A quiet rage is building in Crosshair's chest, laced with indignation and disbelief. Of all the things he could have expected, this is not it. He stares at Tech, who returns his gaze evenly where most would wither under the scrutiny. They had risen before the others and found themselves in the cockpit. Tech had been immersed in his datapad, and Crosshair had been sitting behind him, performing diligent weapons maintenance as usual. Or at least that is what it had been made to look like... 

Tech had made a thinly veiled criticism of Crosshair's behavior with you and the absolute ridiculousness of you engaging with anyone other than him, and there is suddenly an intensely uncomfortable atmosphere in the cockpit. 

"You've got to be kidding me," Crosshair hisses, silken voice laced with a menacing tone.

"I am not," Tech replies evenly, unfazed, "It makes perfect sense."

"In what galaxy?" comes the retort, as Crosshair comes to sit in the copilot's chair, knees toward Tech, making no attempt to hide his glowering. 

"In every galaxy," Tech answers, "We are interested in many overlapping things, have a similar thirst for knowledge, and share a procedural way of thinking. It's obvious. Your anger here leads me to presume that you were under the impression that there was some sort of connection between you and her? That seems like an oddly farfetched notion for someone of your mental prowess to believe."

Crosshair has been long accustomed to Tech's bluntness and obliviousness to some social cues, but this one strikes a nerve. His eyes narrow to slits, and he leans forward, carefully, like a coiled snake, placing his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. His innocently inquisitive position is a complete contrast to the simmering intensity emanating from him.

"Oh? What else have you deduced, with your brilliant mind?" he taunts, voice dangerously quiet.

"Quite a bit, but nothing that you need concern yourself with," Tech replies matter-of-factly. "I would simply suggest you stick to your own duties."

That's the last straw. Crosshair flies to his feet, towering over Tech, and proceeds to tell him exactly what he thinks Tech should stick where. He leans further, to drive home the point, but Tech has also had enough, of this irrational and disproportionate response. He stands up as well, and they meet eye-to-eye, of equal height and equal anger in this moment. 

"I will not be intimidated, Crosshair," Tech snaps, "Especially by your unreasonable and completely unfounded suppositions. There is a clear connection between us. Whatever illusion you have come to believe is totally unreasonable."

Crosshair slaps both palms onto Tech's chest plate, pushing him back sharply. "It wasn't such an illusion when she was kissing me," he snarls.

"It looked more like you were taking advantage of her," Tech retorts, recovering from his quick off-balance step, "Selfish as always." 

"Not that time," Crosshair scorned, "Before, on supply day, when we were on the ship alone. Ahh, you didn't know about that, did you?" He relishes the surprise on Tech's face, also finding that it increases his own anger, and he pushes his brother again. 

"Crosshair, stop that immediately," Tech protests, feeling a rage rising in himself as well. It all made perfect sense to him, and the thought that Crosshair could just ignore every rational indication to pursue his own desires is simply not permissible. It just isn't right. Tech pushes Crosshair back, with more force than he perhaps intends, and Crosshair trips backward into the copilot seat. 

"You're going to regret that," Crosshair spits, picking himself up quickly and throwing himself at Tech. They crash into the control panel, blows flying at each other. Expertly-trained soldiers and enhanced as they are, it is not a pretty sight. Fists are thrown, some are blocked, some make a sickening contact to both skin and armor. Crosshair gets his arm around Tech's neck, throwing him forward to the ground over a shoulder, and Tech lands with a loud thunk. Crosshair leaps on top of him, but Tech is quick to roll to the side, throwing up a knee and knocking Crosshair off balance. He smashes into a utility panel, immediately flinging himself back at his brother. 

They crash and roll, each fueled by a burning indignance at the other's folly, and their fighting styles are as equally matched as they are different. Wrecker comes charging in, having been woken by all the noise, and initially breaks into a large grin at what he believes to be a surprise wrestling match. He's about to dive in when he's joined by Hunter, who immediately discerns that this is no laughing matter. 

"WHAT are you doing?!" Hunter bellows, but Tech and Crosshair pay him no mind, each singularly focused on tearing the other apart. Wrecker runs in at this point, grabbing each one by the scruff of his neck and throwing them apart. They land on opposite sides of the cockpit, chests heaving, glaring daggers at each other. Tech's lip is bleeding, and Crosshair's tattoo now accentuates a quickly-blossoming black eye. 

Hunter is all too aware exactly what is going on here and finds his own anger rising. He becomes aware of your presence as well, standing horrified in the doorway behind them all, and whirls to face you. "I told you to get a hold of it, and you did the opposite. You are done here," he declares, not softening even a smidge at your completely devastated, confused, and self-hateful expression. 

"Pack your things," Hunter says, and you turn to run to your quarters, fighting back tears. He turns to the brothers, crumpled on the ground, "And you two... Go clean yourselves up and then report back here immediately. Now!"

***

The heat of the moment has fizzled into a heavy atmosphere of regret and disappointment as you all gather in the cockpit one last time. Everyone stares their own way, except Hunter, who gives scrutinizing glances to each of you in turn, all save for Wrecker, who was mercifully spared the painful awkwardness of this meeting. 

"I'm sorry," you begin, "I really--"

"I understand," Hunter interrupts smoothly. "It is what it is. We've arranged a shuttle for you this afternoon. You will return to your assigned medical bay, if no further disciplinary action is taken."

Tech lifts his head at this, finding his voice, "Hunter, I understand this is a major issue of indiscretion, but I am not certain that the adverse effects on the remainder of her medical career are warranted, over a short-term lack of good judgment. This is a separate realm from her profession."

"Not if she just decides to start toying with any other patients that catch her eye," Crosshair sneers, not making eye contact. It stings, and you can see that he's hurt. But he'd never let on. His walls are up, face set in a deep scowl as his trademark toothpick saunters from one corner of his mouth to the other. 

"That is--" you start in, but Hunter silences you again.

"Enough. Don't even get started," he says, holding his hands up toward both you and his brothers. "Fine. We'll just say our need for you ended earlier than anticipated."

Relief cascades over you, although the sickening ache in your chest remains. If you could go back to the beginning, you would do it all so differently. But none of that matters now. You wait, awkwardly, for any further instructions from Hunter, but he finishes by giving you a pert nod of the head, indicating the conversation is over. You pick up your bags and head for the door, light streaming in as the stairs fold out in front of you. With one last look at the three of them, you shuffle down the stairs onto the ground below.

"Oh, one more thing," Hunter says, appearing in the ship's doorway. You pause to look back over your shoulder as he continues, hoping beyond hope for... what? You don't even know. So you watch him expectantly, and after a brief pause, he continues.

"You have horrible taste in men."