#and he would bleed himself dry before letting his suffering specifically be the centre of attention while others are still in need.

[dottiechan]

ICEBREAKER Pt. 2 & 3

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter

Wordcount: 2060 (Pt. 2); 2050 (Pt. 3)

Summary:

Pt. 2:  Three are awake on the Marauder. Two are holding onto one another. One is barely holding on. (Hunter-centric chapter)

Pt. 3:  You can only keep saying no to your old addictions for so long before they return with full force. (Crosshair-centric chapter)

Warnings: cursing, smoking & implied nicotine addiction

Part 2

The stars streak and melt against the abyss of space, unsteady and bleeding. You miss the stationary points of light, precise and dependable and easy. Stars make constellations that guide you, that show you the way even when you're lost. Hyperspace just confuses you, chills you to the very bones, makes you feel more lost than you already do. Which, to be fair, is not too difficult right now.

Having left the ice planet behind after the successful elimination of a remote Separatist research centre, you're en route to Kamino once more. What's more, you have the cockpit all to yourself, and you sit with your knees up, head rested back, throat exposed, undone by the comfort of solitude as you allow yourself to lower your guard. It'd be peaceful on any other day.

But your mind is plagued by Tech's revelation.

Your rational side knows he must have made a mistake. After all, what's the chance of either of them liking you? And why would they? You're fighting together, and you're bleeding, and sweating, and trying, and maybe even dying together. But that's nothing more than what's expected of you, of each soldier of the GAR, clone or otherwise. You're coexisting now, but you could be reassigned at any moment really. You try to convince yourself that you wouldn't feel the change, that working with a squad other than the Bad Batch wouldn't chafe you terribly, but you see through your own lies.

Of course you'd hate it.

Where would you be without Tech's advice and sage-like aura? Without Wrecker's enthusiastic support? Without Crosshair correcting your stance when you shoot, without him always watching your six? Without Hunter's hand on your shoulder, saving you from dangerous situations, but also, and maybe most importantly, even from yourself?

It would be easy to answer those questions. But you don't have the power to do so now.

So you sit back, wishing for simpler times, times when your greatest worry was Bracca and thinking they hated you. You'd rather they hate you than... than what Tech said. Somehow the idea of either of them liking you in an unprofessional way, even remotely, sends your head spinning. It makes your throat constrict, it makes you feel unworthy and angry and confused beyond belief. The idea of both of them liking you at the same time - as outlandish as it sounds - just makes you absolutely lose your mind.

So you try not to think about them, you try not to think about Hunter's softness, and Crosshair's piercing gaze, and what it would be like to let them close to you. They already feel closer than what you're comfortable with. Maybe they are already closer than you know.

But they can't get any closer. You can't let them, and you promise yourself to shut them the fuck out. No, you don't deserve this, you don't deserve them fucking up whatever respect you've built up with the squad. And you don't have the right to mess up their friendship either. They belong with each other, all of them, and no matter how much you like calling them your boys inwardly, they'll never be yours. They'll always be a family, with or without you. And just who are you to tear it apart?

You try so hard to fit in, but it all seems too much, as if the four walls around you were pressing closer and closer until you suffocated, and you breathe in shakily, afraid of your doubts manifesting into anxiety.

But the slight tremor in your fingers is a telltale sign you can’t ignore. You are good at repressing emotions in the heat of battle, but you weren’t engineered to feel no stress. Nature formed you to thrive on it.

...

He's been awake ever since you refused to turn in and insisted on staying in the cockpit. Hyperspace en route to Kamino is the safest possible space travel for the squad, but he doesn't argue with you. At some point, Crosshair is up - he knows it's him from the very specific way his feet touch the ground. He skulks about the ship for a while before returning to bed. And then it's just you.

He's trying his very best to ignore you, he presses his pillow over his head and bites down on his lower lip so hard it almost draws blood. He hates the power you have over him, he hates how he can't have anything to himself anymore that isn't tainted by thoughts of you. And apparently, he can't even fucking sleep without knowing you're okay, calm, quiet, dozing off, hopefully dreaming about him.

But your next breath, it really sounds disturbed, almost gasping, and his heart clenches in his chest. He'd protect you from your very own thoughts too if he only knew how, but he grows shy whenever he sees an opportunity to really be there for you. All he ever wanted was to make you happy, and he doesn't know how it ended up like this, how his own happiness ended up being intertwined with yours so irreversibly. His own breathing grows a little more restless, chest rising and falling with your anxiety, throat tightening with your worry, mouth running dry with your confusion. And he'd take it all from you if he could, he'd drain you of all of your worries and pains if he knew you'd feel better.

He says he hates the power you have over him, but what he really hates is his inability to fight it.

He slips out of his bed, carefully and quietly to not wake the others, for once in his life grateful for Wrecker's loud snoring as it covers the sound of his footsteps on the metal flooring.

