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Chapter Text

Once Crosshair received a new robotic hand, his brothers were more than willing to let him show it off. And not just Hunter and Wrecker, but the other clones who’d settled on Pabu.

The first time was the day Crosshair returned from Alderaan.

He’d gone down to the beach with Hunter, Wrecker, Omega and Batcher. He was trying his new hand at spearfishing, hoping to catch their dinner, while they were there to cheer him on. After an hour, he’d caught about a dozen fish — more than they needed for their dinner.

As the group walked back to their house, they passed the area where most of their clone brothers lived.

Pabu was now home to 15 clones in total.

There were the four members of Clone Force 99, or “The Bad Batch” as they’d called themselves during the Clone Wars. Since settling on Pabu, the four had chosen a family name, although some people both in the household and outside of it were still getting used to it.

Then, there were the cadets Mox, Deke and Stak. Hunter and Wrecker had rescued them from an abandoned Imperial facility on Setron — a dangerous jungle planet — and the three teens now had their own house on Pabu, a few streets down from the Bad Batch.

Near the cadets’ home were three slightly larger houses, where the other eight clones lived.

These men had dutifully served the Republic and then the Empire, but had turned against the latter for one reason or another. They’d survived the brutal prison conditions on Tantiss Base, including torture and medical experimentation, and then they’d survived the prison break and subsequent battle that had claimed many of their brothers’ lives.

Afterward, each had decided to settle on Pabu, and they had earned the collective nickname “The Fateful Eight.”

Crosshair had no idea whether they’d come up with the nickname themselves, whether Omega or Wrecker had given it to them, or whether other Pabu residents had dreamed it up.

Regardless, the name had stuck.

Now, not only did their fellow clones call them that, but so did everyone else on Pabu.

As Crosshair and his family approached their neighborhood, they found the Fateful Eight gathered along the street. Crosshair knew Blaster and Digger best, as he’d played football with them several times. He knew the others’ names and could usually identify them by sight, but he still sometimes got them mixed up. He saw Digger and four others were chatting with each other, while Blaster and two other men were kicking a football around with the cadets.

Mox, Deke and Stak had grown so much over the last several months, even more than Omega had. It was expected but still jarring to see. Mox was practically an adult now. He was almost as old as Crosshair and his brothers had been when they were deployed. And Deke and Stak weren’t far behind. Another year, maybe, and they would be adults too.

The Bad Batch stopped to chat with their brothers, and Crosshair showed off his new hand. The cadets and most of the men audibly admired it, especially when Crosshair demonstrated his new strength by easily bending a spare piece of metal.

“What about spearfishing?” Digger asked. “How did it handle?”

“See for yourself,” Crosshair said, gesturing to the basket of fish he’d caught.

“Impressive,” someone else said, but Crosshair wasn’t sure who.

“We only need one or two for dinner,” Crosshair said. “So, anyone who needs fish is welcome to them.”

“I have a better idea,” Blaster said ominously.

Picking up the football they’d been kicking around earlier, Blaster suggested a type of shootout where Crosshair would throw the ball against each of them. It would be a better way to celebrate his new hand than a regular football shootout, Blaster said.

“First one to stop Crosshair’s shot gets to keep all the fish!” he yelled.

The others cheered, with Blaster and a few others going off to find a proper net.

Seeing how excited everyone was, Crosshair could only sigh and reluctantly accept his fate, as he and his family followed the others.

*****

Rather than hosting their shootout in the middle of the street, the 15 clones found an open, out-of-the-way spot nearby. With Hunter, Wrecker and Omega sitting with Batcher on the sidelines, everyone else lined up to defend the goal from Crosshair.

Given that he and his family still needed to get their own fish home and make dinner, Crosshair insisted that everyone would be limited to three turns guarding the net. If no one had blocked his shot after three turns, Crosshair could do whatever he wanted with the fish.

Everyone agreed, and the men allowed Mox, Deke and Stak to go first.

After them were Blaster and the brothers he lived with, Eagle and Hawk. Even though none of them had fought together until escaping Tantiss, all three had specialized in some form of heavy weaponry or artillery during their time in the Grand Army of the Republic. That and their similar personalities had helped them bond in the weeks after escaping Tantiss. Crosshair had heard Omega and Wrecker use the nickname “Blaster Brothers” — as in the weapon, not the clone — for their household, and Crosshair felt it suited them.

Crosshair knew Blaster by sight, but he often got Eagle and Hawk mixed up. They cut their hair the same and shared clothes, and neither had any visible tattoos.

After them were the surviving members of Zeta Squad. Crosshair didn’t know much of their story, but from what he’d heard in passing, all five squad members had been sent to Tantiss together.

Two had died there, but the three survivors — Ice, Demon and Rush — had settled on Pabu.

Ice now worked as a laborer. He kept his hair very short and had bulked up since settling here. Despite his name, he was warm and enthusiastic.

Demon was the opposite. He had slimmed down and had grown out long, scraggly hair that he never bothered to tie back in any fashion. He was also cold and distant with pretty much everyone, and had given Crosshair a particularly nasty glare more than once.

Rush was somewhere in the middle. He vaguely reminded Crosshair of Tech, as he seemed to be very reasonable and logical compared to his two brothers. Case in point: Crosshair wasn’t quite sure how Rush styled his hair now, as he typically wore a hat anytime he was outside during the day.

Finally, bringing up the rear were the two pilots: Digger and Fin.

Fin was an early Generation 1 clone who had flown in the First Battle of Geonosis. He was biologically the oldest clone on the island, and perhaps one of the oldest clones left in the galaxy, alongside Rex and Cut.

Digger was a Generation 3 clone, so he and Fin hadn’t flown together. But they had many experiences and even some acquaintances in common.

Unlike the Blaster Brothers, their personalities were very different. Digger was a take-charge clone who stood his ground, while Fin seemed quiet and laid back. One was at the forefront, while the other watched things play out from afar.

Perhaps Fin had been like Digger once, before the war, before Tantiss. But now, as far as Crosshair could tell, Fin was very much a “go with the flow” kind of man.

Crosshair was surprised to see Digger at the end, figuring he’d rather be up front with Blaster. Perhaps he was taking a page from Fin’s book by watching the others’ strategies, or perhaps he was simply being a good leader and letting his brothers go first.

Well, Crosshair thought, the exact order didn’t really matter. He wasn’t going to go easy on any of them, not even the cadets.

*****

Using his new hand to throw the ball from 5 meters away, Crosshair made at least two shots against everyone, even Ice — who wasn’t as tall as Wrecker but who was certainly on the bulkier side.

Aside from Demon, who glared at Crosshair as fiercely as ever, everyone else seemed to be enjoying the challenge. And, despite being physically and mentally exhausted after his trip to Alderaan, Crosshair appreciated testing his new hand with a unique challenge like this.

He couldn’t help but smile as each brother came up to guard the net. Depending on whom he was facing, he either went with a straightforward approach, catapulting the ball into a hard-to-reach spot on the net; or he took a few seconds to bob and weave around in his designated spot, looking for an opening or faking the defender out, before hurling the ball past them.

Blaster was, by far, the most invested and thus had the funniest reactions when Crosshair made his first two shots against him. But the pairs of Eagle and Hawk and Ice and Rush were giving each other a hard time about their misses.

Finally, after the cadets had gone three times and failed to block Crosshair, Blaster stepped up for his final turn in front of the net. Crosshair was positively prickling at the idea of eliminating Blaster and seeing his reaction, as this had all been his idea in the first place.

