It’s very simple: Hunter has a migraine, so Crosshair finishes his post-mission clean up and heads to the barracks to crawl into bed with him because that’s what they do. That’s what they’ve always done since they were cadets.
Crosshair towels his hair off and slips into his softest sleep clothes, just like he always does. He pads out of the ‘fresher and into the bunk room as quietly as possible, just like he always does. He goes to dim the lights, but they’re already dimmed.
He goes to join Hunter in his bunk, but Echo’s already there.
Echo’s there, in Hunter’s bunk, with Hunter curled up in his arms, eyes screwed shut against the pain.
Echo’s in Crosshair’s spot.
Crosshair’s not stupid. He knew the return from being… that wouldn’t be as simple as just taking his bunk back and finding some new armor, but…
But clearly, Hunter’s moved on.
Crosshair sits down on his own bunk, reaching for a book.
“Cr’sshair?”
He huffs, pulling his book up in front of his face. “The fuck do you want, Hunter?”
There’s a pause in which Crosshair tries very hard not to hear the pained intake of breath. Too loud. “C’mere,” Hunter says, quieter.
Crosshair sets the book down. Hunter’s propped up on one elbow, pale to the point of grey and looking at him with pleading, unfocused eyes. Echo’s still got an arm around him. He’s looking back and forth between the two of them, waiting for something.
Of all the people to be Crosshair’s replacement, why did Hunter have to choose the fucking reg?
“Thought you had a new cuddle buddy.” Crosshair looks down his nose at the two of them.
Hunter’s face crumples. “Cross…”
“What do you want, Hunter?” he snaps. “Evidently, you’ve gotten used to me being gone.”
For a moment, Hunter just looks at him. Then, he leans down and says something to Echo. Crosshair doesn’t catch it, but whatever it is has Echo climbing out of bed and making for the door.
Hunter eases himself out of bed, grabbing the side of the bunk as he stands. Crosshair’s afraid he’ll fall over or throw up, but he makes his way across the room to Crosshair’s bunk, wobbling the whole way.
Crosshair makes room for him without conscious decision. Hunter sits down next to him, slumping against his shoulder with a sigh. “Lay down with me,” he whispers. “I’m tired and my head hurts.”
Crosshair knows that’s an understatement. He knows Hunter doesn’t start acting this needy until his head is splitting and his skin is on fire and he’s so overwhelmed he can’t see straight. “Sarge, I don’t—”
“Crosshair,” Hunter pleads. “I miss you.”
Crosshair bristles. “Yeah, I’m sure you do. I’m sure you and the reg talk about that a lot while you’re all cuddled up over there.”
“Cross, it’s not— I didn’t— fuck. I wasn’t trying to make it seem like you didn’t have a spot. Echo’s not… replacing you or anything.” Hunter tucks his face against Crosshair’s shoulder and he realizes it’s damp. Fuck, now Crosshair feels like the bad guy. “I miss you.”
“Hunter…”
Crosshair has been gone for forever and an instant and he’s not sure how to start over. Hunter pushes his shoulder, gentle, and he realizes the first step is lying down.
Hunter burrows into his side as soon as he’s horizontal, shoving his face into the crook of Crosshair’s neck and making a variety of soft, pained noises as Crosshair pulls the blanket over them and gets settled.
Crosshair lays on his left side and throws a leg over Hunter, providing deep pressure just like he always does. Hunter tangles his hands in the front of Crosshair’s sweater and presses as close as he can, just like he always does. Crosshair winds a hand into Hunter’s ridiculous hair, massaging his scalp and the pressure points on his neck, just like he always does.
A tear slips down his face, leaving a damp spot on the pillow.
“Did you take your meds?” Crosshair murmurs, barely a sound. Hunter can hear him.
“Yeah. All’ve ‘em.” He sounds close to tears.
