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The mission went off without a hitch. In a way, that was the worst part of all this. All Hunter needed to do was take the win, order them straight to the next mission, leave it all as a tally mark on their victory board.
He never could take the easy way out, though. Wasn’t in his nature. So, once they cleared out the separatist relay station that was their real target, it had been easy to make the call to chase down the suspicious signal ten klicks out into the mountainous landscape. They’d expected to mop up a few stray clankers on patrol, maybe find some intel on them if they were lucky.
They weren’t lucky.
A boot slammed into Hunter’s ribs, throwing him mercilessly onto his back. Pain radiated out from the impact site, bruise layered over bruise, but he didn’t have time to recover his breath. The pirate — a burly Twi’lek, skin a sickly blue pallor — propped his foot onto Hunter’s chest, weight leaning forward until his ribs creaked ominously and he could barely inhale.
Lips pulled back to show a sharp toothed grin. Hunter found himself looking at the gap of a missing canine, focusing on that just so he didn’t have to take in the smug expression.
“You know, this doesn’t have to keep going,” the Twi’lek said, voice mocking. Proud of himself, as if it were some bold thing to beat up a clone in nothing but blacks and stuncuffs. As if he wouldn’t have already lost the rest of his teeth if this were a fair fight.
Blood filled Hunter’s mouth, every breath sticky with it, but he still bared his own red-stained teeth in a snarl. “That a fact?” he spat. Defiance felt more like a mask at this point, a front put between him and the agony, but it was one that Hunter had no intention of letting drop.
After all, without it, he’d have nothing to distract himself with. The first punch to the face had broken his nose so badly he could barely breathe through it. Or, more importantly, smell. The complex scent map that normally made up his world had turned to a flatly metallic, disorienting haze. Nothing to latch onto, nothing to tell him a thing about his surroundings. Just the four walls of this tiny room, the Twi’lek, and the pain of his battered body.
Clinging to his defiance was the only option. That got him through the worst of it.
It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been tortured. Every clone went through interrogation training eventually, though cadets tormented themselves years ahead of time with rumors of just how brutal the training could be. Not that their fears weren’t justified. The trainers relished in the chance to unleash their cruelty, inflicting as much pain as they desired with even less oversight than usual. Hunter had thought, if nothing else, that it prepared him for a real interrogation.
Naive of him. He should have known that it would be nothing compared to a torturer that didn’t have to care if he was still functional after they were done.
Another kick rolled him over, and the Twi’lek dropped down into a kneeling position, his boot replaced with a sharp knee digging in between Hunter’s shoulder blades, making him grit his teeth. Fingers knotted in his hair, gripping his bandana and using it as a handle to yank his head back, throat exposed in a brutal curve.
Hunter tried not to look at the dark smear of blood left behind on the floor. His only other option, though, was the Twi’lek’s sneering face, that missing tooth he longed to add to. The hand in his hair jerked, hard. “Just tell us what a squad of clones is doing out here, and we’ll let you go.”
He almost sounded like he meant it. They’d made the same kinds of promises back in training, too. And Hunter, young, stupid, and two days into the worst pain he’d ever experienced, had believed them. It got him another beating, a firm reminder that he’d fallen short of expectations, though he was far from the only one. They all failed their first time.
Well, except for Tech. He’d been brought back after nearly five days, beaten and miserable but certainly not broken. One of less than ten cadets to pass the training on his first try.
“Anything they say to you is a lie,” he’d said, the only advice that he could provide. Hunter could still remember the out of character way his voice had trembled. “Trainers will simply send you to the start of the training again, or to decommissioning. An enemy will kill you when you’re no longer of use. Cease to believe anything they say, and you can justify telling them nothing.”
Tech had never told them what happened to him in that room. None of them did — it wasn’t something that was just talked about. But the next time the trainers took them for testing, they all passed with flying colors.
They'd outlasted it then. Hunter could outlast it now. He clenched his jaw, lips pressing tightly together as he glared up at the Twi’lek, defiance firmly back in place. He pressed his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, letting saliva and blood gather.
Red spattered over the Twi’lek’s cheek, and Hunter had just enough time to feel satisfied before the hand in his hair shoved him viciously back to the metal floor. Hunter grunted, his right eye taking the bulk of the impact. He’d have a vicious black eye as a souvenir when he escaped.
If he escaped.