Before opening the door leading to the cockpit, he looks down at himself in his blacks, bandana abandoned with his gear back at the crew's quarters. He runs his fingers through his long curls in vain, fighting the urge to turn back and make himself more presentable, someone you could like. He's not doing this for himself, he scolds himself, but his insecurities keep buzzing in the back of his mind as he presses the button on the control panel and enters.

You've been crying.

The red rims around your eyes shatter his heart into a million pieces almost instantly, and he struggles to say anything for a second as you stare back at him wide eyed, startled. You're beautiful and sad and Hunter just wants to undo your pain any way he can. He'd be your collateral damage if you'd only let him.

"You should be resting," you say suddenly, the heels of your palms flying up to your tear streaked cheeks in a futile attempt to hide the fact that you've been crying. He wishes you wouldn't, he wishes you were comfortable with just being unapologetically yourself around him, sharing whatever sorrows and joys you had in your heart with him.

"I couldn't... You..."

"I'm fine." The little lie is so soft, almost like a caress against his cheek, a plea to let you wallow in your own misery. He'd never forgive himself for walking away now, and he can't understand why you want him to treat you so shitty.

"As your superior, I have a duty to make sure you're alright." He wants to wince when his words escape his mouth - he sounds so strict and stuck up and distant, and he wants to take it all back when a sour smile appears on your lips for a split second.

"I'm not crying as a soldier."

Hunter wills himself to sit, and forces himself to keep holding your gaze even though he wants to retreat. He's afraid, he's never been so close to breaking around you, but that damned shine in your bloodshot eyes doesn't let him back down. He knows he's already started down his road. Maybe it was time to commit to it.

"Well, I'm not asking as your sergeant then. I'm asking as your-"

"Friend?"

"I'm whatever you need me to be."

"I can't talk about it," you say after a short pause, looking away, leaving Hunter wonder whether that flush on your cheeks is because of him or not. He's disappointed you don't trust him, but he can't really be mad at you. He probably wouldn't trust himself in your place. And yet he can't stop yearning and wanting and tripping over his damn feet to make you feel better.

"That's okay. I'm still here, if you need me."

But maybe you don't need him, he thinks, his heart sinking, as he watches the colours of hyperspace reflect in your silent eyes. He stands, a hand stretching out towards you. He grabs the leather of your seat, digits sinking into it with helplessness before letting go completely, of the headrest, of your sadness, of you, and allows his own hell to swallow him up completely. He'll go back to his cot, and Wrecker snoring, and Tech mumbling in his sleep, and he'll listen to your misery in silence, suffering along mutely with every hitched, disturbed breath of yours. If that's how you want it to be, then he doesn't have the strength to change your mind.

You grab him in the corridor, catching him off-guard. He's always been off-centre around you, but so far it was only your retreats that unbalanced him. Your proximity is another intoxicating distraction, and for a moment, he feels like he can't move, he can't swallow, he can't reach out to touch you.

But you're hugging him, and how could he not return it?

Change comes slowly for him. First, it's his fingers that find your hair, and they tangle themselves in it at the nape of your neck tentatively. Your face is turned away from him, but your cheek is pressed firmly against his shoulder, and your arms have him locked in a tight hug, your ice cold fingertips seeping in his own heat. Hunter can't think straight, but he knows he's your lifeline now, and he slowly warms up, and tightens his embrace around you, and eventually holds you as if the world was ending, and you seem to need it. If only he could make your problems disappear simply by squeezing you against himself tightly enough.

It's unprofessional, so unprofessional, and yet nothing felt more natural to him than you in his arms, his nerve endings singing with the joy of your proximity. Now that he knows how sweet having you this close can truly be, he doesn't know how he's ever going to go entire days without your embrace. As if he needed anything else to prevent him from sleeping peacefully. He doesn't think he's slept well ever since you joined his team, and he doesn't seem to find it in his heart to regret it. It's bad, and destructive, and unhealthy, but it's also out of control, and Hunter promises himself not to stand in its way anymore.

No more swimming against the tide.

He just wishes, so desperately wishes he didn't have to hurt Crosshair in the process.

...

Fucking hell, he knew it'd hurt, he knew it'd come, inevitable and destructive like a tsunami, but he never actually believed it would be this bad, this paralysing. He hates it, he just wants it all to stop, he just wants to get out. But loving you doesn't seem to have an exit, and just like with breathing, the only way he'll stop doing it is when he dies.

But what's even worse than all the repressed anger and helplessness and loneliness is the hope, small and fragile but blinking steadfastly amidst the darkness of his feelings. The hope that - despite you being in Hunter's arms right now - somehow you'll still end up falling in love with him. It's false hope, Crosshair knows, but he just can't help holding onto it like a fucking lifeline.

