailing after Tech as soon as he makes for the Pantoran. They cover the distance in few strides, padding across the stone, and the Pantoran meets them some three quarters of the way along. He lifts his chin up, offering a faint, friendly smile, and Tech finds that they both need look down in order to look at anything other than the top of his cap whilst in close proximity.

“May I help you gentlemen?” he asks, folding his hands placatingly behind his back, as if he can sense their reluctance. He probably can. They are not exactly the paragon of self-assured, at the moment. How can the be, so long as Omega is unaccounted for?

Tech tries to smile back, peering out from behind his goggles, adjusting the strap. “Yes, I am afraid we are not from here, nor do we visit often. We were not expecting this level of congestion within the market,” he starts, and it is not a lie by any means. It is the truth. And he prays, Maker help him, that the Pantoran is neither suspicious, nor doubtful of their geniality. They may look out of place, and the whispering scarcely helps, but this is the only lead he has to work with.

The entirety of his approach depends solely upon that success.

Luckily, the Pantoran’s smile does not falter. “Ah! Yes, beginning several days ago, all the way through tomorrow at day’s end, is what we who live here refer to as Moulee-rah Week,” he winks, grinning amusedly. “Money Week, in Huttese. It is the time of year during which we as a city make the most credits, due to mass travel to Coruscant for ‘getaways’, as the travelers call them.” He pauses, before carefully adding “Though, I do not peg you for typical travelers.”

“We are here on business,” Tech replies quickly. Also… not a lie. They are… were- doing a job for Cid. Business.

“I see,” the Pantoran nods, and Tech can feel Hunter glancing at him, wanting to chime in, speed this up. He’s caught on. Of course he has.

If there is anything that authority such as this, officers and patrols, are good for, it is finding missing people. It is their job, after all, to observe the comings and going of the land to which they are assigned. And if they don’t, they become a security risk. Especially here, a peaceful urban society, with a crowd as large as this one, during a time of year that is, decidedly, rather busy for a considerable stretch of time.

Surely, this Pantoran has seen a great many people, and paid them no mind. But a child, tiny and alone, unfamiliar with the terrain, surely would have stuck out to him.

“Actually,” Hunter shuffles forward, trying for sturdy politeness, although his stony expression betrays him. “We were separated from one of our… crew because of all the chaos. We were wondering if you’ve seen them at all.”

Crew. Not sister, or ‘ad’ika’, or otherwise. Separated, rather than ‘run away’, or lost. Nonspecific, and careful enough not to take too much of a risk. As normal as the Pantoran may seem, nobody can be trusted so readily in a situation such as this, especially as clone deserters. She is in enough danger as it is, alone and nearly untraceable, force sensitive, on top of being a fugitive of the Empire.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,” the Pantoran frowns, cocking his head to one side. “I’ve seen quite a few folks on their own or looking a little lost today, would you be able to give me a description?”

Tech leans forward on the edge of his toes, ever so slightly. “Yes. A girl, roughly four feet,” and he places a hand flat at his side for emphasis. “Blonde hair cut rather short, dark skin. Human, might I add.“ He tries to maintain a vague description, in the same way that Hunter did, leaving out the details of how Omega is dressed, or how she was - most likely - carrying herself despondently. Anything that may give away the true nature of the situation, without being too indistinct, that he may not know her at all.

The Pantoran furrows his brows, seeming to consider whether or not he has seen anyone matching Omega’s profile during however long it has been that he has taken up post here. “A short girl, you say? Is she a child?” he asks, blinking.

“Yes,” Hunter replies curtly, eye twitching anxiously.

“I do believe I saw her not too long ago, then. I haven’t seen many children on their own,” he tells them, shifting to his right to point directly towards the busy market with two fingers. Tech’s stomach drops, chills running up his back. “But if I’m thinking of the right girl, she went straight into the crowd,” he smiles sympathetically. “I’m not sure where she went after that, but I don’t think she’ll be very easy to find in all that mess. I’m very sorry.”

Tech can feel the panic rising in his chest all over again, weighing down his throat, like bile. If Hunter, as he has already said, cannot pick up a direction in that crowd, then they have no way of tracking her. It does not help, really, that - while he hates to admit it, and often pretends it is not true - overwhelming mental strain will only further hinder his tracking ability. Mental strain, such as headaches like those that he gets from too much sensory input all at once in crowds of people, and worry or stress, which… goes without saying now, really.

And while he does not only rely on hearing and feeling, all of the various smells, food and otherwise, will clog his sense of smell expeditiously. Every individual in the Galaxy possesses a unique scent, Omega included. Hunter can identify every last one of them - Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and Omega - by scent alone. It has come in handy plenty of times before, such as on Pantora. But this is not Pantora. This is Tafanda Bay, and it is inarguably more… severe, as it were.

But they will not give up. They will not stop, not until they find Omega. Not until she is safe, with them, and they have set things right.

They will simply have to do things the old fashioned way. Recon. Search and rescue. And Maker only knows how long that could take them. The longer that it takes, the farther Omega will be able to travel, and the more danger she will be in. And the longer they stand here, entertaining the Pantoran, the more time they are wasting.

If only Crosshair were here.

Though he quickly dismisses that thought. It will not do him, or any of them, any good now. ‘If’s’. They cannot afford ‘if’s’. He turns to angle his body towards Hunter, looking him over for any sign of a visible reaction. The sergeant does not look directly at him, following the Pantoran’s fingers instead, staring out over the overwhelming sea of sentients pushing and shoving one another.

“If you would like,” the Pantoran hastily adds, pursing his lips. “I can ask the rest of the officers on patrol to look out for her?”

No. No, the last thing that they need is Omega on a police radar. “No thank you,” Tech declines, shaking his head. “We will manage on our own. We appreciate your assistance, and the information that you were equipped to provide,” he gives a wry smile, knowing perfectly well that his tone is not nearly as thankful sounding as he would like it to be.

“Sure,” the Pantoran gives them another sympathetic look. Pity. Tech markedly dislikes the idea of pity from strangers. “I hope you’re able to find her. The offer for help still stands if you change your mind.”

Hunter gives a curt nod and, without another word, takes long, purposeful strides in the direction of the food stalls, off to the side before the crowd begins in earnest. Tech is on his heels, sparing glances to the right, watching as Ithorians chatter with one another, a Gungan tries to cut a deal with a Twi’lek salesman. A small group of human children run by, nearly bumping into one patron after another as they hurry along to wherever it is they are off to, giggling and calling behind to each other.

They come to a stop in front of a light post, beside a towering building wall that does some work in concealing them away from prying eyes and ears. Hunter waits, one beat, two, no doubt listening for anyone who may be listening to them. That, he should be able to discern in spite of the overload of sensory input. After a moment, he leans back against the wall, procuring his comm from his belt.

