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The air on the Marauder had never been heavier than the night after Omega was taken. Crosshair was gone. Tech was gone. And now so was Omega, the light, the love, the best of them really. It was suffocating, the silence, the grief.
He knew he shouldn't, not when there could still be danger, but Echo went out walking. They were planet-side on some grassy world in the outer rim, far from civilization, so he figured it would be safe enough. And besides, he couldn't breathe in the ship; he needed to get out, even just for a little while.
The grass swished softly in the wind, the sun dipping below the horizon as oranges and pinks became purple and deep blue. Echo stared out at the rippling sea of grass, stretching out on all sides. The Marauder was still visible of course, but it was the only thing in sight.
It was peaceful, beautiful even. It felt like it shouldn't be. Not when everything has gone so horribly wrong. He sat down in the grass, prosthetic legs folding under him. How could it be so quiet? Blaster fire and explosions seemed to ring in Echo’s ears whenever there wasn’t more of it to drown it out. Come to think of it Echo couldn’t even remember a time before it, a time when silence was completely silent. Probably when he was a kid. But then, maybe he’d always had it: just another thing the Kaminoans put into his head that he never knew about.
Echo returned to the ship as darkness was settling over the planet. The lights had come on, the warm glow shining dimly out the windows. It looked the same as it always had, though with a few more dents and blaster marks than the first day he’d seen it. But it wasn’t the same. Echo had just begun getting used to the absence of Crosshair methodically cleaning his Firepuncher on the front steps. Now as he looked at it, it was with the knowledge that Tech wasn’t tinkering with a new gadget in the cockpit, spinning the pilot’s chair idly back and forth. There was no Omega laying on the floor, datapad suspended above her head full of whatever new material she’d been given, chatting happily to anyone who passed by. Not anymore.
The first thing Echo heard as he stepped inside was the sound of choked sobs, the kind that forced their way out against your will. Echo peaked around the doorway to the bunks, where he saw pretty much what he had suspected, but felt like a bit of a shock anyway.
Hunter was curled up nearly in a ball at Wrecker's side, shaking. Wrecker was rubbing his back firmly, although his expression was full of open grief as well, though he was clearly doing his best to push it aside in favor of helping Hunter.
Echo's heart twisted painfully at the sight of them, but he started to retreat back into the cockpit to give them space nevertheless. This wasn’t his moment to intrude on. Before he could go far though, Wrecker looked up and met his eye, beckoning him over.
Echo went hesitantly, sitting down on the other side of Hunter. Wrecker reached over with the arm that had been around Hunter, pulling Echo closer to both of them. To his surprise, Hunter leaned into him as soon as Echo was close enough. He tensed for a second, and then relaxed, allowing himself to rest his cheek on top of Hunter's head.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, Hunter's breath still sharp and painful sounding. Echo just tried to focus on the breathing, feeling like if he let himself relax all the way he would simply fall apart. He’d been like that a long time, probably, longer than he cared to admit. Eventually, Wrecker leaned over to Echo, who opened his eyes.
"I'm getting us tea," he said, then jerked his head at Hunter, mouthing 'stay with him.'
Echo gave a short nod in response. Wrecker stood up carefully, nudging Hunter off. The latter clearly wasn't happy about it, but he let his brother go, disappearing towards the single burner in the main room they had over-optimistically dubbed the kitchen. Once it was just the two of them in the bunk room, Echo took the time to actually look at his Sargent.
Now, Hunter wasn't usually the picture of Perfectly Groomed Regulation Clone . His face tattoo and too long hair certainly set him apart, but this was different. It wasn't a preference for a more rugged appearance, and aesthetic, he was just a complete mess . Face streaked with tears, red bandanna missing, still injured and in pain in too many ways at once.
Hunter was always the one who kept it together, who put on a brave face for the rest of them, but now that mask was gone; shattered by one too many losses.
He looked pretty much how Echo felt, although realistically he knew it must be much worse. Clone Force 99 existed for a long time before he joined them. They were batch mates, they grew up together. Echo had only really been with them for a little over a year, but he still saw them as brothers. It wasn't perfect — he didn't fit with them quite the way they fit with each other — but he loved them nevertheless.