Crosshair pets Hunter’s hair, smirking at the thankful little sound it gets him. “Good. Sleep, Sarge. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Crosshair wakes up blind and scared and tangled up in something that’s pinning his arms to his side. His heart is racing and something’s wrong, something woke him up and something’s wrong.
Not blind, dark.
Not binders, blankets.
He’s on the Marauder.
He’s not chipped.
Something’s still wrong.
Hunter.
Hunter’s still cuddled up to him, but not quite as he should be. Normally, as they shift in their sleep, Hunter somehow ends up underneath Crosshair, usually with a hand on the back of his head, always protecting. Right now, he’s still at Crosshair’s side, legs pulled up between them.
As Crosshair’s eyes adjust to the light, he realizes what woke him. Hunter’s crying in his sleep, tears running down his face and soaking the pillow. His hands twitch against Crosshair’s chest. It’s when he frowns, though, and chokes on a whimper that Crosshair realizes what’s happening.
“Hunter,” he starts, touching his shoulder. “Hunter, wake up.”
Hunter turns away from him, face screwed up and hands flailing blindly in the dark. “Nonono, stop…”
“Hunter,” he says again, a bit more urgent this time, and accompanies it with a sharp jostle.
Hunter gasps awake, going tense all over. “Crosshair, wha’— fuck.”
“Easy, easy.” Crosshair sits up, giving Hunter room to roll over and press his face into the pillow.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” Hunter whimpers. “Fuck, hur’s, fuck.”
Crosshair bites out a curse of his own, putting one hand on Hunter’s back and using the other to grope for the light switch. The headache must have spiked while Hunter was sleeping.
Across the room, Crosshair can hear someone stirring. Tech, probably.
“Hunter, light,” he warns.
“No’no’n’n…”
“Yes,” Crosshair replies, “because now you’re having trouble talking.” Hunter’s only ever had a seizure during a migraine once, and it was after an encounter with a magnetic generator, but this is exactly how it started.
He flips the light switch and Hunter yells.
Well. That takes care of waking up the rest of the team.
Crosshair finishes disentangling himself and turns back to Hunter, ignoring for now the chaos unfolding between Tech, Wrecker, and Echo. “Hunter, are you going to have a seizure?”
Hunter finds his hand across the top of the blanket and squeezes so hard he feels his bones grind together. “Don’, don’, don’know, fuck, ‘m gonna die.”
“Tech,” Crosshair barks over his shoulder. “Get the medkit.”
“On it.” Tech runs out the door and, before it closes, the kid slips in.
Shit.
“Hunter?” She’s clutching Lula to her chest, standing barefoot and wide-eyed on the threshold. “What’s going on?”
Somehow, Hunter finds the willpower to sit up, albeit with most of his weight on Crosshair and the wall. Crosshair wonders if Omega knows exactly how much power she has over him.
“Meg,” Hunter slurs, and Omega’s eyes well up with tears. “Meg, ‘s okay, ‘s jus’a headache.”
Omega’s bottom lip trembles. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I am, kid, prom’promise.” Hunter scrubs a hand over his eyes. This close, Crosshair can hear the sob he chokes down as he turns his face up to the light. “C’mere, kiddo.”
That’s not a good idea and, by the way Echo frowns and starts to say something, he agrees. Nothing can keep the dynamic duo separated, though, and Omega rockets across the room and all but throws herself into Hunter’s arms.
“G’hh,” Hunter manages, eloquent. “Meg, c’ref’l.”
“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She goes to get out of bed, but Hunter reaches out with a clumsy hand and pulls her close.
“‘S okay.” Hunter pets her hair, or attempts to, at least. His hands aren’t working right. Tech, where are you?
Crosshair takes advantage of Omega’s distraction to put a hand on Hunter’s forehead, wiping his hair back. Warm and sweaty. “Show me your eyes,” Crosshair orders. Hunter complies, blinking them open with a fresh stream of tears. Unfocused, tiny pupils. “Shit.”