“Havoc One to Havocs Three and Four,” he murmurs, hailing Wrecker and Echo, squeezing the button with visibly unnecessary force. Unease. “Do you copy?”

The comm fizzles, crackling listlessly before it beeps, followed by Echo’s eager lilt floating through. ‘Havoc Four to Havoc One. We haven’t found her. Any updates?’

Hunter hesitates, eliciting a tired sigh. “The Bay is packed. Civilians everywhere. A guard says he saw he go directly into the crowd, but I can’t pick up an exact trace on her. We don’t have a lot of time,” he explains, hands shaking.

‘Are you kiddin’ me?’ Wrecker grumbles nervously. ‘So she’s in all that mess somehwhere?’

Tech beckons for Hunter to pass off the comm to him, taking it into his palm and holding it close to his lips. “We are going to have to split up and search. Report to the market and fan out,” he instructs, gaze locked with Hunter’s. “She could have gone anywhere, and we do not know how far she has made it, or whether or not she chose to hide herself due to the overwhelming crowd. Check every crevice you come across, but try not to draw too much attention to yourselves.”

If she is hiding, she could have gone anywhere. She is small, after all, with the acute ability to hide in tight spaces that the lot of them could never dream of climbing into. That must be taken into consideration.

‘Copy,’ Echo replies shortly, and the sound of both his and Wrecker’s feet on the move flits through the comm, muffled only by his voice. ‘You said you spoke to a guard? Did you get the authorities involved?’

“No, not past inquiring whether or not she has been spotted,” Tech hurriedly clarifies, pushing his goggles up his nose. “Do not make any further contact with them that is not absolutely essential. We do not want to involve them on a large scale,” he says, lowering his voice and casting a glance at the Pantoran at his post in the distance.

‘On it,’ Wrecker growls. ‘We’ll keep ya updated.’

And the comm connection cuts out, indicating termination on his end.

Tech closes his eyes and takes a breath as soon as the connection is gone, chest tight and gut clenching. This is progress, he tells himself. Something is better than nothing at all, and that is what they started with, in a sense: nothing. But now they have something, some vague lead, and he is not going to complain or argue with small success. Whatever it takes to find Omega and bring her home.

He hands the comm back to the sergeant, pressing his lips into a thin line. Hunter takes it back, blinking, and slips it absentmindedly into his belt where it belongs. He does not say a word, nor does he appear to have anything to say. Tech does not blame him.

That crushing sense of responsibility to care for his family, for his… for his child, - and dare Tech think it, daughter - is ever present. Ever growing. And he feels it, the strength of it, unyielding, a driving force of life inside of him. The guilt of his perceived weakness, his moments of unpreparedness and failure, and the weight that he feels, that Tech can see in his eyes and on his face; to put this right, in spite of the fact that his lack of propensity to function without the extent of his enhancements is as real as Omega’s gaping absence.

Extending a hand forward, Tech lays his palm against the side of Hunter’s arm, drawing his full attention. He is determined to project a firm resolve, narrowing his eyes behind his goggles. Hunter meets his stare with equal strength in an instant, brows sunk deep across his forehead.

“We will find her, Hunter,” he murmurs, squeezing at his shoulder. “We will find her, and we will make things right.”

Chapter Text

Weaving through the crowd proves itself to be a greater challenge than Tech had anticipated.

Getting any sort of vantage point to get a better look at his surroundings, proves even worse.

While it already did not appear too pleasant from observation alone, what he had not really expected was for everyone to push and shove one another as though in a rush. Why they are in a rush, he hasn’t got any idea, seeing as how, if what the Pantoran told them about Moulee-rah Week is true, nothing that most of the patrons are tending to is categorically urgent. This is a stop on their way to a - as he believes wealthy civilians call it - vacation.

Last that he checked, - and he is not quite sure how all of this works, despite his genius boasting extensive knowledge of other cultures in which he is not involved, - he has never gotten the impression that ‘relaxing’ or otherwise, whatever it is they refer to it as, is something that operates on time constraints. He inwardly scoffs at the absurdity of it; if this is how they behave while shopping for rations and personal goods, he thinks to himself, they would hardly have survived an hour on the fields of war.

He recognizes most of the market as having gone unchanged since their last visit, but, as with any location, time of day and the amount of others present does affect the overall look and feel of the place. Mostly because he is not able to look ahead and view the market on a large scale at any given point along the way. Thus, it feels largely like going into a mission blind, with no knowledge of the terrain nor the precise destination, only the objective.

The only point of reference that he does have, albeit still through narrowed eyes squinting past the crowd, is the floral shop on the right corner of the market entrance. Having noticed it last time, as well, he remembers that the plants on display outside of the shop are symbolically indicative of the end of the street, and therefore the beginning of the port. If he finds himself faced with the exotic flora after already having walked by some time ago, then he knows that he has, somehow, gotten turned around, and is likely headed in the wrong direction.

‘Last time’. The irony of the situation at hand is not lost on him.

Last time, he had been fascinated by Tafanda Bay, and gone about with the intention of documenting his ‘next time’, which is unfortunately this time, here. Last time, Omega clung tight to Hunter’s hand and pulled him along, leading him with certainty, and he held her hand back, never taking his eyes off of her. Last time, Echo had said, plainly and worriedly, that if Omega were to get lost out here, they would be in for a heap of trouble. Tech had told him with an unwavering confidence that that would not happen. That everything would be fine.

Last time, they spoke about the Jedi, and Omega, and why it is for the best that she is not exposed to them. Why her attachment to Hunter, and his to her, is so critical, so binding.

And look at them now.

If only he had had the chance before now to thoroughly understand the place, then he would have been able to better navigate this terrain among all of this exigency. Yet here they are, clueless and desperate, searching for Omega. She has no hold on Hunter’s hand, not leading them along, but instead trying to get away from them. She is lost, run away, and they haven’t a clue as to where exactly she’s gone off to. She is aware of her force sensitivity, the cause of her disappearance, and they are aware in turn of why that attachment not only to Hunter (with whom it is paternal), but to all of them (with whom he is not quite sure how she views it), is infinitely more important than they realized.

And that is his most glaring mistake. Not he and his brothers as a whole unit, but him and him alone. Tech. His biggest mistake. Because while none of them realized that her emotions and the force were tied together in the way that they are, and therefore could not accommodate appropriately, he is the only one who did so to an extreme. An extreme bred from innate instinct and personal comfort and discomfort, sure, but detrimental nonetheless. Neither his upbringing nor his brothers’ kind understanding of that extreme that he has always been used to excused what it has done. Not to him, and especially not to Omega.