Crosshair started bobbing and weaving around a little, trying to fake Blaster out, when Crosshair’s exhaustion finally caught up with him.

Just as he was about to throw, his legs shook, and he momentarily lost balance. The ball flew out of his hand haphazardly, and Blaster managed to block the shot.

Crosshair stumbled slightly, but it at least looked like he’d taken a knee in the sand out of frustration rather than fatigue.

After high-fiving some of the others and accepting their cheers, Blaster approached Crosshair, who had found the strength to stand after spotting Omega and his brothers’ worried faces on the sidelines.

“Hey, not bad,” Blaster said, giving Crosshair a friendly nudge with his elbow. “For a second there, I thought you were gonna eliminate all of us.”

“Well, I’m still getting the hang of this,” Crosshair said, flexing his hand. “Give me a week, and maybe we can have a rematch.”

“Actually,” Blaster said, projecting his voice and turning to address the others too, “I think we might be able to make a full game of this. I’ll draw up some rules, and we can all test it out. I’m thinking something that’s basically football but with your hands.”

“So… handball?” Rush asked.

Blaster considered it with a grin.

“Works for me. Yeah, handball.”

He instructed everyone — Hunter, Wrecker and Omega included — to meet at the same spot at roughly the same day and time next week, and everyone agreed before dispersing. Blaster gathered up Crosshair’s extra fish, and wished Crosshair and his family a pleasant evening.

“By the way,” Blaster yelled to them as he walked off, “I want Crosshair on my team next week!”

“Oh yeah?” Wrecker shouted back. “Then I’m gonna make you regret it!”

“Wrecker,” Omega said in a normal tone, “you don’t even know what you’re going to be playing.”

“Oh,” Wrecker said, realizing, and then quickly added, “Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

“Well,” Crosshair said playfully, “I’m convinced.”

Wrecker’s first instinct was to respond with similar banter or perhaps escalate it to physical action, like getting in his brother’s face. Nothing violent, just mischievous.

But, remembering everything Crosshair had endured the past week, Wrecker just affectionately wrapped his large arm around Crosshair’s shoulders and pulled him to his side in a kind of half-hug.

“C’mon,” Wrecker said as much to Crosshair as to Hunter and Omega. “Let’s go home already. We got some dinner to eat!

“After all,” Wrecker continued, now looking specifically at Crosshair, “you’re gonna need all your strength to beat us next week.”

Chapter Text

Pabu’s first handball game didn’t go according to plan.

It wasn’t really a game. It was more like a workshop.

When the 15 clones all met a week after Crosshair’s shootout, they divided themselves into two teams, with Blaster and Digger acting as captains.

As promised, Crosshair was on Blaster’s team, along with Omega. Wrecker and Hunter were on Digger’s. Fin had volunteered to referee so there would be even teams, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he would be refereeing.

Neither, it seemed, did anyone else. Not even Blaster.

He had drawn up some rudimentary rules, but the group spent most of the “game” arguing about which ones worked and which didn’t.

Blaster had started with football as a baseline. The field was maybe 30-40% smaller, but there was a goal on each side.

After that, Blaster introduced these rules:

1. Players may only touch the ball with their hands or arms. If they touch it with any other part of their body, whether accidentally or intentionally, possession reverts to their opponents. (This rule doesn’t apply to the designated player on each team whose job is to defend the goal.)
2. The ball must never touch the ground. If it does, possession reverts to the opposing team, regardless of who touched the ball last. If the ball hits the ground or is intercepted, play continues from that spot with the opposing team in possession.
3. A player may throw or hit the ball in any direction, but cannot run with it. Only a few steps of continuation are allowed at the referee’s discretion.
4. If the ball goes out of bounds, the team that touched the ball last forfeits possession to the opposing team.

Everyone mostly followed the logic behind the rules — realizing that it was designed to be the exact opposite of football. But putting it into practice was challenging, especially for those who were accustomed to playing football.

Blaster’s rules also didn’t address several fundamental things, such as how a game started. Was there a tip-off, or did one team just start with the ball in its possession? And so forth.

It also became apparent that those on defense were incentivized to knock the ball to the ground any chance they had. This made things messy, and some kind of fouling system had to be established for when players got too rough with each other.

Thus, the group developed a shootout system, which wasn’t too difficult after last week’s events. But then they argued whether every foul should be rewarded with a shootout, because that felt ridiculous.

So, they adopted a three-strike rule. If a single player committed three fouls, they would be ejected from the game, and their opponents would be awarded a penalty shot. This applied to any player on the field, regardless of whether they were holding the ball at the time the foul was committed, how close they were to the goal, etc.

Eventually, they also realized scoring was far too easy considering how big the goals were. So, they made them smaller and, when that hadn’t made much of a difference, decided to put a 5-meter arc around them.

Any player on offense couldn’t pass the ball across the line; they could only shoot it. However, the group did agree that a player could jump over the line with the ball, so long as they weren’t still holding it when they landed.

By the time they’d figured all this out, though, it was late evening. Hunter, Rush and others recommended they disperse so everyone could go home and make dinner, but they all agreed to reconvene at the same time next week and play a real game.

*****

The second week of handball went much better than the first.

To make things easy, they split up into the same teams:

Crosshair, Omega, Mox, Eagle, Rush and Ice were on Blaster’s team; Wrecker, Hunter, Deke, Stak, Hawk and Demon were on Digger’s.

Fin once again volunteered to referee. He had even brought a small device for the occasion to help him keep track of time and the players’ fouls, just like a professional holo-sports referee.

In the intervening week, Blaster had also acquired a smaller ball — which was only slightly bigger than most of the men’s hands — that would be better for throwing than the repurposed football they’d been using.

The teams agreed to a 20-minute game with consistent rules, as a test run. If they wanted to tweak any rules, they’d wait until after the game.

Feeling seven-on-seven might be too chaotic, they opted for four-on-four.

For this initial game, they decided against having “goalkeepers” — a name Rush suggested because “defenders” would apply to anyone on defense.

They also agreed to only sub in players after a goal or during timeouts, so they wouldn’t have to stop the clock or interrupt the game’s flow.

The game started with a coin toss, which Digger’s team won.

He and his teammates inbounded the ball at their end of the field, with Blaster and company guarding. These early moments were crucial, because if the defending team either knocked the ball to the ground or intercepted, it’d be all too easy to score a point even with the 5-meter arc.

That’s why Digger was having Wrecker inbound the ball.

Wrecker, being a head taller than everyone else, simply held the ball aloft and threw it halfway down the field. Hunter, well-prepared for this, caught it and brought it down in a graceful leap.

Crosshair, who was guarding Hunter, saw his brother’s next move before it happened. He stepped in between Hunter and Digger, just as the former was passing the ball, and intercepted it.

Then, in a great heave, Crosshair launched it more than 15 meters toward his opponents’ open goal. It hit the back of the net effortlessly.

His teammates cheered while Hunter gave him a nasty look.

“Haha! And that’s why I wanted him on my team!” Blaster yelled as he jogged over and high-fived Crosshair.

But Crosshair knew he wouldn’t get lucky again, and he was right. Hunter and his teammates were much more careful on their second go-around, opting for short, quick passes until they’d gotten within scoring distance.

As Digger was holding the ball at the top of the 5-meter arc, he tossed it up and to the right. It seemed to be going to Hunter, but it instead went to Hawk. He caught it in mid-air and threw it into the open goal, all before he’d landed inside the 5-meter arc.

