Hunter had been walking for a long time. He was cold and tired and hungry. Well, those were understatements, but his head had become very foggy and he couldn’t think of the words to rephrase.
The ground blurred in front of him and he stumbled, tripping over a snow drift he hadn’t seen and nearly faceplanting. Again. This time, though, he righted himself and was able to limp onwards in the direction he had decided approximately four hours ago was the way back to the ship.
Some time ago, he’d been separated from the group. By itself, that wasn’t a bad thing; it was actually something they’d anticipated and planned for. What they hadn’t planned for, however, was for the drug cartel being roughly double the size they’d been told. Hunter had performed his tasks and performed them well, but he’d been injured and had somehow ended up far outside what had been the defined mission location. Fortunately, he’d had some of his wits about him then and had managed to figure out where the others should be. How had he done that?
When he’d set out, it had been at a run. Then, when the burn in his legs and lungs and his fucked-up ankle had gotten to be too much, he’d slowed down to a jog. Then, he’d alternated between jogging and walking. Now, he was lucky to be on his feet at all, limping listlessly away from the setting sun.
The wind picked up. Hunter shivered. His knees gave out of their own accord and he fell for real this time, crashing to his knees in the shallow, windblow snow. He couldn’t feel his body.
Hunter’d been under local anesthesia many times in the past. He was no stranger to medical exams and even the Kaminoans weren’t so heartless as to deny him some form of painkillers during the more invasive procedures. Sometimes, they put him under. Other times, he was awake and paralyzed while they cut into him.
That’s what this felt like. He was so cold that he just… wasn’t anymore. He wasn’t anything. He was just floating. His hands felt too big when he placed them on the ground in front of him, like balloons that might pop when he put his weight on them and pushed himself to his feet. He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he stayed upright.
Just one step, Hunter. Just one step and then the next and then the next.
It crossed his mind to be grateful that breathing was reflexive in Humans. He certainly didn’t have the attention to spare to it right now. He took a step forward, and then another. He kept moving.
“Can you see him?” Tech asked, practically vibrating with nerves.
“If I could see him, I would have told you,” Crosshair snapped, glancing away from his scope to shoot Tech a glare.
Tech swallowed his response. He knew Crosshair was as worried as he was and he knew they all had their own ways of showing it. He was just… on edge, that’s all.
He looked through the viewport, chewing his lip. Night was falling and the temperature had already dropped to negative twenty-six degrees centigrade. Hunter had been gone for over a day now, and he’d missed the pick-up time five hours ago. Of course, Hunter was more than competent, but competent doesn’t protect anyone from bad intel. Or subzero temperatures.
The Havoc swayed to the left for a moment before righting itself again. Wrecker mumbled something that sounded like, “Stupid wind.”
Crosshair growled under his breath, whole body tense as he curled around the scope.
Tech switched to chewing his fingernails. “Do you think he-”
“He knows where the secondary rendezvous point is, Tech.”
“I was just asking.”
“Less fighting, more looking for Hunter.”
Hunter’s feet burned like he’d dipped them in lava. They felt twice their normal size and every step drove a new sore spot against the inside of his boots. His hands burned, too, and his face felt like the skin had become too small. What was the word for that, again? Something becoming too small?
Shrinkage.
He wondered where the rest of the team was. Hopefully, they’d gotten out safely. They were coming to get him, right? Or he was coming to get them? Did he have to come get them? That sounded right. He had to make sure they were okay.
That thought motivated his next few steps before it froze and blew away in the wind. It was dark now, in that late-evening blue way tundras tend to be.
Where was he going?
Hunter tapped the side of his helmet with clumsy fingers, trying to make his HUD do… something. He wasn’t sure what. He wanted it to look different. He wanted to…
Know where he’s going?
Yeah, that.
Focus, Hunter. One foot in front of the other.
But what if he was walking the wrong way? What if he never found the team and he was going to walk in circles forever, or freeze to death? What if, what if, what if…?
Something sparked on the edge of his awareness. Something electromagnetic. Probably. Or death. What would death feel like?
This, probably.
No, it was a ship. He could see it on the horizon. Something mid-size, something familiar?
Home.
That was home flying toward him. He tried to run to it, but somehow ended up in the snow. He clambered back to his feet.
The ship was coming closer, bringing its electromagnetic trace with it. He didn’t want that. That was going to… oh, yeah, that hurt. Badly. Hunter dropped to his knees again.
By the time he got to his feet, the ship was hovering meters away. It was screaming at him, telling him more than he’d ever want to know and drilling into his head like those maggots on Kiffu and Hunter’s vision went screwy around the edges.
Someone dropped out of the ship. Someone big. Wrecker. Good, Wrecker was okay. Hunter had found him. Everything was okay.
Something on the ship sparked and it went straight to Hunter’s head. He made a noise, he’s pretty sure. He might have fallen, but then Wrecker was there, picking him up and oh, that felt good. His legs were like weights, but now he didn’t have to carry them.
Wait, that wasn’t right. You don’t carry legs, you carry-
Hunter wrapped his arms around Wrecker’s neck and held on. Wrecker started walking towards the ship.