Regulation. Control. Rationale. What was so erroneous about it?

He gets that now, too. In the same way that he assimilates the extenuating circumstances of Omega’s force sensitivity, he cannot deny the truth whilst it stares at him, severe and unyielding, and screams his name out into a void that he has allowed so long to expand.

‘Havoc Two, sitrep,’ Hunter’s voice comes gargled through the comm inside his helmet, stirring him out of his thoughts. The helmet he replaced atop his head for the sake of free hands, and the convenience of such, some hour or so earlier, when he had separated from the sergeant to cover more ground.

They have been searching without pause that long already, and found little by way of information. Thoughts, here and there, that lent themselves to ideas as to where she may have headed, or turns she may have taken, but little else.

Tech presses two fingers to the side of his helmet, flipping his visor down with his other hand at the same time. He knows how it must look to those passing him by, but he has long since give up on inconspicuousness. “I have veered off into a less crowded side street, however it is still rather busy,” he reports, only allowing himself to grimace beneath his helmet because he knows that Hunter cannot see him. “I have come to wonder whether or not she may have made an attempt to find a less compact location, assuming she most likely has gotten overwhelmed by the scale of the crowds by now.”

It’s a well-educated guess, and he knows it. Ever since Pantora, which feels so terribly long ago by now, she has been wary of large numbers of people in tight spaces. He cannot blame her. And while it has been avoidable, for the most part, she has expressly stated that she does not find it agreeable during times when they could not get around it.

Hunter sighs over the comm. ‘I thought so too, but I haven’t made much headway,’ he grumbles, audibly displeased by the lack of progress on either end. ‘Echo said he doubled back to the port just to be certain, Wrecker went west,’ he adds, dropping the call signs. Not that they were ever all that necessary for a place such as this, anyway. Habit, really.

“And… you have not picked up a trail?” Tech asks reluctantly, as he continues to press through the crowd, eyes darting from side to side, noting empty alleyways from time to time, and shops with closed doors and dark windows. Potential hiding places, though the HUD view of his visor, scanning for clues, does not pick up any indications of disturbances.

‘Only here and there,’ Hunter mutters frustratedly, muffled by civilian chatter around him. ‘I’m getting more concerned-‘

“Do not assume the worst,” Tech cuts him off hastily, flipping his visor back up so as to allow himself better view with his naked eye. The last thing they need is for Hunter to go on and panic in earnest. Not to say that he hasn’t had a proper freak-out to some degree already, he is still level-headed. Nervous, but level-headed. “She would have put up a fight if something were to happen. In the midst of all of this, and correct me if I am wrong, but would you not have noticed such a commotion?”

There is a moment of hesitation on the other end, meaning that Tech has made a point that Hunter can seldom argue against. Obviously. But at the seconds tick by, one, then two, and a third, all of which Tech patiently counts whilst scanning the street ahead of him, he feels a curious pang in his stomach.

“Hunter?” he calls into the comm, skidding to a stop and nearly colliding with a wandering Ithorian as a result. The Hammerhead seems to ignore him, however, rushing by without so much as an acknowledging glance or an angry side-eye.

Hunter mumbles something through the comm that is entirely inaudible, though Tech has a perfectly good idea of it, a little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Pardon?”

‘Whatever.’

How mature, Tech thinks to himself with a growing snicker. But he isn’t going to further antagonize his poor brother in the midst of horrid anxiety and fret. At least he knows that the sergeant is relenting to the notion, and perhaps that assists with his guilt, to some extent. Shaking his head, Tech continues marching forward, pressing his feet hard down on the pavement of the street with each step. Progress is progress, but the only way to quash that guilt entirely, not only in Hunter, but in all of them, is by finding Omega.

“Right,” he replies shortly, pulling his datapad from his belt at the same time. “I will hail you again in the event that I find anything that may provide insight into her whereabouts, or once I have located Omega,” he says, matter-of-fact, rather than framing it as a question that Hunter should have to waste time thinking about a moment before diverting his full attention back to his own search.

By the way the comm fizzles out without another word from the other end, Tech assumes that Hunter accepts the gesture for what it is.

Well on his way, he notices that there appears to be a gap in the crowd a few meters ahead, as well as an end to this street. Odd, perhaps, considering he assumed that every last corner was packed to some extent or another, but he is hardly going to complain. Carefully nudging his way through a large group of rowdy humans laughing and yelling above one another, he makes a break for the clearing and manages to push past the momentarily numbing chaos that accompanies the feeling of be surrounded by others.

Upon making it through, he instantly finds the reasoning behind the uncharacteristic clearing and sighs. A spill, and a rather large one at that, from the edge where he finds himself standing in front of it, to the end of this particular street, lining the walkways and running across the few cracks here and there in the road. There are several things, too, that he notices are immediately odd about it, and he isn’t quite sure where to begin.

For one, the lack of a maintenance team, or Bay workers present to clean it up, in spite of how considerably large it is in relevance to street over which it runs, and how busy the herdship city is at present. Should they not prioritize maintaining a sanitary and secure environment so long as they are dealing with such crowds? Would it not be prudent to prevent spills like this from occurring in the first place?

That is the other decidedly odd thing about it: it has been sitting for several long minutes now. Ten, fifteen, perhaps. Plenty of time for someone to have been alerted and reported to begin righting the mess. He flips his visor down to get a better read on the spill. Luckily enough, it is only water, but that does not eliminate any dangers, not by any means, especially given that it is rather dirty. He would almost say muddy, if not for the distinctly smooth, flowing texture of the water.

Tech glances around in search of a source, eyeing the rows of mostly vacant storefronts and stalls on either side of him. This street is, by all accounts, primarily desolate, and with little to offer. He can only assume that, for all intents and purposes, it is more so in use as an overflow space off of the main attraction that is the market, and less of anywhere that anyone wants to be unless they are looking for a place to take a breather.

A few feet away and off to his left, he locates the source with little effort; a series of barrels lay toppled over, residual droplets of water dripping from the rims. Where the dirty water came from, or why the barrels were left out with evident precariousness, he does not know, and he stops short or further investigation when his visor beep, attestation to the fact that it has picked up on some sort of anomaly that his self-integrated system is programmed to deem worth noticing.

Eyes narrowed in confused concentration, Tech steps around the barrels, craning his head to better see over them.

For a moment, he swears his heart stops beating.

Moving away from the spill, and in an evenly spaced, elongated pattern as if the culprit were running, is a trail of dirty, watery footprints leading as far back as the end of this street.

Small footprints, no doubt belonging to a child.

Omega-sized footprints.

