Tension was to be expected.

While they didn't realize that they'd be picking up an extra passenger (or two) when they landed on that moon, they should have known considering Omega's warm personality and magnetic determination.

What was most surprising was Crosshair's silent agreement to join them. Upon seeing him on that ramp, Hunter's muscles tensed. He prepared for a fight, an argument about everything and anything that happened in the years they've been apart and painfully crossed paths.

But Crosshair didn't even raise his voice when he said he was wrong.

Just awkwardly stood there, not quite meeting any of their eyes.

Except Omega's.

And Batcher's.

For Wrecker, that only left Crosshair one option.

To join them.

And to Hunter's shock, his brother didn't put up a fight. He just entered after Omega, keeping Batcher close to his side. 

Since then, things have been uncomfortable. Not just because Crosshair is back, but also because of how much all of them have changed. Little sleep and always being on the move have worn Hunter and Wrecker more than they care to acknowledge.

Omega has been spending every single second out in the ship, commenting on everything that she's missed since her kidnapping. She's brought a sorely missed light back into the ship that Hunter didn't even take time to realize was missing.

He just wanted her back, not realizing how much of an impact the little girl had left on the team.

And Crosshair has been confined to his bunk or the cockpit by his own choosing. If anyone dares to enter where he is, he apologizes for being in the way and quietly excuses himself to anywhere else in the ship. Batcher is the only one who seems to be allowed in his personal space, though Omega slips through the cracks before Crosshair suddenly remembers that he's supposed to locking himself away.

Like he's some unwanted guest that has overstayed their welcome and knows that they're not wanted.

So after a few days of watching him struggle to even continue a conversation about breakfast with Wrecker, Hunter takes it upon himself to find something that even this strange version of Crosshair would have difficulty turning down.

"Hey, Crosshair." Hunter says as he peeks his head into the cockpit.

The sniper turns and Batcher immediately hops off his lap, drooling as she jumps onto Hunter's legs to beg for a few pats.

He avoids her tongue and lightly scruffs the side of her head before she hops back down. "You got a minute?"

Crosshair shrugs, his attention on the viewport. "I suppose the cockpit can be left unattended for a bit." He replies with that snarky bite that makes Hunter's heart clench with familiarity. 

"I've got something for you." He says. He then gestures for his brother to follow. Looking as aloof as possible, Crosshair rises from his seat. Trailing through the Marauder, the lanky brother weaves between the seats and crates of new belongings they've accumulated since his last mission with them.

A mission when the galaxy was still under a Republic.

He shakes his head as he follows Hunter, attempting to clear his head from those thoughts. It's not something he enjoys dwelling on. His own head can't quite keep up with how it really happened, blurring those first few months into some lonely nightmare. Not that he really wants to remember the details anyway.

At the back of the ship, Hunter opens the storage underneath the floor. He jumps down with purpose, his feet slipping slightly as he lands. After listening to a few seconds of sliding crates and dropped items, Hunter reappears with a large crate in his arms.

He plops it onto the ground with a smile, his bandana tilted slightly on his forehead. "Sorry. I didn't realize it was tucked so far back." He says as he places his hands onto the floor to push himself up to sit on the ground. He closes the storage again then stands up and gestures to the crate as if it should hold some importance.

Crosshair shifts his eyes between the two of them, trying to connect the pieces but can't place why this should spark any emotion in him. "Wow. A crate? Never seen one of those before." He replies as Batcher suddenly comes up and barrels into his legs, causing him to scowl at the hound.

"What? You don't recognize it?"

"Should I?" He asks with a huff as he lightly shoves Batcher away. She takes the hint and runs back to the other side of the ship with a bark, no doubt looking for someone else to give her some love or food.

"Seriously? Don't tell me you're that dense." Hunter chuckles, suddenly feeling like he's taken it a step too far. It just came out too naturally. This banter that Crosshair and him shared just came out like he's been using it daily for the past two years, when in reality he doesn't think he's said anything like that since he left.

Crosshair doesn't seem to take offense, shrugging as he takes another look at it.

