The Clone Wars One Shots

Don't Go

To say you and Crosshair had a complex relationship was an understatement.

Not even Tech could make sense of your interactions with the sarcastic sniper, try as he might.

You were the Bad Batch's battle medic, assigned to them after Wrecker and Echo had been involved in a near-fatal accident on a mission. Though you quickly got along with and gained the respect of the others, Crosshair was a different story.

Despite the fact that your purpose had been explained dozens of times, he still felt that you were an unnecessary addition to the team. You were a capable fighter an excellent medic, but that didn't mean he had to like you. He had argued against allowing anyone else join the team, especially a civilian, and had practically thrown a fit when it happened anyways. Now that he was stuck seeing you every day, he found enjoyment in tormenting you in every way he could think of, seeing how far he could take the teasing before getting in trouble. Depending on the day, he would either run out of ideas before making you snap, or be pummeled into the ground half a second after opening his mouth.

Then again, Crosshair's feelings weren't one-sided.

You were one of the only people who could snap back at Crosshair without taking a toothpick to the eye - mostly because you had mastered the art of catching flying toothpicks half an hour after setting foot on the Havoc Marauder for the first time. You purposely irritated him just to get a rise out of him, growing amused whenever you succeeded. Just calling him by his nickname was usually enough to ruin a decent mood, and you loved it.

"Only people I like get to call me Cross," he had hissed one day.

"Ouch." You mimed a hurt expression, placing a hand on your chest. "And here I thought we had something special."

You didn't hate him - in fact, you found him to be quite good company on the rare instances that he wasn't in a bad mood - but you couldn't resist provoking and arguing with him, just for laughs.

Until, of course, it went too far.

After Crosshair had told you over and over not to touch his prized firepunch rifle, which he had just finished cleaning, you had purposely poked it while maintaining direct eye contact with him.

It would have been fine, had the rifle been properly propped up, and had it not been loaded.

Crosshair's firepunch rifle fell to the ground with an echoing clatter, and a blaster bolt burst from the barrel of the weapon. It bounced off the side of one of Tech's many unfinished projects and headed straight toward you, but didn't reach its target. Crosshair tackled you to the ground (possibly because he cared, or maybe he just wanted to be the one to kill you, not yourself armed with his rifle), and the shot whizzed over his head, leaving a scorch mark on the wall.

Once the danger had passed, Crosshair scrambled to his feet, glaring down at you. The others entered just in time to witness yet another of your explosive arguments.

"What's the matter with you?" Crosshair snapped, jabbing a finger in your face.

"Me?" you gawked, swatting his hand aside and narrowing your eyes. "What's the matter with you? Who the hell keeps their blaster loaded on the ship?"

"I told you not to touch it!"

"And you expected me to listen?" you shot back, forcing yourself upright and rubbing your side. Crosshair's elbow had struck your ribs when he tackled you. You had no doubt that there would be a bruise there tomorrow. "You touch my stuff all the time!"

"Your stuff isn't dangerous!"

"Uh, I'm sorry, have you never read the labels on the vials I have? The same ones you were juggling yesterday? If you had dropped those, you could have died."