And why would any child, other than one who is trying to escape, trying to hide, run down along a vacant street alone? What child here at the market is out and about without the presence of a guardian, a parent or otherwise, if not hurrying around with other children? And yet, the set of footprints is lonely, and telling; telling of a fearful child with an objective of evasion, unfamiliar with the terrain across which they flee, but far too desperate, far too afraid, to worry about the destination whilst clouded by the need to travel.

Tech does not waste another moment, picking at the bottom of his helmet as he charges forward, following the trail of footprints at a steady pace. Not quite running himself, but hardly taking his time.

His gait is much larger than that of the child’s, of his little sister, and two or sometimes even three of what were her own steps are covered in only one of his own.

Suddenly, some halfway through following the trail, it occurs to him how close he may just be to finding Omega. To seeing her with his own eyes and confirming her safety.

And with that realization, it also occurs to him that he has no idea how he is going to approach her once he does.

Subconsciously slowing his pace, Tech frowns underneath his helmet, furrowing his brows for no one but himself. What is he going to say? How is he going to ensure that he can reach her, both physically and emotionally, without frightening her away, or causing an outburst? He does not know the current state or stability of her emotion, or whether or not running away and thus getting some air - as crude of a way as that feels to describe it - has helped her to clear her mind at all. Or, alternatively, if it has made things worse.

Knowing Omega, he does not expect her to try and evade him further once he has found her, but in light of recent events, and the fragile circumstances of things, he does not want to operate off of any assumptions. Luckily enough, the former is less of a gray area. He knows what he needs to say to her, what he wishes so deeply to express. It is only a matter of finding the words, and getting through to her. He suspects he will best find his footing in the moment, however, seeing as how he is incapable of predicting her reaction at this stage.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Tech slows his pace as he reaches the end of footprints. They have begun to fade away as he assumes the water began to lose fluidity the further along she went. But where the tracks stop, the street splits off in two direction. To the right, another side street that he assumes will loop back around and inevitably lead to the front of the marketplace, and the port. And to the left, an alleyway.

Before daring to peer down the alley, Tech presses his back flush up against the outer wall of yet another empty building, inhaling deeply before going entirely silent, and making every effort to block out any lingering background noise emanating from the busy city.

The first sound that he hears is a soft sniffle, followed by the shuffling off feet - soles of boots - on the stone, and an incoherent mumbling.

Flicking his visor up, he turns his head slowly to the side, one hand hovering over his holster just to be safe, just to be certain. He leans over enough to gaze around the corner while still covered in bulk by the wall, eyes narrowed into cautious slits.

And he sees it, sees her, without having to look long at all.

At the end of the alley, appearing to have shoved herself snug into a corner, is Omega, growing unruly mop of blonde hair covering her face. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, hugged tightly against her by her arms. She grips her wrists on either side to maintain the firm hold on herself. Even from several deceiving yards away, he can see clearly that her boots and trousers, as well as the hem of her tunic sticking out underneath her arms, are - at the very least - damp with the dirty water.

Like a harsh wave off the coast of Scarif, Tech feels his gut twist when he is overtaken by sympathy and solicitude. She is utterly miserable, and he can feel his heart splintering and shattering inside his chest all over again.

That is what compels him to move, without further consideration: that desire to protect, to care for her, ripping away at his insides.

He presses his fingers firmly to the side of his helmet. “Havoc Two to team,” he whispers into the comm, and Maker help him, just this once if never again, they must listen to what he is about to say, lest it worsen things. “I have found Omega. Do not come to my location. She is not in danger. I repeat, do not come to my location,” he mutters with gentle urgency. “I will retrieve her, and we shall return to the Marauder. Meet us there and prepare to discuss further upon our arrival.”

Tech does not wait for a response, pulling his hand away to silence his communications, volume down, radio silent. In that same motion, he pulls loosely at the edges of his helmet, coaxing it up and over his head with one hand whilst moving the other away from his pistol.

Quietly tucking it beneath his arm, and without a second thought, he turns the corner into the alleyway in slow, deliberate steps.

Chapter Text

“Omega?”

Tech tries his hardest, with every minute fiber of his being, to keep his voice as low and as gentle of which he is physically capable. He knows perfectly well how blunt and dull he has a tendency to be when he speaks, and he knows how often it comes across to others, even his siblings who know that it is not his intention to sound that way, intrinsically harsh. Regardless of the fact that it is purely out of habit, and merely the way that he naturally sounds, he has also made more of an effort since Omega came along to ‘tone it down’, as it were.

Children, especially those who were not appropriately exposed to positive interactions while particularly young, or - in Omega’s case - were deprived of emotional growth and attachment entirely, most regularly benefit from calm, non-threatening approaches to situations that frighten or displease them (an understatement, he suspects). If he is not strategic, or overtly careful, passive, then she may try to close herself off as means of perceived self-preservation.

Upon hearing his voice, recognizing his presence, her defensive hold around herself becomes visibly tense and uncomfortable. He wonders, offhandedly and with little importance to the task at hand, - the exact opposite of such, really, but present all the same - if she is able to sense him as he comes closer. Was she aware of his advancement before he spoke, hoping that he would not notice her? Can she sense his feelings, and his attempts to project harmlessness, now?

Unaware, however, if she intends to respond, even though an educated guess has him believing she won’t, he takes a few cautious steps closer. “Omega,” he says softly, a second time. Not a question, nor a demand, either. “Are you… unharmed?”

She does not appear to be, at first glance, in any kind of physical pain. But for the sake of his nerves, and the alarm in his head screaming to ‘protect!’, he has to ask, to put his mind at ease so that he limits the risk of starling her should he suddenly learn that she has been hurt in the midst of trying to help.

Without lifting her head, she shakes it back and forth against her forearms. “N-No,” she mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. If it wasn’t for his intense focus on her and her alone, he may not have heard it. Quiet. Quiet, and broken. Oh-so horribly, terribly shattered. Lonely, and afraid, and begging for something he cannot identify.

Needless to say, not all that convincing.

“Are you certain?” he adds with an extreme attentiveness to his tone, inching forward still. He is hit with the overwhelming feeling like he would experience were he walking on cracking ice over Kamino’s ocean. “If you are hurt at all, I can take you back to the Marauder in less time than if you were to travel alone. And I have with me rudimentary forms of care such as med-patches and bacta, if you so require-“

Upon the realization that he is rambling, an anxious habit that he is not keen on allowing to get in the way of her current turmoil lest it worsen her state of being, he clamps his mouth shut, cursing himself for how easily his words can get away from him. Luckily enough, and to his never ending relief, Omega does not appear to have any real reaction to it, most likely due to the fact that she may be used to it. It is a common occurrence, after all, though often mental and without preamble, whereas-

Whereas now, he has a reason. And the reason… is her.