“Well,” Blaster told Crosshair as their team prepared to inbound it, “two can play at that game.”

He told Crosshair, Ice and Eagle exactly what to do, and when their team had gotten downfield, everyone executed the plan perfectly.

Copying Digger, Blaster stood at the top of the 5-meter arc, just a few steps away from the line. Ice set a screen so Crosshair could get some breathing room from Hunter, and then Blaster jumped, still holding the ball in his hands, as Crosshair ran up behind him.

Then, mid-jump, Blaster pushed the ball upwards and backwards with the tips of his fingers, and Crosshair used the palm of his hand to smack it toward the goal. Both Wrecker and Deke dove to block it, but Crosshair’s aim was perfect. The ball hit the top-right corner of the net, practically sizzling.

His teammates cheered, as Crosshair caught his breath, almost in disbelief. Ice and Eagle patted him on the shoulder. Blaster wrapped one arm around Crosshair’s neck and used it to pull him downward, so Blaster could tap Crosshair’s bald head with his knuckles.

“That was perfect!” Blaster said. “They don’t call you a sharpshooter for nothing!”

That was the first time Crosshair thought handball might be his favorite sport.

*****

After that, the game evolved into an escalation of tactics. Feints, quick attacks, palm strikes, lobs — everything was on the table.

The only saving grace was that fruit-picking, as Pabu football players called it, wasn’t allowed. The group had decided last week that, just like in football, handball players couldn’t be further downfield than the last defender.

Despite only playing a few football games together, Blaster and Crosshair’s chemistry seemed to be unbeatable.

Blaster had a knack for lining up shots for Crosshair. It got to the point where all Blaster had to do was toss up the ball in Crosshair’s general direction, and Crosshair would inevitably find it. And while Digger’s team had gotten better at blocking or intercepting Crosshair’s shots, he still scored more often than not.

By the time the first game was over, Crosshair knew handball was his preferred sport. It seemed faster and a little more dangerous than football, with the smaller ball whizzing around at speeds only he seemed able to see.

Blaster’s team won the first game 10-6, and the two teams played a second game with designated goalkeepers this time.

The second game was much like the first, with both teams continuing to escalate and adapt their strategies.

Blaster and Crosshair had fewer opportunities for their combo plays. Digger’s team was guarding them closer than ever, so Blaster, Crosshair and their teammates opted for other strategies. It was also a lot harder to score now with Wrecker playing goalkeeper. He was so big, he blocked more than half the goal without having to move a muscle; and he was well-versed in Crosshair’s tricks, especially after playing football together over the last half-year.

Still, there were a few times when Blaster and Crosshair both found openings and made Digger’s team regret it.

The teams were tied at 6 with less than two minutes left. Blaster and his teammates had possession near the opposing goal. They tossed it back and forth to each other looking for an opening.

Ice to Eagle. Eagle to Crosshair. Crosshair to Rush. Rush to Blaster.

Then, Crosshair set a screen for Eagle, who came soaring around Blaster’s other side, unguarded. Blaster tossed the ball up at just the right spot and angle, and Eagle smacked it toward the net. But Wrecker managed to get a hand on it, and it flew out of bounds just to the right of the goal.

“C’mon, inbounds play,” Blaster said. “Fin, how much time do we have left?”

“One minute.”

“Alright, I’ll inbounds. Get in formation. Hustle, hustle! Let’s win this thing!”

Blaster and Crosshair exchanged a look, and then Crosshair nodded to Ice and Rush. They all knew what to do.

Blaster picked up the ball, and Fin waved him to proceed. With Wrecker still guarding the goal, the other eight players clustered in front of Blaster, near the edge of the 5-meter line.

“Go,” Blaster yelled.

All his teammates peeled away in various directions, their defenders following them.

Ice, Rush and Crosshair arranged themselves so that Hunter couldn’t follow Crosshair. Crosshair whipped around the opposite side, unguarded, and Blaster lobbed the ball up at the exact right angle.

In a burst of speed, Crosshair leapt over the 5-meter line and, just as the ball reached its zenith, punched it past Wrecker and into the net.

Fin’s buzzer sounded only seconds later, and Crosshair and his teammates celebrated their narrow 7-6 victory.

Afterward, everyone congregated on the sidelines, gulping down water from their canteens and pouring it on their heads. Amid all the excitement, they’d almost forgotten how hot and humid Pabu was today. Even long-haired Demon was so warm that — in a rare move — he borrowed a hairkeeper from Omega and tied his hair back.

After everyone had finally cooled down and caught their breath, Digger told the group, “Alright, I think that’s good for today.”

“Agreed,” Blaster said. “But what do you all think? Should we keep this going? We can play here at the same time every week. People can come as they’re able. I know not everyone will be able to make it every week, but even if there are six or seven of us, we should have enough for a quick game.”

“We could invite more people and teach them to play,” Ice said. “I’m sure some other Pabu residents wouldn’t mind learning.”

“I think we’ll get there eventually,” Blaster said. “We’re still figuring things out right now.”

“I don’t mind keeping this among us clones,” Hawk called from the back. “The people here already have football and other games they can play. This could be our sport.”

Crosshair nodded in tentative agreement. Then, he felt a fwing against the side of his head and noticed Demon unabashedly glaring at him.

“I tell you what,” Blaster replied. “In a month or two, once we’ve got a real handle on the game, we’ll take a vote and see if we want to open it up to more people. But for now, it’ll just be any of us who can make it each week.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Sounds good, then,” Digger said. “Anyone who can, meet back here next week.”

“Just as long as Blaster and Crosshair aren’t on the same team,” Hawk yelled again. “We gotta make a rule or something, because they’re too good together.”

Demon, Deke and Stak all nodded, but Rush spoke up.

“That’s not entirely fair, Hawk. We already decided Crosshair can’t be on the same team as Wrecker, as they’re both taller than the rest of us. Nor can he be on the same team as Hunter, because they both have enhanced senses. And Dem—”

Demon whipped his head at Rush and gave him an unhinged glare.

Rush loudly cleared his throat and continued:

“Well, that is to say, if Crosshair can’t be on the same team as Blaster too, that doesn’t leave him many options.”

There was some chatter as people started to discuss possible team configurations for Crosshair. Meanwhile, he let out a loud sigh. This was starting to feel like his family’s football complications all over again.

“Look,” Digger said loudly, causing all the side chatter to die away, “we’ll cross that Venator bridge when we get to it. Let’s just see who all shows up next week and go from there. Alright?”

People nodded.

“And feel free to come by here and practice in the meantime,” Blaster said. “We’ll keep the goals and field the way it is, and I’ll leave the ball on my patio. Just no more than four people at a time. We’ll only play full games at the designated times, so we’re not excluding people on purpose.”

“Sounds good, Blaster,” Eagle said. “Thanks for setting this up.”

Others likewise thanked Blaster for his work, clapping and cheering for him and Digger for serving as captains.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” Blaster yelled, waving away their applause. “Save it for next week when I show you how this game is really played!”

Eagle and Hawk laughed, but most of the others clapped and cheered all the louder. Crosshair, though, shook his head and smiled.

****

With that, the group started to disperse. The three cadets said goodbye and headed out, with Demon and Rush close behind. Hunter wanted to get home and start making dinner, and Omega went with him.

After finishing their water canteens, Eagle and Hawk took the ball from Blaster and ran toward the closest goal. Meanwhile, Ice and Wrecker were chatting with each other, as Digger and Fin watched Hawk take shots against Eagle.