He leans his head against the doorframe for a second, dizzy and momentarily overcome with sickness. Then he turns and lays down, curling up alone. Crosshair can't watch another second of this, of Hunter acting out all his forbidden fantasies until there's nothing left for him anymore.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but all he sees is Hunter's fingers tangled in your hair.

Part 3

You glance sideways, head propped up on your hands. He's surveying the street once more through the scope of his rifle. You consider yourself a rational person, someone who's not gross and would never violate any lines of decency, but there's something so unbelievably attractive about Crosshair as he aims his sniper rifle that you have a hard time restraining yourself from staring too much. Well, maybe you're willing to cross a few lines for him, but what the hell.

This stakeout is lengthy and has you stretched a little too thin anyways. Might as well pass the time with something.

Crosshair seems bored as well, more restless than usual. He lowers his gun and slings it over his shoulder, and you observe his lazy but meticulous movements, hoping to catch his attention before the silence drives you absolutely crazy. He comes to sit beside you on the rooftop as you watch the busy streets below you. You both know the rhythm of this place by heart now. First, there's a great bustling crowd in the late afternoon, mostly the poor workers of the adjacent factory fighting their way over to the beaten up shuttlebus station, and the merchants packing up shop and going home, leaving their stalls behind for the night. Then there are a few odd stragglers later, mostly seeking out the cheap watering hole on the other end of the street. And then around midnight, your separatist spy would finally show up to drop off his intel in the form of old, harmless looking datacards in a seemingly abandoned alley that ends in a cul-de-sac.

And then of course you'd alert the squad before the intel was retrieved, and Tech would make copies and start tracing the spy's sources, while Hunter would inform Commander Cody about the developments. Because there's a war on the other side of the planet that your information can help win, and while things look sad and boring here, at least this dusty city hasn't been bombed into oblivion yet.

"I can't wait to finally get the jump on this guy."

"Tech says we ought to wait a few more days," you remind Crosshair as you stretch your feet out in front of you.

"We're wasting our time here. There's a battle to be won on this very planet. So why are we stuck with this boring job?"

"Don't you like spending time with me?" you tease him, but you're scared of his answer, so you don't give him enough time to respond. "This is important. We're saving lives, Cross."

He bristles at the nickname, but nods reluctantly in the end. You hope it's the job he can't stand, and not you, because deep down you like this, you like not being shot at, you like having the upper hand, you like spending time with Crosshair, away from Hunter's suffocating lingering heavy with expectations posed towards you. You're none the wiser since you had that conversation with Tech some time ago, but you're all the more confused, and you're trying even harder to get back to how things were before. So maybe taking a page from Crosshair’s book and outright ignoring Hunter wasn’t the smartest idea, but you don’t have a better one yet.

"And who's going to save us before we die of boredom?"

From somewhere he produces a cigarette, and he flicks his toothpick off the roof before placing it between his lips. You raise your eyebrows, and he catches your eyes and smirks. He knows you've been trying to beat your own addiction, he knows how Hunter fucking hates the smell of smoke lingering about you, and maybe at this point he's only doing this to spite him, but he lights it, takes a drag and offers it to you.

"I really shouldn't," you wince, your rekindled craving suddenly running rampant in your veins. "I've been off it for a few months now."

"I've only got the one. But suit yourself," he shrugs, and takes another drag, smoke curling past his parted lips so enticingly that you lean closer involuntarily.

"I can't let you ruin your lungs alone." You break, and extend your hand. He chuckles, his fingers brushing against yours as he passes you the lit cigarette. You inhale the smoke, and you remember why you used to be so hung up on this shit as the nicotine soaks in your blood. Then you look at Crosshair, sweet and angry and oh so bitter Crosshair, and you soak him in too, unsurprised when he triggers the same reaction in you as nicotine does.

You remember why you used to be so hung up on him and you swallow hard, because all you can think about is what Hunter would say if he knew.

...

"I think I'm getting some sleep."

"Knock yourself out."

"I don't get how you're not tired."

"I am." If only you knew just how tired he really is, with all the pretending he has to do, with all the looking away whenever Hunter is by your side, hands drawn to you as if you were magnetic. But you are magnetic, you fucking are, he knows, he has a hard enough time to tear his gaze away from you constantly. He dreads to even think of what it would be like to have to keep his hands away from you too. He'd probably go mad.

That's why he never touches you, he avoids you, he withdraws like the losing party he is.

"Well, spyboy has already made his appearance tonight. It wouldn't be characteristic of him to come back again," you shrug. “Maybe we could both turn in for the night.”