“I-“ she sighs frustratedly, slowly turning her head to face him, without lifting it off her arms, revealing only one of her eyes, barely visible and shadowed by her messy bangs. “I- I fell and now my hands are red… a little,” she sniffles, swaying distractedly to one side, away from him. “B-But it’s fine,” and it isn’t. He can tell before she finishes speaking that it isn’t. “Just… scraped, ya know?”

Adamant about avoiding any unnecessary fuel added to the fire, Tech makes the split second decision not to push her any further, other than offering his assistance. “Would you like a sanitizing cloth, then, to wipe away the dirt?” he offers, not to do it for her, but perhaps to restore her often sought after sense of self-sufficiency, and her fragile pride, if nothing else.

A beat passes and she says nothing, staring at him with one eye. If it were not his little sister, he probably would have found this ominous. With Omega, however, it is little more than additionally disheartening. “O-Okay,” she mutters, nodding into herself.

Tech takes her mildly shocking lack of resistance as the gift that it is; an invitation to close the gap between them entirely. A show of trust. What more can he possibly ask her for, when she owes him nothing, and he is in debt to her for everything?

Crouching beside her and placing his helmet down on the ground beside him to free up his hands, he is now subconsciously aware of the way that the alley feels darker the lower her finds himself to the ground. The unpleasant odor of the dingy dead-end fills his nostrils, much to his chagrin, but it doesn’t matter. He’s smelled much worse, in much less desirable circumstances. He can grin and bear it, for his sister’s sake.

Reaching into the pouch on the right side of his belt, he procures a sanitation cloth meant for wiping down messy surfaces and cleaning superficial wounds. If it were any other day, he would ask for her hands and offer to clean them up for her. Normally, she wouldn’t refuse that offer. But instead, he simply holds it out to her, and, forced to do so in order to both receive the cloth and make use of it, she lifts her head up and away from her balled up limbs.

Taking it into her palm, he can see now how dirty her hands really are. Covered in what he suspects is the unclean water and bits from the stone pavement, they look as though they may be sore due to how red they are. He cannot help but wince in sympathy, though he hastily diverts his attention so as not to make her feel embarrassed.

Her face, however, is much less of an easily overlooked sight.

Skin unusually pale, her eyes are bloodshot from crying, rims red, cheeks stained with tears. She does not look at him, pointedly giving all of her attention to her hands as she scrubs effortlessly at the grime. Her hair sticks to her forehead in some places, while sticking up in others. The sorrow is written so plainly in her expression, and her demeanor, and again, as if it will never come to an end, he feels the pain of distraught helplessness yank at his insides.

Easing himself down to the ground to sit beside her, another gesture that she does not protest, Tech shuffles along the ground to sit shoulder to shoulder without touching. One step at a time. Non-threatening.

“T-Thank you,” she mumbles, bunching up the disposable cloth in her fists before drawing her hands to her chest. She takes a shaky breath in before turning her eyes down to her knees. “I’m sorry.”

Truly taken aback, Tech feels his stomach clench at her apology. Sorry? What the hell does she have to be sorry for? She hasn’t done anything wrong. She may have given them all a terrible scare, but he does not blame her for that. She is more afraid than any of them may even have the right to be. This is about her, after all. It affects her the most. And with all that he has learned and put together, how can he fault her for her emotions getting the better of her in the midst of her distress?

Glancing at her so as not to stare, Tech replies “You do not have anything to apologize for, Miss Omega.” He hopes, really and truly, that it does not sound harsh.

Omega shrugs noncommittally. “You s-seem u-upset,” she frowns, eyes dull and turned down. “I can t-tell.”

Without missing a beat, Tech asks her, heart in his throat “You can sense my unhappiness?”

She nods, glaring a hole into the stone between them. “B-Because of m-me. I- I made all of you u-unhappy.”

“Omega, we are not unhappy with you. I- I am not unhappy with you,” he says softly, and he hasn’t got any idea whether or not she will believe him. It is true, she is not the source of of of their displeasure. Not by a long shot. But he is not the one he need convince. “I am unhappy with myself,” he adds, for good measure.

He thinks, momentarily, about said unhappiness, and why is it ubiquitous inside his mind. Not that he doesn’t know, more so that he has not thought about it at length. He’s found her. He should be feeling better. But his guilt is ripping at his lungs, because he still has not fixed things. That is the source of his unhappiness; his lack of prudence, and the time he feels as though it is taking him to get there, in spite of the fact that he knows he cannot rush in head on. Impatience, and culpability.

But to get there, he has to be able to get through to her, and to do that, he must get her to understand his sincerity, and the fact that it is true she is not to blame for his discontent. So long as she can sense his unhappiness as his primary emotion, knowing at the front of his mind, he suspects he won’t be able to achieve that. Instead, inhaling through mouth, he focuses on that goal; on what it is he wants to tell her, and the way he knows he will feel when he is able to get it out. Relieved. Calm. And he projects those feelings, those desires, forcing himself to focus on that, rather than his lingering sadness.

“I-It feels like I m-made you unhappy,” she insists, though she does look up at him fully, one eyebrow quirked in some gesture a mixture of sad and confused. So he must be doing something right.

Daring to lean nearer to her, Tech clears his throat. “Is- did you-“ he sputters, feeling utterly helpless and useless, fumbling with words he can hardly form to begin with. The fear of failure, and making a wrong move, screams at him from the back of his subconscious. Again, he forces it to leave him be, overpowers it. Nothing will get better if he does not do something.

“Is that why you… attempted to leave the ship… discreetly?” he asks, looking back at her, matching her gaze with mustered stability.

She drops the cloth bundled in her fist into her lap to free her hands, starting to pick at the hem of her sleeve with growing apprehension.

The ‘yes’ goes unsaid, but he knows, and he isn’t going to make her say it outright.

“And… if I may ask,” he murmurs, adjusting his goggles on his nose. “What did you hope to accomplish by… doing so? Did you not think that we would come looking for you?” Maker help him that it does not sound grating, mean. It is not. He just wants to understand, and for her to place her trust in him, even if only for the time being.

Omega draws in a loud sniff, blinking owlishly, as if he should already know the answer. “I-I’m just a problem for y-you guys. E-Even Hunter,” she sighs, and he wants to intervene, to tell her how entirely wrong that is, but she has more to say, and he does not interrupt. “Y-You were scared! When I w-wielded the f-force- a-and I d-didn’t mean to I p-promise! I didn’t want to- to hurt anyone! B-But I could feel it, and I- I’ve felt this w-way for so long, when… on K-Kamino, but I didn’t know! A-and I didn’t mean any of it but now- now I know that I- I’m feeling y-your emotions I’m n-not just really good a-at guessing and-“

She hiccups, and a choked sob cuts her off, her tears beginning in earnest. They pool over her lashes before pouring over her cheeks like the rain of vigorous Kamino storms collecting on the landing platforms on a particularly bad day. Those sorts of days where the cadets would stay away from the windows, afraid that they would cave in, and the ‘valuable’ troopers would be ‘relocated’ down and center of the facility in case the rest of the city fell to pieces.