“I’m back,” Tech announces, brandishing the medkit. “Oh. I did not realize Omega had gotten in.”
“Give it,” Crosshair says, holding a hand out. Tech throws it to him, graceless as ever. “Sarge, when did you take your meds and how much did you take?”
Hunter blinks at him over Omega’s shoulder. “...What?”
“How much—”
“He took a tab and a half at 2045,” Echo interjects. “Of the migraine meds, right?”
Crosshair nods, pulling out a scanner and sweeping it over Hunter’s head and neck. Abnormal electrical signal detected, it warns him, tacking on an abnormal blood vessel dilation detected. It also tells him that Hunter’s running a 37.8C fever and is exhibiting signs of ‘distress.’ Yeah, no shit.
“What’s it say?” Wrecker booms, leaning over Crosshair’s shoulder. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.”
“What doesn’t look good?” Omega asks, looking up from Hunter’s shoulder. “Is Hunter okay?”
“Is he going to have a seizure?” Wrecker inquires.
“The chances of experiencing a seizure during a non-hemiplegic migraine are slim to none,” Tech remarks, crowding in to look at the scanner.
Hunter’s hands come up off Omega’s back, flapping anxiously around his ears and scratching at his neck. Great. A meltdown is the last thing he needs right now.
“Enough,” Crosshair snaps. “Tech, Wrecker, Omega, out. Echo, you stay.”
Tech and Wrecker balk, staring at him.
“Now.”
Wrecker grabs Omega from Hunter. “Let’s go, kiddo,” he says, transferring her to his hip. “We’ll watch a holo, yeah?”
“Wait,” Omega cries as Wrecker starts to follow Tech. “I have to leave Lula.” Gently, she reaches out and tucks Lula into Hunter’s lap, patting her little head. “Okay. We can go now.” She buries her face in Wrecker’s shoulder, clearly not happy with the particular shade of grey Hunter’s managed to turn.
Finally, the room is quiet. Of course, that also means that Crosshair can hear each and every one of Hunter’s keening whines and half-sobs. Echo moves to kneel in front of them and sets his prosthetic hand on Hunter’s knee.
“That better, Sarge?” he murmurs.
Hunter looks up. “‘S Meg gone?”
“Yeah,” Crosshair confirms. “Why?”
“Good,” Hunter croaks, and that’s the only thing he gets out before he’s gagging and slapping a hand over his nose and mouth.
“Echo, bin,” Crosshair barks. He gathers Hunter’s hair in one hand and puts the other on his back, guiding him to lean over the edge of the bed.
Echo returns in the nick of time, shoving the bin between Hunter’s feet just in time for him to gag once more and start throwing up violently.
Gross, Crosshair thinks, but keeps holding Hunter’s hair and rubbing his back. “There you go, Sarge. Just let it out.”
Hunter sobs through the whole ordeal, which must make it more painful, but Crosshair’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter at this point. Hunter’s beyond levels of pain.
Crosshair doesn’t talk, does his best not to make a sound, and Echo follows suit, backing up and sitting cross-legged on the floor a meter or so away. Crosshair just rubs Hunter’s back in slow, heavy circles.
Finally, it stops. Hunter spits into the bin, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and collapses against Crosshair’s side, crying weakly.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, Sarge,” Crosshair murmurs. He wraps an arm around Hunter’s waist and gets ready to stand. “Echo, take the bin and throw it in the main disposal. Grab one of Hunter’s sleep shirts from his locker.”
Echo nods and slips out the door with the offending bin.
“Okay, no more puke in the bin,” Crosshair assures him. “But it’s on your shirt, fuckhead. Come on, up.”
Hunter’s largely unresponsive by now, but he cooperates enough for Crosshair to heave him to his feet. He takes most of the weight, but Hunter’s together enough to make the short walk to the ‘fresher.
“You’re lucky you’re so short, you know,” Crosshair quips.
“Fu’you.”