Towards the ship…
“No!” Hunter wriggled in Wrecker’s grip, but his body wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to. He didn’t want to be in the ship. That would hurt so badly. So much worse than just standing outside of it. But inside there was no wind.
Another sharp pain shot through his head and he thrashed harder, willing Wrecker to understand that he was hurting him, damnit. Wrecker held tight through Hunter’s protests.
“It’s alright, big brother,” he rumbled. “I’m sorry. I know. It’s alright.”
“Hurts.”
“I know. It will stop.”
Hunter whimpered, clinging harder to Wrecker as the pain in his head peaked.
And then he was gone.
Tech watched as Crosshair finished plugging in the last of the intravenous lines. Hunter didn’t move. He wouldn’t, of course, even awake, because the Kaminoans had long ago given each of them their very own permanent intravenous ports. Getting hooked up now just felt like someone touching the tip of your finger with theirs.
Crosshair felt the bag of saline with the back of his hand, nodding when he found the temperature to be satisfactory. Hunter would need time to warm up, but the warm saline would help. Tech knew from first-hand experience that it hurt less than most other methods.
Carefully, mindful of the bruises covering much of Hunter’s right shoulder, Crosshair picked his head up and tied his hair back in a stubby little ponytail. Then, he took another wet towel from the pack and began wiping the copious amounts of blood from Hunter’s face.
“Another fuckin’ nosebleed,” Crosshair mumbled. “Why does this happen to you so much?” He mopped up the dark, congealed mess covering Hunter’s upper lip. “Someday, you’re going to have an aneurysm and I’m not going to help you.”
Ah, the nosebleeds. Tech was glad they’d been able to drop into hyperspace so soon. He knew it hurt Hunter less than normal ship functions, and he hated knowing they were hurting him more. Logically, of course, Tech knew they had no choice but to bring Hunter onto the ship, but emotionally, he cried when Hunter begged Wrecker not to bring him closer. Wrecker had, too.
Finally, Crosshair decided Hunter was stable enough to be let alone. He snapped his gloves off and threw them in the trash before standing and turning towards the door.
“Had enough of expressing your emotions for the day?” Tech quipped.
Crosshair just walked out.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes,’” Tech muttered. “Just you and me, now,” he said to Hunter. He pulled out a datapad and opened one of the programs he’d been tinkering with.
Hunter was uncomfortably warm all over. His skin stretched and pulled over raw nerves and he wondered if he’d somehow gotten himself poisoned again. Someone had put an IV into his arm. Multiple IVs, if the tugging he felt with every heartbeat was any indication.
He was on the Marauder, that much he was sure of. Beyond that…?
He’d been on a mission. He’d been separated. Cold, not poisoned; cold and lost and oh, Wrecker had carried him back to the ship. Right.
Cautiously, he cracked one eye open. It was sticky and heavy and his head throbbed at the light, but he managed. He was in the medbay, but he’d known that much already. Across the room, he could make out the blurry outline of Tech, slumped over in a chair. But he heard someone else breathing, someone closer-
“Sarge!”
A weight like a charging bantha slammed into Hunter from the left and he was engulfed by four hundred pounds of worried Wrecker. Ow.
“You’re awake,” Wrecker exclaimed, pulling Hunter into a crushing hug and patting his back. “You were asleep for a long time.”
“Yeah?” Hunter croaked. “Sorry about that. I’m alright now.” He disentangled himself from Wrecker’s grasp and collapsed back to the bed, more tired than he’d thought. “We almost home?”
Before Wrecker could answer, Tech sat up, yawning. A crease like the edge of a datapad cut across his cheek and his glasses were nowhere to be seen. “Wrecker? Oh, you’re awake.” Tech stood, leaning out the door and calling for Crosshair. Then, he joined Wrecker by Hunter’s bedside. “How do you feel?”
“Defrosted,” Hunter answered. Gingerly, he flexed his hands, curling his brittle fingers into fists and relaxing them again. They responded, but slowly. “Frostbite?”
“Not quite,” came Crosshair’s voice from the doorway. “Close enough, though.” Crosshair’s glare was murderous. He crossed the room in two steps and immediately set about unhooking Hunter’s IVs and checking his temperature. “Good. You’re not hypothermic anymore.”
Hunter caught his eye as he turned away, giving him a lopsided grin. “Not that you were worried about that.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sarge,” he huffed, moving to the end of the bed to check on Hunter’s ankle. “Or I’ll break your leg again.”
“Terrifying.” Then, pushing himself up on one elbow to examine the soft cast around his foot, Hunter asked, “Broken? Didn’t feel like it.”
“Cold will do that.” Crosshair ran the scanner over the cast and nodded at whatever he saw. “It’s setting well. Keep that on at least until we get back to Kamino. Don’t try putting weight on it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Hunter laid back down, suddenly every bit as tired as before he passed out. “Goin’ back to sleep,” he told the room at large.
“Good,” Crosshair grumbled. Then, he pulled a chair up and settled down with his elbows on the end of the bed. Wrecker rested his head on his arms near Hunter’s shoulder and Tech propped his datapad up on Hunter’s legs.
Hunter closed his eyes.