Relentless, stringent, and terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks a second time, accent thick and suffocating.

Unable to sit here, incompetent and still, any long, Tech banishes his attempts at a slow and placating approach. He reaches his arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush into his side, and she all but falls into him, comparatively tiny hands gripping at his bicep. She buried her face against the edge of his chest in that same way she does whilst seeking comfort from Hunter. The feeling is alien, unusual, and perhaps uncomfortable, but he does not care, nor does he want it any less.

And he realizes, instantly and by her lack of defensiveness, that she wants this, too; comfort, closeness, and protective tangibility from those she loves, and whom love her back. Her brothers, her family.

She deserves nothing less, and Tech is, in a word, finished. He is done with his old ways, the ways of his youth, and the ill perceived idea that his desired rationale can coexist with his need to make his little sister happy. With his brothers, it has always been different. None of them were tactile, sans Wrecker, and learning and growing, decanting together, created in them a bond that cannot be destroyed. Echo, too, while not raised alongside them, shares in that brotherhood. They do not need to express love to know that it is there, and it is real.

But that is not the case with Omega. She is different, in every aspect of the concept, and that is - albeit only a small - part of why she is unquestionably one of their family, their little sister. She needs that affirmation, no matter how small, and that has been his grave mistake over and over. He cannot aim to control such a thing as his feelings, not when they so closely impact her. And as much as he is sure it will take him time to adjust, whereas his brothers have had a much simpler time adapting to the idea of outward emotional expression, he knows that it is what he wants, on top of what she needs.

What is so rational about love, anyway? That was, perhaps, his first foolish mistake. Maybe there was never anything rational about it at all, even whilst he was growing up. Maybe the delusion of rationale he believed existed amongst himself and he brothers was not rationale at all, but natural equanimity he never dared question out of fear of loss.

A fear that has extended, now, to his little sister.

“It is true that we are frightened, Omega,” he starts, squeezing her tiny frame to emphasize his presence as her tears mount. “If you have come to believe that you are the source of that fear, however, I am afraid you misunderstand. We are not afraid of you, nor are we afraid of your abilities concerning the force. And we know, I promise you, that you did not intend to make use of them at any time, let alone in response to something we had done,” he explains, hoping that she understands him, and his intent, in spite of the fact that he worries he may not be articulating as well as he would like.

“We are afraid because we do not wish to do wrong by you, whether that be in the form of upset, or of our own unsurety in an unfamiliar situation,” and he reaches his free hand across to engulf her in an embrace. Just as alien, but not at all unwelcome. “We want to do what is best for you, and if you are frightened or unhappy, we want to do everything in our power to rectify such as issue. That is why I am unhappy, and why we were unhappy then. Because we did not know how to help you in your moment of need, and that got the better of us.”

There it is again, he thinks, that odd feeling of pressure behind his eyes, and the red hot sensation of foreign, numbing feeling. Pure emotional drive. His cheeks feel flush, and Omega sniffles against him, wet circles forming on his blacks at the crook of his elbow. “But you… you are not, nor have you ever been, a problem to any of us, and I am sorry, truly, that you have been carrying this unspoken burden-“ her force sensitivity, an ever present secret in her life. “-for so terribly long. And I- I am sorry that Nala Sé… was how she was. But we are not like that.”

Omega grips his arm tighter, holding on as if letting go means certain doom and despair. “You’re n-not like h-her at all,” she whispers, eyes shut tight, shielding herself off from the rest of the Galaxy. “S-She… I n-never wanna see h-her again,” she chokes. “I-I love you g-guys so m-much, I- I didn’t run away b-because I don’t I’m j-just scared, T-Tech.”

He is powerless to the way that she says his name, and the way she tells him that she loves him beyond all reasonable doubt, like it’s the simplest thing in the entire Galaxy.

It’s now or never.

“Omega,” he soothes, loosening his hold just enough to coax her into facing him, eyes bloodshot and nervous, but trusting. Reliant on him. “We- we all love you too, very much. I love you. More than I may possibly be able to say. And I am sorry that I do not say it the way that I should. I do not have an excuse. But I am sorry if you ever believed I did not love you. I always have, and that will not change,” he exhaled as her eyes widen, suddenly unreadable.

“And I intend to make every effort to remind you, if you want me to, so long as it may help you to feel more secure both in yourself, the force, and your place with us. I promise, and I know that the other will agree without second thought, to figure things out with you. Whatever it takes. You will not be alone again.”

Omega falls back into him, this time square against his chest, heaving a sob that clenches his chest and compels him to lean into her, hands on her back. He lays his chin on the top of her head, saying nothing more, doing nothing else, but this. Existing and hoping, treading unmarked territory and taking it in stride, hoping he has gotten through to her.

There is a sort of calm, new and strange and mollifying, that settles over them. Even though she doesn’t say anything else either, not for several long moments, he can feel by Omega’s steadying breaths that he managed to do some good by her, and that, for now, is enough. He does not find himself worrying anymore, that he is not as good as Echo or Wrecker or - dare he say - Hunter, because that is not who Omega needs him to be. She needs him to be Tech.

The best version, as it were, of Tech. Of himself. And that he can do.

He becomes aware again, for the first time since finding her down here, that regardless of the improved state of things, they are still sitting in a dark dingy alleyway on a side street of a busy city. Not the best place, perhaps, to linger too long. That, and the fact that while they appear to have followed his instructions not to pursue and to leave things to him, his poor brothers are likely very impatiently awaiting some kind of update.

He cannot even imagine the way Hunter must be right now. The thought would almost be comedic, if he didn’t feel such overwhelming sympathy for the sergeant.

He is her buir, after all. Her father, even if he doesn’t always put the label to the circumstance. They are prone to worry, and he won’t fault Hunter for that.

“Are you ready to return to the ship?” he asks her, gently prodding at her upper arm with one hand. “The others are quite concerned about you, as well. Hunter will be very pleased to see that you are alright.”

Biting her lower lip and wiping at her eyes with her damp sleeve, she nods slowly. “Y-Yeah. I wanna go back now,” she agrees, pushing herself up into a proper sitting position. “I- don’t really like it out here. I-It’s really crowded and- I- I wasn’t scared,” she quickly insists, and he’ll give her that little white lie, for the sake of her pride. “I just don’t like it.”