“You were great out there,” Blaster said, approaching Crosshair and nudging his arm with his own.

“You weren’t too bad yourself.”

“No wonder they don’t want us on the same team.”

He and Blaster automatically grabbed their empty canteens and other items, and walked toward their neighborhood together. They walked together in silence for a bit until Crosshair suddenly asked:

“Blaster, did you ever know Cody? Commander Cody from the 212th Battalion?”

“No, I never had the honor. I served under Captain Grey, and we never crossed paths with the 212th. But Hawk was in that battalion and served under Cody. From what I’ve heard, he was a good leader, a fierce fighter and a loyal brother.”

“You remind me of him. A bit.”

Blaster’s eyes widened.

“Our squad worked with him a few times during the war. And I served with him again in … in the Empire. Aside from my brothers — that is, the others on my squad — Cody was the best at setting up shots for me.”

“High praise, then. Crosshair, I’m honored.”

Blaster tapped his fist to his chest.

“Truly.”

Crosshair nodded.

“Whatever happened to Cody? After the Empire was formed, Hawk was reassigned, so he never heard. But you said you served with Cody in the Empire?”

Crosshair stopped in the middle of the path. They were approaching the neighborhood’s main street, but this spot was far enough away that it was still relatively quiet and out-of-the-way. Blaster stopped with him.

“We were part of a clone squadron that went to Desix. We were assigned to secure the city and free an Imperial governor whom the locals had taken hostage. We thought we were bringing peace and order. We completed the mission and returned to Coruscant. But Cody … I think he’d realized what the Empire truly was, and he chose to act. I didn’t.”

Crosshair gulped.

“The next day, they told me he went AWOL. I never saw or heard about him again. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Maybe he went into hiding?” Blaster asked.

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a fighter, after all. He was one of the best of us. Or so I’ve heard.”

Crosshair smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. Blaster knew the conversation had come to an end.

“Alright, Crosshair,” he said, giving his friend a half-salute, half-wave as he took slow steps toward the street. “You take care of yourself. See you next week, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Let’s hope they’ll let us play on the same team again.”

“I’m not holding my breath.”

Chapter Text

Crosshair couldn’t wait a full week before playing handball again.

The day after that first real game, he returned home from spearfishing, eager to go to the field and practice. It was only midafternoon, though. Hunter and Wrecker were both out, but Omega was in her room, finishing up a project.

“Omega,” he called, as he climbed the stairs to her room two at a time. “Would you want to come practice handball with me? I was thinking we could go down to the field before dinner.”

She looked up from her desk, which was littered with knobs, screws and other droid parts. Crosshair immediately thought of Tech doing the same thing on Kamino.

“I’m assembling a new repulsorlift for AZI. His left one is losing power, and he’s been floating lopsided all week.”

“How much longer will it take you?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, turning away and resuming her work. “Maybe another half-hour. You go ahead. I’ll join you if I can.”

Crosshair leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest.

“You don’t like handball much, do you?”

“It’s … fine.”

“I know you didn’t get to play much yesterday.”

“That’s alright. I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Handball’s just … not really my thing.”

Crosshair stared her down. She didn’t turn his way, but she felt his gaze in the silence.

She sighed and added: “I’m the shortest on the field. Even Deke and Stak are like a head taller than me now. So, it’s better for you all if I don’t play.”

Crosshair still didn’t say anything initially, more out of shock than anything else. He hadn’t expected this answer.

“When has that ever stopped you?” he finally asked. “Weren’t you the one who broke us out of Tantiss? Both times? You didn’t care how small you were, even when you were taking on a whole base.”

“This is different. I just don’t want to feel like I’m holding you all back. Or that you have to take it easier just because I’m playing.”

Crosshair was about to remark how Omega was still growing, so this wouldn’t always be the case, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine, Crosshair,” she said, finally turning his direction. “Really. I like football better anyway. But I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Maybe handball can be your sport the way football is mine.”

“But it won’t be the same if we don’t get to play it together.”

“I’m not saying I’ll never play it again. If they decide to open it up to more people, it’ll be easier for me to play if other kids my age are in the mix. Just like with football.”

Crosshair nodded understandingly.

“For now,” Omega continued, “I’m going to take it week to week. Maybe I’ll referee or something, so Fin can actually play for once.”

They both chuckled.

“You’re sure?” Crosshair asked.

“Yeah. Go ahead. Maybe you and Blaster can practice your fun combo plays.”

*****

Omega had said it as a joke, but Crosshair had been thinking the same thing.

When he left a few minutes later, he walked toward the house where Blaster lived with Eagle and Hawk. The latter two were sitting on their front patio, which overlooked the street, and yelled as he approached.

“Hey, Crosshair!”

“What’s going on, brother?”

Crosshair waved, but he had no idea which clone was which. He’d only been able to tell them apart the past two weeks because he knew Eagle had been on his team, while Hawk had been on Digger’s.

As they had every day since he’d met them, the two brothers looked identical, from the sandals on their feet to the way their short, dark hair moved in the Pabu breeze. The only clear difference was their shirts. One was wearing a plum-colored V-neck shirt, while the other was wearing a turquoise tank top.

“Is Blaster around?” he asked.

“No,” the one in the tank top said. “He went with a fishing boat this morning. They needed an extra hand, so he took the gig.”

“He probably won’t be home until sunset,” the other one added. “He usually helps them unload whenever they get in.”

“Right,” Crosshair said. “Well, tell him I’ll check with him tomorrow then.”

He started heading toward the handball field, thinking maybe he could figure out a way to practice by himself, but he’d only gone a dozen paces when the two called out again.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Are you heading to the handball field, Crosshair?”

“We can go with you!”

Crosshair stopped and turned back. He wanted to tell them “no,” but they’d already gotten up. The clone in the tank top grabbed the handball and hopped over the patio fence and joined Crosshair in the street, while the other one dashed inside.

“You don’t—”

“It’s alright,” the clone in the tank top said. “We were thinking about going anyway.”

The other one hadn’t emerged yet. Crosshair didn’t know what to do except stand awkwardly in the street and wait.

His companion leaned toward him and asked in a low voice, “Be honest: You can’t tell us apart, can you?”

Even though he was right, Crosshair threw him an offended frown.

“Alright then. Which one am I?”

Crosshair took a shot in the dark: “Eagle.”

The clone snorted.

“Wrong. I’m Hawk. That’s Eagle.”

The clone in the plum shirt had emerged from the house, carrying three large water canteens.

“I grabbed an extra since it didn’t look like you had one,” he told Crosshair, handing him a canteen.

Crosshair accepted it, feeling terrible, as Hawk said:

“Eagle, I was right. He can’t tell us apart. He thought I was you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eagle told Crosshair with a shrug. “It happens all the time.”

“Yeah. Demon couldn’t tell us apart for a full month.”

“No. He could. It was Ice who couldn’t tell us apart, and Demon mixed us up on purpose to mess with him.”

Crosshair couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He’d never heard of Demon messing with anyone before. He was always so quiet, so sullen. Were they talking about the same person?

The two brothers chuckled together, as Crosshair blinked dazedly.

“C’mon,” Eagle said, gesturing toward the field, “the three of us can practice. We can have one person guard the goal, and the other two do combo plays. Like what you and Blaster were doing yesterday.”

*****

When they reached the field, the three followed Eagle’s suggestion and took turns running combo plays with each other.