All the losses hurt for him. But he could even imagine being Hunter right now: the ori'vod who's supposed to save them but can't. Couldn't. And now he was sitting in this room next to Echo, and wasn’t he everything Hunter was afraid of becoming? The last of his batch. The last domino.
The part of Echo that still sometimes felt like Little Shiny Echo on Rishi Moon wanted to scream, what do we do now? How are we getting her back? The part that needed orders, directions, guidance, something . The part that had always looked to Fives before he did anything, the part that echoed orders back to his squad and gave him his name.
But the older Echo, the man he was now, said nothing. There were no more orders to recite, and no more Fives to look to. So maybe he had no one left in some ways, but Hunter did. And maybe he could offer something.
"We're getting her back," he said quietly. Hunter didn't move, but Echo knew he was listening. "I'll help however I can."
Now, Hunter lifted his head, slowly like it weighed a thousand pounds. "But you're leaving again," he said hoarsely. There was something sharp in his expression, angry maybe. It made Echo want to flinch away, but he tried to focus on the fact that Hunter was still leaning against his shoulder despite the accusation in his tone. "Aren't you?"
Echo gave a measured sigh. "I have to."
"No you don't," Hunter bit out, clutching the edge of the bed. "You can stay with us and help pick up the pieces of what you--" He cut himself off, but Echo heard the words just as clearly as if he'd said them. The pieces of what you did. The horrific aftermath of your mission. Your plan.
Echo bit down on the inside of his cheek. He didn't blame Hunter for thinking it. Wrecker probably had been too, but was just too nice to say it. Hell, Echo himself had hardly stopped thinking it since things started to go downhill. But he couldn't afford to drown himself in guilt, so he pushed it away for now, addressing the first part of Hunter's statement.
"I have to get back and help Rex," he said as evenly as he could. "He needs me there. There's too much on the line right now for me to be anywhere else."
"We need you here," Hunter argued, and Echo had to look away, avoiding the desperate look in Hunter's eyes. Liked he'd lost so much and now he was losing Echo too. He wasn't. But of course he felt like he was.
"I'm just one call away, Hunter," Echo promised. "Call me and I'll be there. I told you that when I left the first time and it’s just as true now. As soon as you have a plan to get her back, I'll be right there with you. But I can't stay here. Not now."
Finally, Hunter seemed to deflate, all the anger draining from his face and being replaced with grief and exhaustion. "I know," he conceded. "I know." He leaned back into Echo’s side, eyes falling closed again, sobs long gone. Echo couldn’t imagine the position was particularly comfortable; he was still wearing armor, not to mention he gave off very little body heat and was mostly metal on that side of his torso. But Hunter didn’t seem to mind much, and Echo certainly wasn’t about to push him off any time soon.
Neither of them said anything for a long time. Wrecker returned with the tea minutes later, and it felt good to drink something warm. It had been a long time since Echo had tea, not since the 501st. The bad batch seemed to much prefer Caf, and Echo was mostly just happy to drink whatever caffeine was available, but whenever his old battalion worked with the 212th especially there was always tea on hand. That was mostly due to General Kenobi's fondness for it, and it was often that Echo would watch him bring a cup to Cody in the morning or the late evening. It was a nice gesture, but Cody happened to find the "leaf juice" kind of disgusting. He still drank it anyway though, or if he really couldn't get through the cup just hand it subtlety off to anyone who would take it. Sometimes that person was Echo.
So yes, it was a comfortingly familiar taste; much needed in a ship that felt too quiet and too cold without the other half of its crew.
It would be a rough right for all of them, Echo knew. Tech was gone. Gone gone. Echo quickly shied away from that line of thought, instead focusing on who they could get back. Omega. Crosshair.
He'd been trying to stay sensible while Hunter wasn't in any condition to be, but in truth Echo would storm any base, no matter how heavily fortified, if it meant having his siblings back. All he really wanted to do was dig through records and records of imperial databases, kidnap someone too important to be safe, just do something . But he'd mean what he said to Hunter. He was needed elsewhere right now.
Once it was time, though, he'd be there. In a heartbeat.