Tech chuckles, just a little, and ushers for her to stand up. She obediently scrambles off the ground, rushing to retrieve his helmet for him, a polite sort of gesture that she has always seemingly been prone to.

Utilizing the wall behind him for supposed, and needing to acclimate - for the first time - to the absence of a child’s weight on top of him, briefly, he pushes himself off the ground and onto his feel with little real effort. He makes a small show of brushing off his legs, while his boots are covered in dry crumbs of dirt, and adjusts his goggles before offering a hand to take his helmet back.

Handing it to him, Omega gives a sheepish little smile. It’s an awful relief, that smile. “I ‘shoulda picked a cleaner place to hide,” she jokes halfheartedly, brushing off her own knees and looking down sadly at her damp trousers. “And I’m a little wet.”

Tucking his helmet back under one arm, he places his other hand over her shoulder. “We will get them cleaned up on the ship,” he promises, daring to wink, too. “It will not be an issue.”

She accepts this with ease, and a crooked grin, only to then stifle a yawn. Tech is not at all surprised that the day’s events, and really the past few days, most likely, have worn her out. She must be exhausted, especially due to the exertion that is caused so often by excessive tears.

As they start down the alleyway, he wordlessly offers his free hand for her to hold, both for his own physical reassurance that she is still beside him while they walk, and in hopes of providing that little extra comfort. Omega takes it immediately, and her hand is covered entirely by his. She really is so very small.

After a few well paced steps, and almost clear of the alley, Tech being extra mindful to maintain a stride that she won’t struggle to keep up with whilst in close quarters, she gives his arm a tug to garner his attention. He glances down through his goggles, admittedly startled, somewhat, by the seriousness of her expression; brows drawn up, gaze firm and forward, mouth drawn into a thin line.

“You really promise?” she asks, a hint of desperation in her tone. “We’re gonna figure it out? I mean- w-we don’t know a lot about it-“

“Miss Omega,” he soothes, voice careful and gentle and real. Her mouth snaps shut and she seems to observe him. “The Galaxy is full of things, and people, and places, of which we may never know the full extent. But it is my firm belief that there will never be an obstacle, either great or small, that we will not be able to overcome.”

Chapter Text

Tech had, for once in his life, been enjoying his deep state of sleep.

Lost in some odd dream he does not remember, thoughts that were only just barely there, and the fleeting feeling of rest. He had been, for all intents and purposes, relaxing for what may be the first time in months.

“Really?! My own helmet?!”

“Now hold on kid that’s not what-“

“Wrecker! Wrecker guess what!”

“Omega!-“

Had.

With the events of their tumultuous ‘excursion’ - as Wrecker has deemed it, both for the sake of eliminating Omega’s guilt and attempting to move passed it with haste - on Tafanda Bay only a few short days removed, as well as all of the stress and heartache, both prior and lingering, that accompanied it, he had actually been looking forward to this. To getting proper rest (perhaps five hours instead of four, even), that is whilst in a ship that is not moving.

After his much needed, heartfelt discussion with Omega, the pair made it safely back to the ship wherein Hunter was down the ramp greeting them in the port only a short moment after they had come through the doors. Initially, it had been as though Tech were invisible, while his eldest brother barreled over to Omega and grabbed her shoulders, turning her this way and that, bombarding her with questions that she was given no time in the interim to answer.

‘Are you alright?’ ‘Where were you?’ ‘Were you hurt?’ ‘Why are your hands red?’ ‘Your pants are soaked!’ ‘What happened?’

Poor Omega, overwhelmed and regretful, had tucked her chin to her chest, only glancing up for a moment when Wrecker and Echo came next down the ramp to join them. She sniffled, cheeks red, eyes brimming with tears. Tech has never in his life seen Hunter go so silent so quickly. Wordlessly, he wrapped Omega in a tight hug, crushing her to his chest, and she sobbed into his neck, clinging loosely to his armor and babbling apologies while he gently tried to shush her with soothing whispers and a hand in her hair.

She had frightened all of them, and Hunter had been hanging on by an entirely too thin thread.

Omega insisted on trying to apologize each of them much like she had Tech, only to be shot down in succession. She had nothing to be sorry for, after all.

Once she had calmed down enough, they retreated to the cockpit, and for the first time… ever, really, they had a long, passionate conversation as a family. A family. What they said, most of it, anyway, was exactly that of which Tech had told her in the alley.

They promise to figure things out, no matter what. She’s stuck with them, for the long run, after all. She’s safe with them; protected and cared for. And they intend, wholly and truly, to make up for Nala Sé’s wrongdoings, and the damage that years of deliberate neglect and disregard has done.

She is loved, by all of them, and that has never changed, either, nor will it. And the mere idea of it has her falling deftly into Hunter’s lap in the same manner she had Tech’s, nodding and smiling - smiling! - and drinking in every sweet word of love and affirmation that her brothers offer. She believes them, he can tell.

And he couldn’t be happier for it.

Everything that happened after, between then and… well, now, really, however, is even more of a disastrous sort of blur that Tech is acutely aware of, but doesn’t care to offer unnecessary thought to.

Refueling on the herdship city, hurrying to depart and be on their way. The blue of hyperspace, and passing time in between. Omega’s significantly better mood and the way it immediately rubbed off on the rest of them, putting them at ease. Somewhere in the middle, a game of sabacc. The arrival at Ord Mantell, and the report to Cid. Her client - a small thin man (boy?) with an oddly familiar voice and a red and gray helmet that he did not remove - paying them anyway for having done his ‘dirty work’ for him, despite it not having been the expected outcome.

Until finally, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Tech took first watch to get it ‘out of the way’, as it were, and then settled on the empty bunk to sleep the rest of the night all the way through, and undisturbed.

“Whatcha got for me ‘Mega?”

“Hunter said that-“

“I didn’t agree, I just said we’d-“

“-I can finally have my own helmet!”

“-consider the possibility-“

“Woah! Yer gonna be all grown up and ready for battle kid!”

“Wrecker! Don’t feed into it!”

At least, that was the plan when he had laid down. His siblings, however, evidently did not receive the memo. He’s starting to think he should have gone to the trouble of physically leaving one on a sheet of flimsi in the first place. Might have been worth it.

“Aw c’mon Sarge, we had helmets at her age!” Wrecker booms from the hull, rumbling a laugh that may just rattle the ship, ever so slightly.

Tech can hear Hunter shuffling about the space just outside the bunkroom, grumbling something to himself for retorting. “That was a very different situation, Wrecker,” he hisses. “Omega isn’t a soldier.”

Inhaling sharply, Tech rolls over on the bunk to face the door, of course only able to make out the blurry outline of the thing. He tries to blink away sleep, lashes vaguely sticky. For what it’s worth, he must have gotten good enough rest during the time he was actually able to sleep, even if the intended time has been cut short. He tries to stifle a small yawn, too, rubbing a hand down his face and then through his hair, a small smile finding its way across his lips in spite of himself.