“Love you, too. I’m going to tie your hair back.” He takes a soft hair tie, one of the ones Tech and Omega call scrunchies, and scrapes as much of Hunter’s hair into a ponytail as he can. The soft hair ties have less tension, Hunter says, so they’re better for headaches. “You need to comb your hair.”
“Mmm.” Hunter pitches forward, bracing himself on the sink. “...Teeth?”
“Yeah, hang on.” Crosshair fishes out Hunter’s toothbrush, wetting it and putting toothpaste on it. “Here, rinse your mouth first.”
Hunter does as he’s told, grimacing as he spits. He reaches for the brush and Crosshair gives it to him, holding him steady as he brushes his teeth.
“Good,” Crosshair says as he washes his mouth again. “Here, meds.”
A knock at the door. Echo opens it a fraction and drops a clean shirt in. Hunter mutters something approaching a thanks.
“Is the pain any better?”
Hunter sighs, sinking to the floor and leaning against the sink. “Eh?”
Crosshair takes the shirt and folds it on the edge of the sink. He reaches down and taps Hunter’s shoulder until he leans forward. “Arms up. I’m still worried about you having a seizure.” He tugs Hunter’s dirty shirt off. “Thank you for not getting puke on your bra. I’m not in the mood to see your tits at 0100.”
Hunter snorts, then winces. He tugs at the strap of his bra, snapping it rhythmically against his skin. It’s one of his lighter ones, with wide straps and a zipper closure up the front. He’s definitely not coordinated enough to get it off right now, and Crosshair thanks the Force for small mercies. “Not gonna h’ve a seizure.”
Crosshair wrestles him into the clean shirt. “Yeah? Sure fucking looked like it a minute ago. You were incoherent.”
“Jus’ a bad one. Had lotta aura-auras t’day.”
Crosshair snarls. “You were having auras. All day. And you didn’t think to bring that up?” Hunter rarely gets auras. One of the few times it happened was hours before the seizures.
Hunter slumps, looking up at Crosshair with teary eyes. “Didn’ want you t’worry. Been so anxious since you came back.”
Fucking hell. “Fucking hell, Hunter.”
“Sorry.”
Fucking hell.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed. You think you can sleep it off?” This time, Crosshair just scoops Hunter up into a bridal carry, letting him wrap his arms around his neck and lean against his shoulder.
“M’not gonna have a seizure,” Hunter mutters into his sweater.
“Not what I asked.” Crosshair smirks, setting Hunter gently on the bed. “Meds should kick in soon. Try and get some rest.”
Hunter’s barely conscious, but he rolls onto his stomach and grabs sleepily for Crosshair’s waist. “C’mere…”
Crosshair slides into bed next to him, up the covers. Hunter has this heavy patchwork quilt with buttons and tufts and textured bits on one side, but the other is smooth and cool no matter the temperature of the ship. Under it, he finds Lula, who he tucks into the crook of Hunter’s arm. “I’m here, Sarge.”
Hunter just hums. He’s still warm to the touch and Crosshair can’t get that time with the magnetic generator out of his head. He’s not sleeping tonight, not until Hunter can talk in complete sentences again.
“...very careful, kiddo, Hunter’s still in a lot of pain.”
“I’m being careful.”
“I know you are. Thank you.”
Crosshair blinks, groggy. Omega’s climbing over him, all bony knees and sharp elbows. She avoids Hunter, who Crosshair realizes he’s spooning, and settles down between him and the wall, clutching Lula.
“Good morning, Crosshair,” she stage-whispers, entirely too close to Hunter’s head.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” That’s Echo, leaning across the bed and tugging the quilt back over them.
“What time is it?” he croaks. He feels… He wants to keep sleeping. The chip removal was taxing.
“Don’t worry about it,” Echo says. “Hunter woke up an hour ago, said the headache’s gone but he feels like shit. We’ve got nowhere to be. Just sleep.”
His eyes are already closing.