Eagle and Hawk — perhaps with Blaster’s help — had invented terms for the different roles. The player who set up the shot was called “the setter,” and the person who hit the ball was called “the hitter.” Both seemed apt.

Eagle volunteered to set for Crosshair, and Hawk defended, bouncing between guarding Eagle, Crosshair and the goal itself. Hawk had a few blocks, but Crosshair made most of his shots with his usual sharpshooter prowess.

Eagle wasn’t as intuitive in setting up shots as Blaster was, but he got better once he picked up on Crosshair’s patterns and preferences.

He was, at least, consistent in setting the ball in the right direction. The same couldn’t be said for Hawk when he and Eagle switched roles.

Short. High. Low. Overshot. Wrong direction. Short again. Low again.

Still, there were a few times where, perhaps by simple luck, Hawk set up a shot as masterfully as Blaster had. But then, the very next shot would be several feet short.

Crosshair was getting frustrated at the inconsistency, and suggested he take over as setter. He hadn’t tried it yet and was curious how he’d do.

After a quick water break, they switched out: Crosshair took over as setter; Hawk was the hitter; and Eagle was guarding.

To no one’s surprise but Crosshair’s, he was solid at setting. He didn’t have the same panache for it as Blaster did, but he was effective. He was able to anticipate where Hawk was going to jump from and get the ball in the right spot almost every time.

Hawk was also a damn good hitter — almost as good as Crosshair, going by how often his shots got past Eagle. Crosshair had anticipated that, though, based on Hawk’s performance in yesterday’s game.

After 10 minutes or so, Eagle and Hawk switched, and Eagle proved he was just as good a hitter as Hawk was.

Hawk had more raw power, but Eagle was better at reading the shot. A few times, Eagle scored by faking Hawk out with a simple dump rather than a hard spike.

When Eagle was done hitting, the three men stopped for another water break, planning to resume with Crosshair on defense this time.

For once, Crosshair wasn’t looking forward to it. Based on their skills, he wondered whether they’d been practicing with Blaster over the last two weeks. Plus, Eagle and Hawk had natural rapport. Eagle as setter and Hawk as hitter was going to be an especially difficult combo to guard.

Thankfully, their break lasted longer than Crosshair had expected, as Eagle and Hawk started chatting about how much they liked handball over football.

“Yeah,” Hawk said, “I never really cared for football. All that running. And for what? You score maybe one goal in 30 minutes. And that’s if you’re lucky. It’s boring to watch and annoying to play.”

“C’mon, football isn’t that bad,” Eagle said. “I like handball better too, but you make football sound like it’s the worst sport in the galaxy.”

“Might as well be.”

“You clearly haven’t seen repulsor skiing then. Or golf. Or podracing.”

“What are you talking about? Podracing is awesome!”

“They go just go ‘round and ‘round. All that flying. And for what?” Eagle said in a mocking tone. “You maybe get to walk away at the end. And that’s if you’re lucky.”

Crosshair sipped his water and stared into the distance, confident he didn’t need to and wouldn’t be expected to jump in. He was initially right, as the two continued a fierce debate on podracing’s merits, or lack thereof, without him. But when Hawk eventually circled back to football, he asked:

“What do you think, Crosshair? Do you like football or handball better?”

Crosshair found both brothers staring at him intently, as if he was casting the deciding vote.

“I like both.”

“Yeah, but if you had to pick one?”

“I’ve played football more. So, probably that one.”

“Nah,” Hawk said, waving his arm at Crosshair. “Don’t lie. I’ve seen you play both. I can tell you like handball better.”

“I do appreciate the speed and the pace of it,” he admitted. “But we’re still figuring out all the rules and gameplay. And in case you didn’t notice, all the jumping and hitting does leave certain people at a disadvantage.”

Eagle politely asked: “You mean Omega, don’t you? It did feel like she, and even Deke and Stak, didn’t get to play much yesterday.”

Both men blinked, pondering.

“Hey, Crosshair,” Hawk said, setting down his water canteen. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow and put his canteen down too.

“Is it true you and Omega escaped Tantiss twice?”

Crosshair nodded.

“I heard you and Omega escaped together the first time, and then she got caught by the Empire, and you and the others came to rescue her. And us.”

Crosshair nodded again.

“That was very brave of you, Crosshair,” Eagle said, putting a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. “I know how hard that must’ve been for you. Going back there.”

Crosshair didn’t say anything. He just stared at the grass underneath his feet.

“Really?” Hawk asked. “It can’t have been that hard. I mean, I know you lost your hand, but at least they didn’t kill you.”

Crosshair looked up at Hawk, stunned. If he had planned to make a move, like to rush or strike him, he couldn’t. Eagle’s hand was still on his shoulder, pressing into him hard, as if Eagle was holding him in place.

Meanwhile, Eagle gave his brother a stare so menacing that even Crosshair shuddered.

“I told you before, Hawk,” Eagle practically yelled. “You have no idea what it was like there. You were there for seven rotations. I was there for seven months. You don’t know the hell we went through. Especially brothers like Crosshair, who were sent to the Training Room every day. … Some of them went in and never came out.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Hawk said quickly, putting his hands up in a half-hearted surrender.

“Well, just for that,” Eagle said, picking up all three of their water canteens and chucking them at Hawk, “you get refill duty. Go back to the house and fill those up.”

“What? Why me?”

“Cause you’re the youngest here. And you’re being a real scughole right now. If you’re not going to apologize, really apologize, then you can at least get us some more water.”

“Fine,” Hawk said with a sigh and then walked off with the water canteens. He huffed across the field, slipped through a row of bushes on the opposite side, and headed up a short incline toward the village.

*****

“I’m sorry about Hawk,” Eagle said taking a seat on a nearby rock. “I’d ask that you don’t hold it against him. He doesn’t know how bad it was on Tantiss.”

“Was he really only there seven rotations?”

“Yeah, and he was in the med bay most of the time. He was still injured when we escaped. He went with a few others to secure a shuttle, while the rest of us went with Echo and Omega to free the three of you from the Training Room.”

“Oh,” Crosshair said. He hadn’t realized exactly how extensive their rescue had been. He’d never really heard all the details. He’d just been so relieved to free Omega, and get Hunter, Echo and Wrecker back to Pabu in one piece, even if he hadn’t been so lucky himself.

“But what about you?” Crosshair continued. “You were there for seven months?”

“Yeah. They sent us there pretty early. Right after the facility opened, I think. I remember them bringing you in. We’d only been there a week or two by that point.”

“We?”

“Me and my brother Cruse. And Zeta Squad. They arrested all of us together after we … told them how we really felt about the Empire.”

Crosshair felt there was a story there, but he didn’t want to overlook the obvious.

“Cruse? What happened to him? Did he escape with us?”

Eagle hung his head.

“No. He died.”

Crosshair blinked, his eyes downcast. As Eagle started telling his story, Crosshair sat next to him — there was plenty of room on the rock — and listened.

“Cruse and I made it through every battle together. We fought alongside General Aayla Secura and Captain Bly in the 327th. We were there on Felucia when … when Order 66 came through.”

Eagle took a long, deep breath before continuing.

“We opened fire on her. She never even had the chance to ignite her saber. Or scream. For weeks, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing her lifeless body on the ground as we kept shooting it. Cruse was the same way. We didn’t even know about the inhibitor chips yet, but it didn’t matter. We knew what we’d done was wrong. We couldn’t fight it at the time, but once we could, we did. Dank ferrik, we did.

