Half-Moon Glow

Fools

The heat on Felucia was unkind. For somebody under a suit of armor, anything so simple as treading became a nightmare, draining them from all energy and hydration in no time.

Despite Aurora's active dislike for hot weather, she put her men first. It was a miracle she had enough supplies, and at many times she feared running out, adding to the risk of danger.

And as Aurora knew, and the clones of unit 99 would find out, the heat made it more difficult to deal with injuries.

It was a simple mission on Felucia. Arrive, walk ten klicks—which, in the heat, felt eternal—disable the remote control systems for the shields on a nearby Separatist operations base, and get out, all via stealth. Doing so was not hard, and the squadron had managed with grace.

And upon exit, a wrong step had triggered an alarm, thus summoning a small legion of battle droids. For the most part, squad 99 had gotten out, having an advantage of half a klick between the droids, until a stray blast hit the torso of the soldier guarding the rear end of the formation.

Aurora had nearly blacked out when she saw Crosshair had taken the blast.

Inhumanly quicker than the initial treading through the jungles of Felucia, they'd gotten Crosshair back to the Marauder. Aurora had patched Crosshair's wound; thankfully, no vital organs were hit, but it did cause hemorraging in the surrounding skin. He'd be in pain for about a day, but he'd also heal quickly.

Twelve hours after the initial treatment of the wound, a tense, quiet moment between the medic and the marksman, it was time for Aurora to perform a rutinary check to make sure the wound hadn't taken any turns for the worse---it was unlikely, but even if Crosshair had been acting like a jerk, she still had to be sure he recovered well.

And it was far more uncomfortable than it had been the first time. Alone inside his bunkroom, Crosshair sat on a simple chair, bare from the upper body as Aurora removed the bandages covering his abdomen, kneeling before him. Every time she tried to make eye contact, he'd look away.

Crosshair would hiss from time to time whenever Aurora disinfected his wound. But even he couldn't keep himself from thinking how gentle her touch was, how she was clearly being careful not to hurt him more. Her job was to fix wounds, an errand that proved painful more often than not, that didn't need justification when her methods caused pain, and yet she was gentle with him.

He was used to Tech performing medical duties with disregard of the injured one's current state, and did what had to be done. Other times, Crosshair had opted to patch up his own wounds, often a result of his ego.

He'd never had someone be that caring with him.

And yet, the next time Aurora and he happened to meet eyes, he once again instantly looked away from her.

Aurora sighed as she put the lid on the jar of disinfectant. "Will you at least tell me why you're being an ass now?"

Crosshair huffed.

"You were nice when you wanted to get laid, weren't you?" She continued, clearly angry.

"Sorry, sunshine," he replied, condescending. "It won't work."

"A bleak excuse," she rolled her eyes as she reached into her kit and pulled out a clean bandage, readying herself to apply it once again around his bare abdomen and back.

Crosshair noticed as her resolve faltered when she looked at him, and she felt it too. Aurora normally didn't have a problem dealing with exposed skin. Not only was it natural, but she was a professional doing her job.

But this was Crosshair, and he still made her nervous. Her gaze still wandered around his body, stopping over the lines of his toned muscles, the little salt and pepper trail that disappeared beneath his belt, imagining the warmth and taste of his skin, rising and falling with his breaths as they got heavier, faster.