"You really don't understand the concept of a stakeout, do you?" A snort and an adjustment to his posture later he's back to being mean to you because he needs to reinforce those walls he's pulling up between you. He'll be as cold as ice and you will burn your fingers and pull back and never come close to him again. Or at least that's the plan, he can't account for all times he's slipped out, all the times you made him laugh, made his heart race, made him wish he was more bite than bark with you. "There's a reason why we need two people here, remember? Someone needs to watch the street while I'm resting. Otherwise it'd be pretty difficult for me to do my job properly."

You take the bait so easily, and the pout and the crossed arms almost makes him smile. "Oh, so that's all I am here? Your backup? Your sidekick? Number two?"

"Pretty much." It clearly hurts you, but you deserve it a little. After all, he's your number two as well.

"It's such a joy working together with you."

Satisfied, Crosshair turns back to the street, ignoring the ache in his heart. He goes against his own wishes, but he's always taken care of himself, and he knows what's best for him. And pining after you like a lovesick cadet is not it, he can do so much better than that. You'll go now, probably pick a spot on the roof that is far away from him, you'll curl up on your mat and fall asleep, angry with him for the rest of the night.

But damn you, you're probably right, and the spy's not coming back again.

When you sit next to him, he's blinking in confusion, blank, nothing witty coming to mind. You sigh, annoyed but already letting it all go. Your elbows are touching, and he's too afraid to move.

"Do you have another cigarette?"

"You think I was lying when I said I only had the one?"

"Yeah. I think you were planning on waiting for me to fall asleep and then smoke them all alone."

"Smart girl."

The praise awakens something feral and primal in you, but Crosshair is too busy fishing out his pack of smokes to see it. You're sitting under the stars soon, ducking behind the half wall to hide the burning tips of your cigarettes, arms pressed together as you lean into his side more. You flick the ash off absentmindedly, and he watches your fingers, knowing he couldn't possibly look into your eyes now without feeling things he shouldn't feel.

"I don't mind being your sidekick."

And there you go again, fucking up his plans once more as he has nothing smart to say. He just sits, and smokes, and ignores the drumming of his heart in his ears as he focuses on you being so close to him. Just one last slip-up, and he'll do better tomorrow, he'll chase you off, he'll make you fucking hate him. But tonight is his, selfish or not. Tonight he will steal from Hunter, and then he'll never insert himself into your life again.

By the time you've put yours out, he's already lighting a second cigarette, and you blink slowly, exhaustion creeping up on you. Crosshair is about to shove you, about to tell you to fuck off finally and get some sleep, but then you put your head on his shoulder and he shuts up.

He's too scared to move, to ruin this moment. Tomorrow, tomorrow he'll stay true to himself, but tonight, he'll stay true to you.

...

"They've missed their check-in."

"Actually, they haven't. Crosshair gave me a status update not long ago. Looks like it’s all quiet - we won’t be seeing more of our spy tonight.”

While Tech is busy tracing the origins of the spy’s latest intel, Hunter paces up and down the abandoned cellar they established as their momentary camp. This temporary imprisonment has them all restless and stupid and twitchy, and he blames his own jumpy nature on being so understimulated. Listening to nothing but Tech’s datapad and Wrecker’s whining all day in the dark and damp confinement of these four walls is enough to drive him positively mad.

It has nothing to do with not seeing you or hearing your voice for days on end, no. Nothing to do with not catching a whiff of your scent in the mouldy air underground. Nothing to do with knowing you’re up on a rooftop, exposed, with no other than Crosshair.

Hunter trusts him to keep you safe. But he’s being irrational and jealous even though it is totally unwarranted.

Because he loves you.

It was a hard labour, to give birth to that internal confession, but he’s never felt so relieved ever since he’s done it. He finally has a name to put to all the yearning and pain and hope he’s harboured for seemingly endless months. But you’re not ready, he knows that. And maybe he isn’t ready to say those words out aloud either, and yet he knows the day will come. Because in the corridor of the Marauder those few weeks ago, while the rest of the ship slumbered, the two of you shared a moment that meant something.

You’ve been careful not to repeat it again, and he’s respected your wish, but he sees the way you look at him. Sees the purposefulness in your avoidance of him. Hell, he can practically smell your confusion. So he backs up as much as he can to give you the much needed time and space to hopefully figure out how him wanting to be close to you makes you feel.

But he likes to keep an eye on you nonetheless, not necessarily just to keep you safe, but also for that. And allowing you to tag along with Crosshair on a stakeout doesn’t exactly help him do that.

So he paces, dragging along his love for you with every step, ignoring his festering jealousy. Crosshair doesn’t even seem to like you anymore, he’s been vocal about it lately too, so there’s nothing to worry about. Despite it being an irrational fear, he still dreads leaving you alone with him, but he won’t have it. He knows you and his brother better than this. He knows. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

And as Hunter paces, Tech occasionally glances up to check on his sergeant, his friend, heart heavy with worry not just for him, or you, or Crosshair, but for the future of the whole squad in general.

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