“The two of us defected a few months later. We were a bit like Echo and Rex with their underground. Hitting trade depots, communications arrays, ship yards. Anything we could think of that would hurt the Empire without hurting civilians too.

“Well, we stumbled across Zeta Squad and blew up the communications array they’d been guarding for months. But the Empire showed up much sooner than we were expecting. We didn’t have a chance to escape. They took us all to Tantiss.”

Both Eagle and Crosshair gulped at the name. Crosshair was thankful Hawk hadn’t returned yet, although he wondered how much longer he’d take. Their house wasn’t that far away.

“What happened to Cruse?” Crosshair asked, trying as politely as he could to speed things along. He didn’t want Eagle to be interrupted.

“He was one of the clones they sent to the Training Room. I can’t remember when. Maybe it was at the same time as you. Every day, they took him from his cell, and he’d come back hours later, practically fried. Until one day, maybe a month or two in, he never came back at all.”

“Hemlock must’ve successfully programmed him into an operative then.”

Eagle nodded.

“Cruse was … in the Training Room … the night we escaped. He was wearing a helmet and armor, but I’d recognize his fighting style anywhere. He was the operative with the sword.”

Crosshair started taking deep, measured breaths to avoid any kind of strong reaction. His right hand started shaking, so he clenched it into a fist and flexed it back out.

“I’ve always wondered,” Eagle continued, cautiously, “whether that was his handiwork.”

He pointed at Crosshair’s prosthetic hand.

“No,” Crosshair answered, thankful he didn’t have to lie. “It was a different operative. One I’d fought before. He seemed to think I’d chosen the wrong side. That I should’ve become one of them instead.”

Eagle seemed to believe him.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you and your squad hadn’t come back for us.”

Crosshair swallowed.

He couldn’t admit that he’d only returned to Tantiss to save Omega. Freeing everyone else, including both the clone prisoners and the children in the Vault, had been a nice bonus as far as he was concerned — especially since he hadn’t helped with it at all. That had mostly been Omega and Echo.

“You know,” Eagle said, “after we escaped Tantiss, Echo invited me to join him and Rex in their fight. But Zeta Squad decided to stay here, so I did too. To keep an eye on them. And now Hawk too. And Blaster. And the others …”

He trailed off. There was a pause before Crosshair cleared his throat and spoke.

“Echo visits from time to time. If you ever change your mind, I’m sure he’d welcome you aboard the next time he’s here.”

Eagle nodded and said, “I know. I’ve thought about it. I am thinking about it.”

They heard a rustling on the opposite side of the field. Hawk was walking through the bushes, swinging the water canteens by their hooks.

“For now, though,” Eagle said to Crosshair quietly, “I’m just happy to be here. To be free. And to be with my brothers again.”

He gave Crosshair a light tap on the shoulder, and then said loudly as Hawk neared them:

“Or at least I’m happy to be with you, Crosshair. I can’t say the same thing about this guy.”

Eagle jerked his thumb toward Hawk, who seemed unsure why Eagle was taking shots at him but was offended all the same. He huffed and haphazardly chucked Eagle’s canteen at him. Only Eagle’s quick reflexes saved him from getting smacked in the face by it.

“It’s getting close to dinnertime,” Hawk told Crosshair, casually handing him a canteen. “Do you have to get back soon?”

The three men checked the time, and Crosshair answered, “No, I can stay for another hour or so. Hunter and Wrecker are in charge of cooking.”

“Lucky,” Eagle said. “I’m making dinner for our house tonight, so I have to head back soon.”

“Let’s practice for another 10 minutes,” Hawk said, gesturing toward the goal. “Crosshair still hasn’t played defense yet.”

Crosshair’s eyes widened. Amid all the drama, he’d almost forgotten.

Eagle gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, while Hawk was practically smirking as he pumped his arms.

“Alright,” Crosshair sighed. “You’re on.”

*****

Ultimately, Crosshair’s turn on defense wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Even with Eagle as setter and Hawk as hitter, he was able to read most shots. Crosshair managed to block half of them. As expected, Eagle and Hawk had excellent rapport, and Crosshair knew they’d be a hell of a duo to beat if he ever had to play against them.

With a few minutes left, they switched so Hawk was setter and Eagle was hitter. But, between Hawk’s errant passes and Eagle’s exhaustion, the atmosphere around the goal became much more casual, almost lackadaisical.

“I gotta head out, guys,” Eagle finally said, catching his breath, walking back toward the sidelines and picking up his water canteen. “Need to start making dinner. Hawk, you stay here a bit longer and help Crosshair practice.”

“I mean, I was thinking about it anyway,” Hawk replied. “But why do you get to boss me around?”

“Because you still didn’t properly apologize. The least you could do is help him practice a bit more.”

Hawk furrowed his brow and tilted his head.

“In fact,” Eagle continued, “that can be your penance: You practice with Crosshair every day this week. If he asks.”

Hawk sighed and said, “Yeah, alright. That’s fair.”

Eagle walked back toward them.

“See you around, Crosshair. If this one gives you any lip, you let me know.”

He gave Hawk a not-so-light punch on the arm and then held out his right hand for Crosshair to clasp. Crosshair took it, and Eagle pulled Crosshair toward him and wrapped his left arm around Crosshair’s back in a brotherly half-hug.

“Thank you, brother. For listening.”

“You’re … you’re welcome.”

Eagle let go, but before he started walking away, Hawk interjected:

“Wait a minute, Eagle. He spent two whole hours with us. So, be honest, Crosshair: Think you’ll be able to tell us apart now?”

He glanced between the two brothers. At a glance, they seemed identical, from their haircuts to their sandals. Only their shirts were different.

Yet, for the first time, the two had never looked so distinct: Eagle, with a calm expression, a soft smile and a few tiny wrinkles around his eyes; and Hawk, whose bright eyes and even brighter smile were practically radiating energy.

“Maybe. Probably.”

“No worries if you still get us mixed up,” Eagle said, turning to leave. “It happens all the time.”

Chapter Text

Crosshair ended up practicing handball with Hawk every afternoon that week.

And, surprisingly, Hawk didn’t complain.

He joked about his “penance” once or twice, but Crosshair didn’t care. He was just happy to have someone to practice with, even if he didn’t think very highly of Hawk on his own. He was much easier to get along with when Eagle or someone else was with them.

Crosshair and Hawk went to the field for roughly two hours every afternoon, and half the time, they had the field to themselves.

Initially, Crosshair wondered whether it was worth putting up with Hawk if it meant he had someone to practice with.

Part of the problem was Hawk’s personality. He was energetic and brash, and without Eagle there to check him, he often came across as abrasive. For Crosshair, it was nigh intolerable.

Another part was Hawk’s uneven handball skills. While he was an excellent hitter and a decent defender, he remained an inconsistent setter. After a week, he had improved slightly, but it wasn’t enough for Crosshair.

Even when he gave Hawk very clear instructions, even going so far as to point to the literal spot in the air where he wanted Hawk to set it, he still only did it properly about half the time.

Eventually, Crosshair figured it was better if Hawk just threw the ball instead, which Hawk was happy to do, and it worked much better. Their success rate was closer to 70-75% that way.

The two worked best when Crosshair set for Hawk, but they practiced other aspects of the game, like shootouts and defense.

However, the biggest reason why Crosshair was initially very curt and apprehensive of Hawk — especially that first afternoon, after Eagle left them to make dinner — was Hawk’s comments about Tantiss.

