The Clone Wars One Shots

Don't Go

"But I didn't, did I? Why do you care, anyways? Do you love me or something?" Crosshair asked, quirking an eyebrow as his lips twisted into a cocky smirk

"Ew, no! Of course not, you jerk!"

"Aww, you do," the sniper drawled arrogantly. "How cute."

"Why would I ever love the guy who exists specifically to make my life miserable?"

"You're getting awfully defensive."

"Ugh!" You rolled your eyes, attempting to ignore the heat rising to your face. Whether it was from fury or embarrassment, you couldn't be sure. "I hate you!"

"No you don't."

"Maybe I wouldn't if you didn't always steal my supplies!"

"Okay, that was one time."

"You do it weekly."

"So what? I get hurt, too, believe it or not."

"Then stop being stubborn and let me help you. That's my job."

"Your job is to be a useless pain in the ass," Crosshair snapped, shoving your shoulder. "Something you have no trouble thriving at."

Your eyes burned with fury. When recounting the events of that argument, Wrecker would swear up and down that steam poured from your ears as you pinned Crosshair with a withering glare. You had enough. Enough of the Kaminoans, enough of your job, enough of being looked down upon, and more than enough of Crosshair. That was the last straw.

"You know what? That's it. If you think I'm so useless, try spending some time in my shoes," you snapped, jabbing a finger in Crosshair's chest. Rage had taken over, invading every cell in your body, and before you could regain control, you had already spit out something you knew you would regret. "I'm done. I quit. Patch your own wounds, Cross."

"With pleasure," Crosshair drawled, smirking proudly. He did it. He made you snap. Now all that was left for him to do was watch the carnage play out.

As you stormed off, Hunter caught your arm, eyes pleading. "Y/n-"

"Let go, Hunter," you snarled, twisting out of his grip. "Drop me off at the nearest inhabited planet."

"At least let us bring you back to Coruscant," the Sergeant reasoned, his face betraying his sadness. He hadn't thought you were serious. Neither did you.

"...Fine," you grumbled before turning on your heel and storming towards your room, falling face first on your bed. As your rage dwindled, guilt took over. You lost control. You knew you shouldn't have pushed Crosshair so far, shouldn't have kept the argument going, and you especially shouldn't have quit.

You listened to the Bad Batch through the walls, and though their voices were distorted and barely audible, you could tell they were angry with Crosshair. Not once did you hear him respond. Perhaps he was feeling guilty, but more likely, he was soaking up the moment proudly.

After a while, all fell silent, and Echo quietly entered a few moments later. He barely spared you a cursory glance before slipping into the bottom bunk of your shared bed. It wasn't long before the cyborg's soft snores filled the room, and you slunk out to get a desperately needed drink. Or six.

As you sat alone in the dark gunner's mount, drinking phattro straight from the bottle, a single thought echoed in your mind:

What have I done?

Morning came quicker than you expected. Well, you had no idea whether or not it was morning on Coruscant since you were in space, but according to your internal clock, it was time to get the kriff up and figure things out.