Noticing his confusion, Hunter picks it back up and sets it onto one of the table. He grins, his heart racing as he thinks of how Crosshair will react to seeing these pieces once again. With a couple of clicks, he tosses the top aside and gestures for the sniper to glance inside for himself.

And rather than the easygoing smirk he was expecting, he watches as Crosshair's face twists into a deep frown. He breathes catches in his throat, and he doesn't speak. He takes the crate and suddenly dumps the contents out, the pieces tumbling onto the table. A few scatter across the floor, but he doesn't even seem to notice.

He just stares with that awful, mournful frown.

"What? What's wrong?" Hunter quietly asks, taking a step forward as his gaze drops back down to Crosshair's armor to look for the problem. He thought his brother would be excited or at the very least happy to see his old armor still in good condition. Every piece is there, not a single part sold or damaged in their time apart from their wearer.

But he doesn't do anything of the sort. Without responding, he looks away, almost seeming hurt. After a few short beats of confused silence, his spindly hand reaches out. With a timid finger, he taps the chest plate a few times, as if it will burn him if he touches it for too long. "I haven't earned this back." He mutters over his shoulder, refusing to look at the armor or Hunter. His voice is thick with regret and shame.

Hunter's chest constricts. The words ring in his ears and the pressure intensifying behind his eyes makes him go tight-lipped. "Earned?" He roughly repeats once he gains to courage to speak again. He didn't think that would be the first words Crosshair would utter upon being reunited with his beloved armor.

Crosshair meekly nods in response, unable to look him in the eyes.

Hunter swallows hard. It takes everything in him not to immediately grab Crosshair by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. To remind him of what that armor means. What he did to make those pieces his and nobody else's.

But Crosshair is nothing like the man he was all those years ago. The brass, prideful sniper that painted those pieces is gone and has been replaced with some variant that doesn't look like he'd use such bold colors and intense designs. 

Hunter quickly steps around the table to place himself between the armor and his brother, as if to protect him from it. The sniper subtly flinches at the movement by dropping his head and twisting away, like he's expecting a scolding or beating.

Hunter chooses to chalk it up to what he's been through under Hemlock's hand, rather than taking it personally.

Like he would have years ago.

"You don't have to earn this, you understand me?" Hunter gruffly says, finding himself close to tears as he stares down his taller, once arrogant brother. "Being a part of this squad, this family..." he starts, his voice quiet and shaking. "You've never had to earn your place to belong, Crosshair. It's always going to be your right to be here with us. Got me?"

Silence.

Then Crosshair's trembling hand comes up to roughly use the heel and scrub away the tears tempting to fall.

Still he doesn't meet Hunter's eyes.

His once snarky demeanor is gone and has been substituted with some numb, embarrassed form that Hunter hasn't seen since they were small cadets. It reminds him of nights that he swore to secrecy to keep Crosshair's confidence high as the young boy snuck into his bed and cowered against him while the intense Kaminoan storm rumbled outside their barrack's window.

Or when the speckled hair cadet had received too many teasings throughout the day to make him feel so ashamed of himself that he'd curl into a tight ball all evening until Hunter could coax him back with some positive affirmations and promises of extra dessert.

Yet, even back then he didn't look as tired and lost as he does now. His now gaunt body emphasizes the struggles he's endured while working for the Empire and imprisoned in Hemlock's lab. He's become nothing but a shell of himself, and Hunter had been hoping reuniting him with his precious, sentimental armor would perk his spirits and bring back some of his iconic qualities.

Nothing much.

Just a small half smirk.

A quiet chuckle.

A huff of amusement at the very least, like he always did when he thought something was funny or if someone said something he thought was completely idiotic.

But he hasn't done any of those things.

And yeah, Hunter didn't expect him to suddenly become his old self again merely from the return of his armor but seeing him so broken is something he wasn't prepared for. He thought there would be some enthusiasm mixed with a little hesitation, but not this self pity and doubt.

Ever since Crosshair got his first blaster, he became a cocky bastard that they all couldn't help but love.

And now he can't touch, let alone look at the armor they had painted together.