Crosshair still hadn’t fully forgiven him for it. Remembering Eagle’s request, Crosshair tried not to hold it against Hawk, per se, but he was in no great hurry to befriend Hawk either.

But that evening as they were packing up, and even more so the next afternoon, Hawk started telling Crosshair more about him and how he ended up on Tantiss when he did.

*****

As Blaster and Eagle had said, Hawk was a Generation 3 clone whose squad, after completing their training on Kamino, had been specially assigned to reinforce the 212th Battalion. Crosshair asked him when, as Clone Force 99 had run into the 212th a few times, and Hawk told him it was sometime after the Battle of Anaxes.

He and his squad had only been with the battalion a few months before the Battle of Utapau and Order 66.

There’d only been one Jedi on Utapau — General Obi-Wan Kenobi. Hawk and the other clones’ chips had activated, but as Hawk’s squad had been fighting droids at the time, it’d felt more like business as usual.

After the battle, Hawk had been recognized for his valor and combat prowess, and under the new Galactic Empire, he alone was given a special assignment as a kind of reward.

While his squad and the rest of the 212th went to handle Separatist holdouts throughout the galaxy, Hawk joined a small group of clones who acted as consultants for Imperial planets’ police forces. With so much changing so quickly across the galaxy, the Emperor felt it would be wise to have effective, well-trained police forces that could handle any remaining Separatist threats with minimal military involvement, Hawk recounted.

Of course, he realized later what he and his colleagues had really been sent to do, but at first, he thought it’d been a very cushy assignment.

The six-clone group traveled to a new planet every one- to three months, as some local police forces were in worse shape than others. Hawk and the others would review their policies, personnel, facilities and equipment, and help bring them up to Imperial standards.

The group traveled all over the galaxy: Corellia, Mapuzo, Ghorman, Esseles, Ferrix, Alderaan, Daiyu.

Hawk and his five colleagues were about to leave Coruscant for a new assignment on Niamos when they heard the Imperial Defense Recruitment Bill had been passed. With that, everything was put on hold.

One of Hawk’s colleagues and hundreds of other clones were forced to take retirement packages. Meanwhile, others saw the proverbial writing on the wall and decided to leave of their own volition, including two more of Hawk’s colleagues.

That left three: him and fellow troopers Lo and Husk.

After a week of waiting on Coruscant for their orders, the three finally shipped out to Niamos. While the place was virtually a paradise — with beautiful sandy beaches, attractive tourists of all species and genders, and mild weather year-round — the three clones were at their wits’ end.

The police force was perfectly fine. It only needed a few minor changes to meet Imperial standards. The group didn’t even need to be there a full month, and Lo and Husk told their supervisors so.

Hawk didn’t see why they were both rushing to leave such a nice place, and they admitted their faith in the Empire was wavering. It was bad enough that clones were being pushed out of service, but now they were going missing. They had heard rumors before they left Coruscant, and what little news they got on Niamos was even worse. Lo and Husk theorized that these missing clones were being killed, imprisoned and/or experimented on.

The two said they wanted to finish the Niamos job ASAP and file for retirement packages the second they returned to Coruscant. Hawk didn’t outright dismiss their concerns but didn’t fully share them either.

At the end of their month, the three contacted their supervising officer on Coruscant and told him the job was done. The supervisor — who wasn’t a clone and had seemingly only joined the Empire in the year after the war — said a shuttle would arrive shortly to bring them back to Coruscant.

But no one ever came.

After two days of waiting, Hawk argued they should reach out again, saying there must’ve been an oversight or a miscommunication, but Lo and Husk didn’t want to wait. If they were being abandoned, they figured that wasn’t any better or worse than being forced to retire.

They saw their chance and went AWOL the next day.

Hawk admitted that he resented them for it at the time, but he now understood why they had. He wouldn’t have gone with them, and if he’d known, he would’ve reported or stopped them.

However, not wanting to get in trouble himself, he lied to the Niamos officials, saying his colleagues had been reassigned elsewhere while he had been asked to stay on indefinitely.

Every day for the next month, he tried to contact the supervisor on Coruscant, and every day he heard some version of the same story. The request is being processed; the documentation was lost; the supervisor is out today; the request needs to be resubmitted to another department; and so on.

Finally, he gave up and decided to enjoy himself.

He basically started working for the Niamos police force full-time, doing a mix of consulting, admin and patrol work. When his employers said the apartment where he and his colleagues had been staying needed to be vacated soon, he found his own place. He spent his downtime going to all the local hotspots. He reveled in the new foods, cocktails and dance partners he found every night.

Months passed without him realizing it.

He rarely thought about the Clone Wars or the Empire anymore. He was simply Hawk, a Niamos police officer. The locals all figured he’d retired and settled down there. No one realized he’d technically never been discharged — not even him, most days.

But it all unraveled the day an Imperial governor and his troopers came to the city for an inspection.

They quickly realized who Hawk was and why he was there; they interrogated him for hours; Hawk tried to plead his case and tell them what happened; but they revealed that he, Lo and Husk had all been labeled as deserters when they failed to return from their assignment.

Again, Hawk tried to argue, to make them see reason, but they only hit him harder. They punched and kicked him until he could barely talk, and then finally, the governor took Hawk’s own police baton and slammed it into his head.

Hawk lost consciousness and woke up — seemingly days later — on Tantiss.

As Eagle had said, that had only been a week before the base was destroyed, and Hawk explained that he’d spent most of it either unconscious or receiving a strange mixture of who-knows-what in the med bay.

So, while Crosshair still wasn’t Hawk’s biggest fan, he at least understood why Hawk felt about Tantiss the way he did. The whole thing had probably felt more like a strange fever dream than a real nightmare, as it had for Crosshair, Eagle and many others.

“Hey, Crosshair,” Hawk said the second afternoon they practiced together, “I want you to know: I really am sorry about what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure Tantiss was rough for you all. I mean, I know it was. Er. Well. That is… Ah, you get it. I just want to apologize.”

Crosshair nodded and said, “Consider yourself lucky you weren’t there any longer.”

“I am. I mean, I do. Really.”

That was moment Crosshair felt the nicest and most sympathetic toward Hawk that whole week.

*****

Hawk quickly chipped away at that goodwill the next day, though, when he took every opportunity to compare Pabu to Niamos. Apparently now that he’d told Crosshair about his nearly yearlong stay there, he wouldn’t shut up about the place.

This, coupled with his inconsistent setting, irritated Crosshair to no end — to the point that Crosshair was visibly happy when Eagle showed up later that afternoon, accompanied by Ice.

Yes, over the course of the week, a few other clones joined Crosshair and Hawk at the handball field. Digger, Blaster, Eagle, Ice and Rush stopped by more than once, for varying amounts of time.

Demon stopped by once, but only stayed for 15 minutes before telling everyone he had things to do and leaving as abruptly as he came.

The three cadets visited the field later that same afternoon, but remembering the rule that no more than four clones could practice at a time, Crosshair and his group let the three cadets practice with Blaster while the rest of them went back home.

Crosshair didn’t see Fin much, though, which wasn’t too much of a surprise.

As for his immediate family, Hunter and Wrecker were usually busy with work or making dinner, and Omega opted to spend her free afternoons with Lyana and/or some other friends.

One afternoon, the kids stopped by the handball field and successfully coaxed a few of the clones gathered there into playing football with them instead. Crosshair was happy to share the field with Omega again, properly this time. Plus, he figured all the cross-training could only help him prepare for the quickly approaching handball game.