Another kick laid into his side as punishment, then several more just to make the point, but even pirates had to get tired of beating helpless prisoners eventually. Hands hooked under his bound arms, and the Twi’lek spat out something in a language that Hunter couldn’t recognize as he hauled him gracelessly to his feet. Judging from the venom, though, it must have been a choice insult.
The Twi’lek took him by the back of the neck, clutching so tight that his sharp nails drew beads of blood on Hunter’s skin. He steered him that way from the room into a narrow, claustrophobic passage, the walls going from metal to natural rock. Built partially into the mountainside, maybe. Hunter added it to his mental layout of the place, glad for any detail.
The journey was a short one, and soon the passage opened up into a wider cavern. Hunter tried to take in as much of it as he could with his vision still blurred on his right side and the hand on his neck keeping him from properly turning his head.
Sleeping racks took up much of the far side of the cavern, metal slabs driven directly into the rock face, irregularly spaced as if the work had been done by unskilled hands. Hunter tried to count the filled ones, to get an idea of just how many enemies he was dealing with, when a voice caught his attention.
“Bring him here a second.” Calm, almost bored, and Hunter took note of a distinct Core World accent. He couldn’t look until the Twi’lek allowed it, but the voice alone created an image in his mind, and when he was finally forcibly turned, the man seated at the only table in the room held no surprises for him. Human, holding himself like someone that knew he was important. Hunter had no doubt he was the captain.
Surprisingly well kept for a pirate. Clothes that were tailored to his solid frame, fine but not flashy. Pirates that were lucky enough to hit it big dressed to impress, extravagant at a glance. Understated wealth was the domain of men that were used to having it. He didn’t need to be doing this, Hunter thought derisively. Men like that could do whatever they wanted.
Derision turned to anger when he caught sight of his own vibroblade in the captain’s hands, turned over and over for close examination. The captain shifted, then sunk the tip of the blade into the wood of the table, leaving it standing straight up as he leaned forward. Both elbows on the table, he looked Hunter over.
“They’re always prettier before you break their faces,” the captain said to the Twi’lek. His eyes met Hunter’s, not an ounce of real sympathy in them before they slid away as if he wasn’t even there. Between that and the void where the captain’s scent should be, Hunter felt a prickle of anxiety down his spine. “Put him with the other one for now, we’ll decide what to do with them later."
Hunter’s heart sank into his stomach. He’d hoped to have been captured alone.
The Twi’lek turned him again and forced him past the sleeping racks, towards a narrow cell, carved deep into the wall and ray shielded. It couldn’t be more than six feet across, and a grated barrier separated the already small cell into two.
One of them already contained a prisoner. Crosshair sat pressed into the back corner of the cell, huddled against the rock. He looked small somehow, stripped to his blacks the same as Hunter, and bunched up defensively in a way that hid his height. His bony knees formed a shield between himself and the pirates, and he glowered over them defiantly. His sharp gaze snapped immediately to the movement outside the cell, then widened at the sight of Hunter’s injuries.
Binders fell from his wrists, but Hunter barely got to process the new freedom of movement before the ray shield dropped just long enough for the Twi’lek to shove him inside. He stumbled, then fell to his knees with a bit back hiss, too exhausted to keep his balance. Pain seemed like it was making its home in every muscle now that the beating was over, every part of him bruised, and hitting the solid ground certainly wasn’t helping that.
A shuffle sounded, and Hunter turned his head slightly to watch Crosshair crawl from his hiding spot. Faint bruising lined his jaw, like the size and shape of fingerprints, and while he knew there were likely more he couldn’t see, he didn’t look badly hurt. Hunter held onto that, ignoring the part of his mind that tried to append a yet to the thought.
Crosshair pressed himself tight to the grate that separated them, leaning heavily against it like he thought he could simply pass through it to Hunter’s side if he only tried hard enough. He stared, waited, and as unappealing as the thought of moving was, Hunter still struggled to get to him. His body collapsed within seconds, but he’d managed to crawl enough distance that, when he fell, it was against the grate.
The holes in it weren’t big enough for his hand to slip through, but Crosshair’s thinner one managed it with some effort, wiggling determinedly the whole way. He turned his palm up, and Hunter took the silent offer, wrapping the slim hand up in his own.
From their captors’ perspective, past the ray shields and across the room, it would look like nothing more than a tender touch. A moment of comfort between captives. Nothing that required their attention.
At least, that’s what they were counting on.