He can't even look Hunter, his own brother, in the eyes.

Force. Hunter feels like his chest is squeezing every bit of air possible out as he watches his timid and nearly skeletal little brother attempt to conceal his pain. His head is tipped down and his hands paw desperately at his face, as if showing his emotions is just another thing that he should be ashamed of.

His conscious screams at him that Crosshair hates physical affection. He's always despised the extra attention, interpreting it as a gesture of pity instead of sympathy. 

But maybe this Crosshair doesn't mind.

So Hunter packs his fears away and steps closer to wrap his hand at the nape of Crosshair's neck and desperately pulls their foreheads together. He freezes at the sudden touch and close proximity, clearly not expecting it, but he doesn't snarl and bite like he used to all those years ago.

So Hunter decides to take that as a good sign and presses on. "You belong right here." He assures, his voice low. "I'll tell you it a hundred times. A million, if needed. I want you to hear it until you hear it in your sleep." He says with a wet chuckle, hoping it'll prove his stance on this matter.

But Crosshair doesn't even crack a smile.

Instead his eyes pinch shut and his shoulders quiver while he holds back thoughts and feelings Hunter longs to understand. Is he crying because he's embarrassed? Scared? Overwhelmed?

All of the above?

Hunter sucks in a deep breath, his emotions starting to get the better of him as he watches his youngest brother fight whatever conflict is happening internally right now. "Come on, Cross. Look at me. Just look at me. Please?" He quietly begs, starting to feel a little desperate. "That's all I want right now. No words, alright. Let me know you're alright."

Still, the sniper remains tense and silent. He shakes his head harshly against Hunter's, not wanting to even look at him.

This movement and hesitation causes his mind to race. He can't help but wonder if he's pushing Crosshair too far. Is this too much for him to handle right now? Has Hunter scared him away and made him uncomfortable?

"I'm sorry." Crosshair suddenly cries, his walls crumbling as he sags against Hunter. His lean body falls into him, their foreheads digging into each other.

"I know." Hunter softly chokes out. One hand settles at the back of his head, holding it securely for comfort as the other comes up to tightly squeeze his shoulder. "I know you are, Cross. I'm sorry too."

He finds himself gently rubbing his thumb over his shoulder, debating about pulling him closer. "I know you'll never get over the pain of us leaving, but will you forgive me? Will you forgive me for all of the shit that I put you through?"

"Forgive you?" Crosshair asks, his voice filled with disbelief. "Forgive you for what? You asked me to stay and I chose the Empire. I deserved to remain in that prison and instead I got rescued by your squad and offered to come aboard again."

He sniffs, his shaking hand wiping at his face again, yet he still doesn't pull away. "I should be begging for your forgiveness.I've done awful things. Things that I can't even put into words. Not because you don't deserve to know what I've become. But because I'm too scared to finally say them outloud and make them real."

Hunter finds himself making a noise, a pitiful, shameful noise because he doesn't deserve the credit for the rescue. He doesn't deserve to be made a hero.

"It's my fault you even ended up in the Empire to begin with, Cross." He chokes out. He swallows hard, the thoughts and emotions he's bottled for years finally bubbling out like a shaken soda bottle. "I should have known something was wrong with you. I should have attempted to make some kind of rescue when we learned about the chips. But I was too afraid. And I pushed you away."

He sucks in a deep breath. "I'm asking for forgiveness for that. And for whatever else I did that hurt you."

Crosshair stutters.

He's never stuttered, never been so baffled that he couldn't come up with something to say. It was never his nature to speak without having some consideration put into his words.

And here he is stuttering.

"I'm not who you think I am." He harshly snaps, painfully reminding Hunter of their last interaction on Kamino. "I'm a killer. A disgusting excuse for a human that shouldn't be shown any mercy, let alone be given that stupid request."

Hunter flinches as he hears these words. These awful, gut-wrenching words that he would never, ever use to describe Crosshair. 

He doesn't even know how to respond to such horrible things.

He watches as Crosshair grows weaker, his gawky body seem to fold in on himself as he begins to rely on Hunter to remain standing. There are tears on his cheeks, but he's no longer crying.