*****

The day before the group’s second weekly handball game, Crosshair was home alone.

Omega had been invited to Lyana’s for a sleepover and had gone over in the afternoon, once she’d finished with her studies and chores.

And because Omega was going to be gone overnight, Hunter and Wrecker figured it’d be a good time for a supply run to Can’na. A few other villagers were already planning to go, and Hunter and Wrecker said today was the better option, so they’d be free for the handball game tomorrow.

They probably wouldn’t get back to Pabu until after Crosshair had gone to bed, but they said they’d take the following day off, so they’d be well-rested for the late-afternoon game.

They agreed to these plans during dinner the night before. Hunter and Wrecker told Crosshair he was welcome to join them, but he declined.

He told them later, after Omega had gone to bed, how he felt someone should stay on Pabu and keep an eye on things. There was always a chance Omega might not want to come home early, and he didn’t want to risk her returning to an empty house.

Plus, he didn’t say it, but he was looking forward to another day of handball. Eagle and Ice had promised to meet him and Hawk at the field earlier than usual, and Crosshair had been cooking up scenarios to practice with four players.

Hunter and Wrecker exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything.

Both were simply thankful Crosshair was finally starting to bond with the Fateful Eight. Unlike his brothers, Crosshair hadn’t spent much time with the “Regs” after they’d all decided to stay on Pabu. He’d spent so much of those first few weeks either focused on Omega or learning to spearfish.

But the current situation made sense.

Crosshair hadn’t bonded much with the cadets until he started playing football with them. Now, he was starting to bond with the Fateful Eight — or at least some of them — over handball.

“You know,” Hunter said, “instead of eating dinner here by yourself, you should ask Blaster whether you can join him and his brothers for dinner. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Crosshair said reflexively, even though he’d been considering it too. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Crosshair really couldn’t think of a good reason, but thankfully, Wrecker interrupted.

“Well, actually,” Wrecker said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “I already told Ice you’d probably be here by yourself tomorrow, and he said, ‘no, you wouldn’t.’ So … you’re invited to dinner at his place.”

“Good,” Hunter said. “See? And I’ll bet they invite the other guys over for dinner too. Like one big polache.”

“Oh. Great.” Crosshair said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Hunter scoffed.

“You’ll have fun. You know you will.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, you definitely will, Crosshair,” Wrecker said, slapping him on the shoulder. “You haven’t tried Ice’s famous vicheece yet. It’s to die for!”

*****

That afternoon, Crosshair came home from spearfishing to a quieter-than-usual house. His brothers’ boat to Can’na had left that morning, and Omega had already left for the Hazards’ with Batcher in tow.

Crosshair did find a message she’d left saying that he was welcome to join her, Lyana and Shep for dinner, but only if he didn’t have other plans. He figured she was alluding to Ice’s invitation.

He considered his options as he put his spearfishing equipment away, changed his outfit and headed toward the handball field. He didn’t see any other clones on the way except Fin. He was walking up the island while Crosshair was walking down, and the two only exchanged friendly nods as they passed each other.

Crosshair thought to say something, asking if Fin wanted to or was able to practice handball, but he figured Fin was going up the island for a reason. He’d heard Shep and the other elders had hired Fin to help with janitorial-type jobs around the island, namely around the colonnade, Archium and other communal spaces; and from what Crosshair had heard, Fin was quite good at it. He was diligent, efficient and polite. He was also very quiet and seemingly never complained, which was ideal for someone who did rote maintenance and cleaning duties.

Crosshair was nearing the field when he heard someone call his name behind him. He turned to see Ice coming down from a side street.

“Hey, brother,” Ice said, approaching him and holding up his hand for Crosshair to clasp, “how’s it going?”

Crosshair took Ice’s hand and answered, “Fine. Are you ready?”

“For dinner? Absolutely! You’re coming, right?”

“I…”

“I’m not taking no for answer.”

“Then I suppose I have no choice.”

“Good!”

“But I meant, are you ready for some handball?”

“Ha, of course,” Ice said, waving it off. “But dinner’s gonna be even better. You’ll see. I think I invited pretty much everyone. Except your family. Sorry they couldn’t make it.”

“Another time.”

“For sure!”

“C’mon,” Crosshair said, nodding toward the field. “Eagle and Hawk might be there already.”

Sure enough, they were. The brothers happily waved as Crosshair and Ice passed through the bushes on the far side of the field. The four clones met in the middle and went over their plans for the afternoon.

They decided to practice two-on-two scenarios near the 3-meter line. Ice suggested partnering with Crosshair, and Eagle and Hawk acquiesced. Crosshair would’ve preferred Eagle instead, but he went along with the suggestion.

He hadn’t played much with Ice yet, but his general demeanor reminded Crosshair so much of Wrecker, especially when he was younger.

Indeed, over the next half-hour as he and Ice rotated between attacking and defending the goal, Crosshair felt like he was five years younger, fighting alongside Wrecker in the Clone Wars.

Ice had all the same uncontainable enthusiasm, energy and joie de vivre that Wrecker once did — and still did, to some degree. If Crosshair’s shot got blocked or missed, Ice didn’t care. He was unrelentingly encouraging and optimistic, always patting Crosshair on the shoulder and saying, “You’ll get the next one for sure!” And more often than not, Crosshair did.

The biggest difference was that Ice didn’t have Wrecker’s build or enhanced strength; but maybe because of that, he seemed to have a little more control.

He had more raw power behind his shot than Hawk did, and of all the clones, Crosshair thought Ice was second only to Wrecker in that category.

But Ice was slightly more accurate than Wrecker. He’d also picked up on Eagle’s ploy of dumping the ball instead of spiking it, but seemed to think it was just a cool trick to use at random rather than reading the defense and using it strategically.

Every time Eagle and Hawk managed to block Ice’s attempted dumps, Ice would say, “Ahh, I’ll get it next time. You’ll see.” And Crosshair would shake his head and smile, thinking how a younger Wrecker probably would’ve said that too.

After their two-on-two scenarios, they took a water break and switched to running three-person combo plays while the remaining person guarded the net.

When it was his turn to play goalkeeper, Ice proved he was just as natural at goalkeeping as Wrecker was.

Ice was bulkier than the average clone now, as he was a full-time laborer and frequently did duo gigs with Wrecker. But while Wrecker had him beat in sheer size, Ice was nimbler and more flexible.

Thus, as a goalkeeper, he existed in a kind of sweet spot where he could block a goal both by his size and his speed.

And while Wrecker seemed to prefer blocking an attempted shot, Ice delighted in trying to catch them. He didn’t always succeed, but that didn’t stop him.

Finally, after another water break, the four men practiced penalty shots, with each taking turns as goalkeeper.

If anything, Crosshair thought Ice was getting better at reading the shots and catching the ball the more time he spent in the goal. He even asked for an extra turn guarding the goal after the other three had gone. They didn’t mind and kept taking shots at him until Ice said it was time for dinner.

“But we still could still practice for another half-hour,” Crosshair said.

“Maybe you could,” Ice said after downing the rest of his water canteen. “But I gotta put the final touches on my vicheece and fire up the grill before everyone comes over.”

Crosshair wasn’t about to argue with his host. He was simply planning to practice a little longer with Eagle and Hawk, but Ice put one hand around Crosshair’s shoulder and practically led him off the field. It was more friendly than forceful, but Crosshair still didn’t feel like he had much choice.

“C’mon, Crosshair,” Ice said, unaware and undeterred, “you can help me.”