Soon enough, though — once they were sure they hadn’t drawn any sideways glances — Crosshair tapped a finger once, solidly, in the center of Hunter’s palm. They’d developed the code early, at Tech’s urging, for when words and hand signals weren’t an option. As long as they could touch, the batch still had this, the bare basics of communication worked out through late nights in their barracks.
The tap came again, more insistent. Situation?
Hunter could only shrug, though the motion pulled at his aching muscles. In response, he slowly drew his thumb over Crosshair’s knuckles, gentle and repetitive strokes. All clear.
That didn’t even get him a tapped out response. Crosshair just stared at him, his eyes narrowed and doubtful and the frown on his face even more intent than usual.
Fair. Hunter didn’t even believe his own claim. But rather than face the fact that he was lying, he did what he did best. He changed the subject. He tapped two more times, once on Crosshair’s middle finger, once on the ring. It was the first of these signals they ever developed, each finger coinciding with their numbers. Tech and Wrecker?
This time it was Crosshair’s thumb that crossed over his knuckles, soothing despite everything, and Hunter let out a soft breath of relief. They were safe, then, against all odds. One gasp of hope in the middle of all this.
Possibly they were the only way out too. Hunter knew damn well he was in no shape to take on well armed pirates, and Crosshair’s hand to hand was middling at the best of times. The only chance they had was if Tech and Wrecker could find them. Fast.
Hunter let his grip tighten around Crosshair’s hand, as if that alone could protect him. Almost more to soothe himself than anything, he let his thumb begin its journey over Crosshair’s knuckles again.
All clear.
All clear.
It was as close as he could get to saying it was going to be okay. Hunter could only hope that was the truth.
***
Minutes or hours could have passed and Hunter wouldn’t have known the difference. His world had narrowed down entirely to Crosshair’s hand in his, the warmth of his skin, the bony hills of his knuckles and the softer valleys between. The grate may have kept them separated, but if Hunter let himself, he could almost forget it was there.
That still didn’t feel close enough for his tastes. Hunter couldn’t pick up Crosshair’s scent, after all, even with silver hair poking through the holes of the grate to practically tickle his nose. Crosshair was there, under his hands, but his nerves screamed against all logic that not being able to smell him meant he was gone. That slim hand in his was the only thing keeping him grounded, and he clutched it all the tighter for that.
Hunter didn’t look up when boots approached their cell. He just stayed there, focused on Crosshair, and the seconds dragged until their visitor pointedly cleared his throat. Cracking his eyes open revealed the captain standing, arms crossed, the frown on his face stark in the glow of the ray shield.
Someone sure didn’t like being ignored.
His eyes fell to the man’s belt, and a prickle of rage raced over him at the sight of his vibroblade strapped there, just another piece of plunder to be shown off. But his glare, unflinching as it was, had nothing on Crosshair’s. A look over at his brother revealed narrowed eyes that shot pure venom, like he could disintegrate the captain right where he stood.
Not that it seemed to deter the captain’s plans. He jerked his head in a sharp motion. “You. The scrawny one. Up.”
A growl slipped free from Hunter’s throat on its own, though the sound came out less intimidating than he’d like — short and thin, barely audible — thanks to the broken nose. Crosshair seemed bolstered by it regardless, and his other hand slid through the grate to join its partner in clutching at Hunter’s. His entire slim body locked up, muscles going stubbornly stiff.
Holding onto him wouldn’t be enough to keep him from being dragged away. Not for long, anyway. He couldn’t save him. But in that moment, neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered was that they didn’t cooperate with the bastard.
The captain shook his head and sighed, an exaggerated, theatrical sound. “You clones are all the same. Difficult.” His fist slammed against the controls for the ray shield. “But I can handle that.”
Hunter expected it when the ray shield went down. What he didn’t expect was for it to be the one on his cell. His mind raced, readjusted for the new situation — was he going to be the one taken instead? He could accept that, but Crosshair never would.
Watching with wary eyes as the captain stepped inside, Hunter’s body tensed. Every muscle and instinct screamed to fight back, but after the beating he’d taken, he was in no shape. He knew that.
The captain raised a foot and Hunter panicked to realize he was in no shape to dodge either, and even if he was the narrow cell wouldn’t give him anywhere to go. He had just enough time to realize just how badly this was going to hurt before the boot slammed into his chin, knocking his head back into the wall.