He's merely waiting for Hunter to agree with his analysis of himself.  

And as he looks at the worn, tired face, he can't help but remember the small cadet the day he first showed up at the barracks. He was scrawny and ornery back then too, a complete opposite of Tech personality wise. 

So it was only fitting back then that the pair balanced each other in more ways than one.

They could both be extremes on opposite ends of the spectrum, one of those categories involving social awareness. Tech either had no clue how others perceived or he just flat out didn't care.

Crosshair, on the other hand, always took everything personally. How someone looked at him or the comments they made were either completely harmful to his self image or they kept him going for days.

It had started to become something that Wrecker and Hunter had to regulate themselves. They quickly learned how to pull Crosshair out of a funk when he was younger without making it into a big deal.

Because Crosshair hated making anything he was fuming over a big deal.

And looking into those very same eyes now, Hunter can't help but try and coax him back by using the same tactic they used so long ago.

"Hey." He gruffly says, his eyebrows furrowed and his voice heavy, laying it on thick. Crosshair flinches at the tone, put doesn't move. "What did you just say?"

"I haven't earned my armor back yet. I'm not good enough to be back. You should leave me at the nearest spaceport." He softly sniffs, keeping his gaze anywhere but Hunter as he changes his wording into something much nicer, yet still hard for Hunter to hear.

He tips his forehead forward more, applying more pressure to keep his authority feeling real. "That's my little brother you're talking about." He grumbles.

Crosshair looks up, confusion now creeping onto his face. "What?"

"And I don't let anyone talk about any of my brothers that way." Hunter says, pointing his finger into Crosshair's chest harshly.

He frowns and looks down at his sternum. "Hey. Don't do that. Don't do that stupid act." He whispers, quickly realizing what's going on and forgetting what they were just talking about.

"Oh, you're gonna get it. You know what happens to people who talk bad about my brothers?"

"Hunter."

"Hey, Wrecker!" Hunter shouts, turning away from Crosshair and ignoring him. Immediately Wrecker and Omega enter the doorway, peering in curiously. The two of them freeze, as if waiting for some bad news to be explained. "This guy thinks our baby brother doesn't deserve his armor back." He says while pointing his thumb back at Crosshair, who's staring at the floor.

Omega's eyebrows knit in puzzlement as Wrecker breaks into a large grin, immediately recognizing what's happening. "Oh, does he?" He asks as he begins cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah. Thinks Crosshair should be dropped off at the nearest spaceport as well. Said our baby brother shouldn't be allowed back in our squad because he isn't good enough." Hunter continues, unable to stop the smile from forming as he takes a step back to let Wrecker through.

"Oh, I'll teach him for saying those stupid, mean things about Crosshair. Come here!" He grins, immediately gripping Crosshair and wrapping him in a tight hug. Batcher excitedly begins jumping at them as well, wanting to join the game.

"Wrecker, stop!" Crosshair snaps, immediately placing both of his hands on his chest and attempting to squirm out of his grasp.

"No way, pal. Nobody says those lies about my baby brother and gets away with it." Wrecker chuckles as he drives his knuckles into Crosshair head, making him groan and scowl. Batcher barks and pounces around them, getting a few quick licks on Crosshair's cheek.

Omega tilts her head, watching the scene unfold. She had assumed something bad had happened when Hunter asked for Wrecker. And now they're teasing him instead? "What's going on?"

"Just something we used to do as kids." Hunter smiles as he places a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to rest against his side. They watch for a while, and at first it seems like a lost cause, but soon Crosshair gets a small smile as Wrecker keeps it going, even letting Batcher torture him a couple of times.

Hunter knows this is merely a distraction, something to keep those bad feelings and worries away for a moment. What they had started to dig into needs time for healing. Whatever Crosshair experienced under the Empire won't be fix by a few rounds of roughhousing or words of approval.

But before they can begin to work out the trauma everyone experienced, Crosshair first needs to be shown that he is wanted in their lives.

And that they've been sorely missing him since the day he left.

~~~~~~~~~~