He reaches blindly for his goggles hung on the nearest rod keeping the bunk upright, fumbling them off as he always does, before pressing the rims to his face and pulling the strap up and over his head. Securing them over his nose, he peers through the yellow lens as the world comes into clearer view, a sort of soothing sensation that he is not sure he will ever get use to the relief of. He notices the bunkroom door is slightly open, just a crack, but enough for some of the hull light to get through.

And the noise.

Well, that explains it then.

Sighing with halfhearted frustration, he forces himself to sit up in the bunk and flexes his hands, and his muscles, and his stiff shoulders, continuing to blink himself back into conscious reality.

“Echo, back me up, please-“ Hunter pleads, moving around closer and closer to the bunkroom door, voice growing louder.

The distinctive sound of Echo’s feet clinking against the durasteel floors draws a smirk out of Tech, his brother audibly scoffing. “You got yourself into this mess,” he grumbles from what must be the opposite side of the hull, tone a little muffled. “Gotta choose your words more carefully, you know how it is.”

Tech snickers. Poor Hunter, whatever it is had started this whole thing, must have indeed said the wrong few words at the wrong time, leading to Omega’s present insistence. Not that he ever expects her to let the topic of getting a helmet all her own go until Hunter give into the idea. On one hand, the sergeant is stubborn by nature. On the other, Omega can melt him into tiny pieces without much effort, or even meaning to, at all. Especially on a topic concerning her place in the squad, and her perhaps slightly misplaced determination to be just like them.

He stands up all the way, this time lifting his arms over his head to get that last bit of ‘longer sleep’ tension out of his limbs, then trudges off to the bunkroom door, shaking his head to no one by himself.

Sliding it open, he surveys the room, not awaiting anyone’s undivided attention to announce his wakefulness. “Some quiet would have been nice,” he says loudly, though mostly only teasing, seeing as he cannot possible stifle his grin, nor the undeniable joy he feels upon seeing his siblings so… carelessly content. Happy. Unapologetically happy.

Omega, sitting in a seat at the navicomputer, spinning it around with her hands against the edges of the console, stops herself in the middle of what appears to be a late game rotation to look up at him, eyes glowing with excitement and energy. A far cry from how she had been a few days earlier. It warms his heart, truly it does. “Sorry,” she sheepishly offers, greet him with a bright grin of her own, all teeth. “But Hunter said that I can-“

“I didn’t say for sure-“ the sergeant tries to clarify over her, but she does not pay his interruption much mind. Wrecker, leaning against the wall by Omega, pointedly avoiding pressing a palm against the console by mistake, rumbles another laugh.

“He said I can finally get a helmet just like you guys!” she giggles, resuming the action of twirling herself around in the chair, legs pulled up over the side.

Tech raises a brow. “Did he now?” he asks, though not really looking for confirmation to that effect, more so searching for the missing information that lends itself to an explanation as to how Hunter backed himself into THIS corner.

Hunter, idling off to Tech’s right under the gunner’s mount, shakes his head, frowning. “All I said was that maybe we should look into new gear for everyone,” he replies, sure to emphasize the idea of ‘everyone’ via his deliberate intonation of that fact. “Omega in particular, since she hasn’t got any other clothes of her own and it would be a good idea to play it safe, since she’s growing anyway,” he adds, waving his hand in a suspiciously dismissive gesture, like it’s some offhanded second thought, not important.

But Tech cocks an eyebrow all the same, because if that isn’t a parental mindset, then he does not know WHAT is.

Ever the buir.

“You said protective gear,” Omega hastily cuts in, just as Echo comes up behind her and grabs the seat with his flesh hand, bringing her to a sudden stop, causing her to sway forward with wide eyes.

Echo, plainly amused, shoots a playful glance across the hull. “She’s right, Sarge,” he shrugs, and Wrecker nods vigorously alongside him.

Hunter’s face goes slack, looking utterly defeated and betrayed, though far from genuinely upset. He sighs, glaring at Tech as if asking him for help, since he cannot seem to find any within his other brothers.

For a moment, Tech considers it, almost feeling bad for his eldest brother. But only for a moment.

Where’s the fun in that, after all?

“I do believe a helmet could prove beneficial,” he remarks, strolling toward the rest of his siblings, as if to physically ‘take their side’, earning an enlivened cheer from his little sister.

Hunter rolls his eyes, exasperated, but it isn’t genuine, that much is for certain. As serious as he’s trying to appear, his relaxed demeanor betrays him, and the chiding tone of his voice isn’t anywhere near as irritated as it would be were it real. He’s enjoying this just as much as the rest of them, if not for the subject of the conversation, the nature of the discussion; the unbridled sense of enthusiasm and carefree humor. A rarity, and a blessing.

“Well, either way,” Echo starts, voice a tad more serious than before. “Hunter is right. With the changing Galaxy, and our current situation, we do need to consider new gear for ourselves. Something more fitting,” he suggests, almost wistfully, as though he already has something in mind. Maybe he does. Regs always did like that sort of thing, changing up their gear to reflect their standing.

The sergeant mumbles nothing in particular, gesturing to the cockpit with a toss of his head. “Yeah well, we’ll talk about the specifics,” he says slowly, making his way over to them and ruffling Omega’s hair in a seemingly absentminded manner along the way. She grins up at him, evidently hopeful, and maybe a hint mischievous.

Without needing to be told, Echo and Wrecker, the latter smacking a large hand against the sergeant’s back and laughing boisterously, the pair of them more or less push passed him to beat him to the cockpit, where he ultimately takes up the rear. Omega, eager not to be left out, beaming from ear to ear, practically throws herself out of the chair to keep up. She grabs at Hunter’s hand, tugging at his arm in spite of the fact that he nearly stumbles over his own two feet trying to maintain his balance after Wrecker’s spirited approach.

“So what kind of helmet can I wear?” she asks him, giggling when his exasperated expression worsens tenfold. “Can I paint it to look like yours?”

“One thing at a time, ad’ika,” he sighs, resigning himself to his fate, allowing himself to be pulled along behind her, blonde curls bouncing at the back of her head as she marches forward.

Tech follows, though at his own pace, hanging back for only a moment to observe. To the bask in the moment. The peace. The domesticity of the thing.

Yeah, he thinks to himself, face melting into a soft smile when he is not sure he’ll ever quite get used to, but he will always cherish. This feeling, this life, is exactly what he wants. No question about it.

And nobody, not the Empire, or Nala Sé, or their past, and the oddity of it, and the aftermath, as foreign as it may be, is going to ruin it for him.