Pain actually wasn’t the first sensation to hit him. It was the sounds, the violent crack of his skull hitting the wall, Crosshair shouting in angry protest. Hands tightened around his at the same time his own grip loosened. A thin stream of blood trickled down the back of his scalp, leaking past the rapidly dampening bandana.
Black spots overtook his vision, and the pain hit like a wave, overwhelming him. Drowning him. In that moment, short as it was, nothing else existed.
When he came to, the cell at his side was empty.
***
Time went from meaning nothing to meaning everything, but now Hunter struggled to keep track of it, counting the seconds and then losing them in the spinning agony of his head. Trying to stand was out of the question; just pushing himself up onto his knees made his stomach flip, and if he’d had anything in his stomach it would have been retched up.
The ray shield hadn’t even been reactivated. Nothing kept Hunter in that cell but his own damaged body, and he couldn’t manage to pull himself together enough to take advantage of it. Worst of all, the pirates knew it. Laughter marked every attempt to so much as raise his head. It was nothing but a show to them, watching him struggle from the safety of their sleeping racks.
He couldn’t hear any screaming, at least. It didn’t mean that Crosshair wasn’t hurt, just that it wasn’t bad enough to break him. He was able to keep quiet.
Crosshair returned silent, too. Hunter heard the footsteps first, lifting his head despite the pain and struggling to focus. The Twi’lek had Crosshair by the back of the neck, same as he’d done to Hunter. Scruffed like a massif pup, Crosshair had no choice but to let himself be steered towards the cells, the captain following after with hands shoved into his pockets, casual as could be.
“Put him back and grab the other one,” the captain said. “He might spill now that he’s half dead.”
In the Twi’lek’s grasp, Crosshair twitched. His hands pulled at the binders, as if he had any chance of breaking free of them. When he spoke, his voice sounded thin and raspy, like his throat was bruised. “You’re going to kill him if you take him again,” he spat out, angry to the untrained ear, but desperate to Hunter’s. Afraid.
Their gazes met, and this time Hunter’s sinking stomach wasn’t from dizziness. He recognized the look in his brother’s eye, the stubbornness that said Crosshair wasn’t about to let something go. Wasn’t about to let him go.
Committed, Crosshair dug his heels into the floor. Skinny he might be, but Hunter knew from years of experience with trying to control Crosshair’s behavior that he could turn himself into an immovable object when properly motivated. The Twi’lek tried to push him forward, but he refused to budge an inch. He had no chance of breaking loose, but that wasn’t his goal.
The captain laughed, and Crosshair’s eyes flicked to him. He flashed a glimpse of his teeth. “Don’t touch him again,” Crosshair ordered.
“As if you’re the authority here,” the captain shot back. He gestured for the Twi’lek to release him, but the hand at the back of Crosshair’s neck was replaced by the captain’s in his hair. Crosshair’s shackled hands rose like a protective shield between the two of them as the captain forced him to turn.
“Are you volunteering to take his place?” The captain asked. “We just finished with you, but we’re always happy to give another showing if you haven’t had enough yet.”
Hunter’s heart pounded in his chest. “Cross—” he called out, voice failing him halfway through. He might as well not even have tried to speak. No one looked back at him. He struggled to crawl forward, inching across the floor, but there was only so far he could make it before his body gave out on him. He went limp on the floor, stomach rebelling again, half from the head injury and half from fear.
Crosshair never agreed out loud. But even from behind, Hunter could see the way his jaw set itself and his chin lifted defiantly. That was answer enough.
Another laugh, and the captain pushed Crosshair down to his knees right there, facing the cells. Their eyes met again briefly, Hunter’s panicked and Crosshair’s determinedly resigned. He twitched his hands, long fingers catching Hunter’s attention.
Slowly, he drew the thumb of one hand across the knuckles of the other. Hunter made a choked sound in his throat.
Then, the Twi’lek’s boot hit Crosshair’s back, knocking the air out of him when he was pitched forward onto his belly. His bound hands stretched out in front of him, and once he was in place, the Twi’lek set his foot on the slim wrists to keep them pinned. Hunter watched Crosshair go still, forehead against the cold floor.
Even the crew went quiet, a silent audience as the captain took his time. He twirled Hunter’s confiscated vibroblade idly in his hand, staring down at Crosshair, contemplating. When he finally knelt, Hunter could hear the fear hit. Crosshair’s breath shuddered, heart rate spiking when the tip of the vibroblade pressed against the back of his neck.
