Chapter Text
What the hell even was today?! You thought to yourself.
It had been a longgggg day, to say the least. You nearly lost your hand on the mission, and you just needed to lie down in your bunk, close your eyes, and pretend like you didn't almost die a few hours ago. But hey, that was war, right? Nonetheless, the last person you wanted to see was the irritating sniper who wouldn't stop stating that "if you had just followed orders and not been reckless, you would've saved them all the burden of making sure you didn't die." All he ever said was, "It's unfortunate clones don't leave soldiers behind, because then we could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble," and frankly, his pissy attitude was getting on your nerves.
Low and behold, and honestly, your luck, the bunk was empty...well, almost. The only other soul in it was Trigger Freak himself.
Great... Just. Great.
You rolled your eyes the second you saw him but elected against saying anything, because like you said, you just wanted some damn sleep. But why would you think for a second that he would let you skate right past him?
"Well, if it isn't the Waste of a Bunk herself." Crosshair said in his usual low, cold voice.
You took a deep inhale, trying hard to practice the breathing techniques that Echo had taught you when he first saw how riled up Crosshair could make you. "If it isn't Scope Jockey himself," you shot back, your eyes narrowing at the innocent bunk unfortunate enough to fall into your line of sight. "At least I am on the front lines and not hiding away looking down on all of the action."
Welp, so much for those breathing exercises.
You whipped toward Crosshair, now facing him. "You know what? Fuck you."
He stood there smirking, moving his stupid toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right. Crosshair only hummed, entirely too pleased with himself. “That’s not very professional,” he murmured, though the smug look on his face ruined any attempt at sounding serious.
Crosshair’s expression barely changed, but you caught the way his eyes sharpened with interest. “There she is,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was savoring the reaction.
Your teeth clenched. “Stop saying that.”
“Why?” He shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Because it’s true?”
You let out a sharp laugh. “You know what your issue is? You think you’re better than everyone else in the room.”
“I usually am.”
“Oh my god, you are unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Crosshair murmured, pushing off the wall completely now, “you’re still standing here talking to me.”
Your stomach twisted unpleasantly at the way he said it. Calm. Certain. Like he already knew something you didn’t. “I’m standing here because you won’t shut up. Not because I like you. Don't flatter yourself," you scoffed.
“Mm.” His gaze flicked over your face again. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Heat crawled up your neck immediately, which only irritated you more.
"UGH!" You aggressively jabbed a finger at his chest. “You are the single most irritating person I have ever met.”
Crosshair glanced down at your hand before looking back at you. “There’s that temper again.”
Your breath caught. Damn him.
The smirk he gave you this time was smaller. Meaner. Like he’d hit a target dead center. I mean, he is a sniper, I guess.
You dropped your hand and stared at him, mouth agape in disbelief of his audacity.
"Fuck you," you muttered, turning on your heel and stalking toward your bunk. You really needed to lie down now.
“You missed a spot.”
You stopped abruptly. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Crosshair nodded once toward your wrist. “Blood.”
You looked down.
Sure enough, a thin line of red had soaked through the edge of the bandage wrapped around your wrist.
Great.
“It’s fine,” you said shortly, moving to climb into your bunk anyway.
“Mm.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Convincing.”
Your glare sharpened. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Do you ever stop reacting?”
That shut you up for exactly half a second. “You are unbelievably irritating," you say as you climb into your bunk. As you lift yourself up, you put a tiny bit of weight on your injured hand, causing a quiet wince to escape your lips.
“Maybe next mission,” he continued, voice low and sharp, “try not to nearly get yourself killed. The rest of us are getting tired of dragging you out of trouble.”
You scoffed through the pain, though the words hit harder than you wanted to admit. “You seemed pretty eager to do it.”
Crosshair’s smirk thinned slightly at the edges before settling back into place. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he drawled, rolling the toothpick lazily between his teeth.
You wanted to strangle him, but, for now, screw his attitude; you needed sleep. And with that, you lay down and closed your eyes.