Hunter tried to pull himself another inch forward, as if he could simply reach out and stop it. But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. And as much as he wanted to hide his face away from what was about to happen, he knew damn well he didn’t deserve to hide from what Crosshair couldn’t.
The blade moved down, slicing the back of Crosshair’s blacks from neck to waist. It cut easily, effortless. Hunter always kept the knife sharp, after all. His knife. In that moment, Hunter hated himself for even owning it.
From the floor, he could only see a hint of Crosshair’s skin, but Hunter knew that body like he knew his own. Every inch of it had been under his hands, under his mouth. Every scar, every blemish. When the blade settled at Crosshair’s left shoulder, contact marked by a sharp intake of breath, Hunter could picture in his mental map exactly where it was.
The start of one of three scars, delivered during interrogation training. Perfectly straight, one right after another like rungs of a ladder. Crosshair never acknowledged them, or spoke of having gotten them, but it was the one lingering remnant of the training that he couldn’t even try to hide.
Crosshair’s teeth gritted, and when the captain finally started the cut, he managed to bite back everything past the initial whimper, swallowing the sounds down. Even without his sense of smell, the vicious scent memory of blood hit Hunter as hard as the punch to the face had.
Not a word or plea slipped out as the blade sliced open the old scar, a bloody line traced from shoulder-blade to shoulder-blade. Red lines trickled down Crosshair's skin, like fingers wrapping around his sides. Hunter’s eyes followed the path as it dripped to the floor.
He retched again, stomach turning.
On the second scar, they dug deeper, and Hunter heard the hiss of air between Crosshair’s teeth. Not quite a cry of pain. Not yet.
“You can say you want out,” the captain said, leaning down to Crosshair’s ear, his voice pitched low. “No shame in that. Your boyfriend is barely even conscious enough to appreciate what you’re doing for him. Promise it’d be better for you.”
Crosshair let out a growl, turning his face towards the captain — Hunter could imagine the side eyed glare. “Fuck you.”
The third cut was deep and fast in response. The fourth would be a new scar. Before the fifth could be made, Hunter felt the ground shake beneath him.
It was the only warning before the world shifted on its axis again. A blast sounded, erupting through the wall of sleeping racks, silencing the nearby pirates before they even had a chance to scream. The shock wave hit Hunter hard enough that his skull rattled, his head nothing but sound and agony that blacked out everything else.
When it all cleared, he only heard screaming.
For a horrifying second, he thought Crosshair had finally broken. But the voice was wrong, unfamiliar, and when Hunter managed to look up, he saw the captain, mouth open and howling in pain. Crosshair had used to chaos to break free from the Twi’lek and whipped around like a striking snake to dig his teeth deep into the captain’s arm. He bit hard, Hunter’s vibroblade clattering to the ground, and when he released it was only because he’d gotten what he wanted — his shackled hands wrapped around the grip of a blaster stolen from the captain’s belt.
Crosshair only had a second to aim. A second was all he needed. One shot and the captain lay dead, a hole burned through his throat. The bolt ricocheted to take out the Twi’lek and two others, stray survivors from the initial explosion whose luck only extended so far. He kicked the captain’s corpse, rolling it onto its back, and then knelt to take the key to the binders, freeing himself.
Hunter tried to push himself up when Crosshair came to him, but only made it a couple inches before his body gave out. He lay still on his side, vision starting to blur as Crosshair’s knees hit the ground beside him, along with several spatters of red against grey. Breathing had started to take more focus than it should. If he had the capacity to think about it too much, he’d probably be worried.
“They’re here,” Crosshair whispered, taking Hunter’s hand in his own again. He held it clutched to his chest. Hunter felt his muscles relaxing at the feel of that treasured heartbeat pattering against his skin, panicked as it might have been. “It’s going to be alright.” Hunter had little choice but to believe him.
He couldn’t make sense of the words past that. They all faded together into a murmur, comforting from familiarity if nothing else. When more voices joined him, Tech’s quick paced chatter and Wrecker’s low tones, Hunter let his eyes slide shut. His awareness narrowed down to his brothers, almost like the final few seconds of consciousness before falling asleep. Even the pain seemed to be fading.
The last thing he felt was the ground falling away as Wrecker lifted him into his arms and Crosshair’s thumb giving one last pass over his knuckles in a final promise.
***
Opening his eyes to the Marauder’s familiar ceiling almost left Hunter unsure of what to do. His lips pressed together as he stared up at it, distantly noting every scratch and dimple in the metal as if trying to prove to himself that his vision was in fact clear again. He still hurt, a deep and dull ache that set up in every muscle and throbbed through his head, but it wasn’t the sharp agony of before. Somewhere along the line, he’d been treated.
He could even think again and, more importantly, smell. Not as powerfully as he ought to have been able to, but not the haunting void that had hung over him before, reminding him of his own helplessness. Each breath in now gave him the full picture of safety. Wrecker’s crumpled blacks left in the corner. The comfort of well used blankets. The unique sting of bacta.
The most important scent of all, though, laid with his head resting lightly on Hunter’s chest, breathing patterns soft and relaxed as he dozed. Crosshair looked fresh out of the sonic, skin clean and silver hair just a little fluffed up. His upper blacks had been disposed of entirely, leaving just bandages around his torso.
No blood leaked through, Tech’s work was always exceptional. Neat, clean, smelling of nothing more than copious amounts of bacta. But Hunter didn’t need to see the blood to envision perfectly where every single cut lay.
He raised a hand and let it hover over Crosshair’s shoulder, as if scared that even the lightest touch would be enough to hurt. After a moment’s consideration, he let his hand drift up, instead, resting it carefully on Crosshair’s head. Silver strands caught between his fingers, a touch longer than Crosshair typically let it grow. Their missions had come too fast to have any time for trimming it.
Hunter kind of preferred it that way. It was cute, even if he probably wouldn’t be brave enough to say so to Crosshair’s face. Almost made him feel like a therapy tooka of sorts under Hunter’s palm — and he definitely wouldn’t say that part to Crosshair’s face, not if he wanted to be allowed to touch his hair, or any other part of him, ever again.
Within the minute, Crosshair stirred. He didn’t lift his head, but a hand reached up to lay over Hunter’s. Slowly, he led it back down to his shoulder, letting it rest just above where the bandages started.
“You’re awake faster than Tech thought you would be,” Crosshair mumbled sleepily. His hand kept Hunter’s pinned in place, palm warm. “Don’t try to sit up, unless you want him to come back here and dose you with pain meds again.”
Hunter chuckled. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he admitted. His body felt too heavy to even contemplate trying to move the rest of it. “Did he give me the Wrecker sized dose by mistake?”
A smile flickered across Crosshair’s face, only noticeable at all because Hunter had years to learn how to read his little brother’s reactions. Worry quickly brushed it away, though, and Crosshair squeezed Hunter’s hand like he was reassuring himself that it was still there.
Slowly, he began to rub a thumb over Hunter’s knuckles, the quiet repetition that had become a lifeline for both of them. “You barely made it. Might not have if we’d gotten out of there a few minutes later.”
The words felt heavy, like the idea had haunted Crosshair’s thoughts ever since they’d been rescued. Hunter slipped his hand from Crosshair’s only to cup his face instead, both a comfort and an excuse to examine him more closely for other injuries. “Got you to thank for that.”
Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Don’t get soft about it.”
As if he had a choice. Hunter didn’t know if it was the drugs lingering in his system or just the fact that they’d survived, but he was feeling softer than ever.
He looked Crosshair over, taking note of extra bruising around his throat, the remnants of a choking hand. His face had been left mostly alone, aside from his jaw. Hunter didn’t know if he was more relieved by the sight or worried about what the captain’s intentions had been for him.
It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. The pirates were dead. They wouldn’t hurt either of them, or anyone else, again. “What about you?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m fine,” came the expected response. Crosshair tugged away from his hand sulkily. “Nothing to worry about.” When he caught Hunter’s doubting expression, he huffed and repeated, “I’m fine.”
Which of course meant nothing. If anything, it meant the opposite. But Crosshair wasn’t someone that opened up just because he was told to. Hunter sighed, letting his hand drop, along with the dangerous topic.
For now anyway. It’d be easier to corner him into a conversation when he could stand up.
Instead, he took Crosshair’s hand in his own again. It hurt to move too much, so instead of trying to lean up he simply brought the hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I’m just glad we made it out of there.”
A pretty red blush crawled its way across Crosshair’s cheeks, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah, well…” He leaned down, breath tickling across Hunter’s face. “Thanks I suppose. For keeping your promise.”
Hunter closed his eyes and let himself disappear into a proper kiss.