The Bad Batch - One shots

Show me you're loyal enough - Part 1

Tarkin needed Crosshair's complete loyalty and submission to the Empire.

T/W: Implied rape and non-consensual drug use

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"So, you're the one they call Crosshair."

The marksman stills, muscles coiling automatically. Whatever surgery they did on him has left him feeling hazy and out of it, and he's disorientated as he sits on the edge of a recovery cot- nursing a cup of electrolytes.

There's somewhere else he needs to be- helping his brothers, no doubt- but Crosshair is content to let them wait out their suffering. Disobeying orders has consequences, after all.

"Sir," he stands for Tarkin, ignoring the dizziness that swarms his head like buzzing insects. He salutes too, even though he's never done so for a superior before. The movement is subconscious, as is the way his heels clip together in sharp attention.

Tarkin seems to marvel at the sight before him, the man's beady eyes scanning him from head to toe with a glisten in them. Crosshair bristles uncomfortably at being so exposed- still not having been given his armour back.

"I trust you're feeling well after your small procedure?" Tarkin asks, and Crosshair remains standing as he knows he hasn't been told to be 'at ease' yet. Why does he care about these things? He's never worried about military procedure before.

"Very well, sir." He replies in a clipped tone- not lazily slurring his words like usual. His tongue itches to have a wooden pick between his teeth, but then he imagines Tarkin tutting at such a habit.

"Good," Tarkin looks pleased as he spins around, revealing a small bald patch at the back of his head that Crosshair's sure Wrecker would make jokes about for weeks, "Follow me, soldier."

Crosshair follows the Governor without question. He isn't sure why he feels like he can't make a choice, but that doesn't matter anymore. The Bad Batch have proved that they can't follow orders under this new Empire, and Crosshair is merely trying to survive the change from the days of the Republic.

Whether he's still a free man or not means nothing to him.

Or that's what he tells himself anyway.

The splash of Corellian whiskey being poured into two glasses pulls Crosshair from his thoughts. His sharp eyes narrow on the ice cubes as they clink together softly amongst the amber liquid.

He watches as the ice in one glass sinks whilst the other stay afloat, and he knows deep down that he ought to not drink alcohol so soon after a surgery and technically on-duty, but Tarkin's order rings clear, "Have a drink, Crosshair."

It tastes bitter, and if Hunter were here, he'd demand that Crosshair spat the clearly drugged drink out, but he's been invited to Tarkin's temporary office as a guest, and Hunter is a traitor. He's not under the command of that disloyal Sergeant anymore, and Crosshair's glad for that.

Before the lip of the glass touches his lips, Tarkin raises his own, "A toast."

Crosshair holds back a sigh of frustration- because after the past few days, he could really do with a drink, "For the Empire, sir?"

"No, a toast for you," Tarkin smiles- obviously forced, "I'd like to thank you for reporting your squadmates for disobeying Order 66. That is the attribute of a soldier who cares more for what he is defending than the people who fight alongside him."

Crosshair can hardly resist the urge to roll his eyes as he tips his glass to the Governor's before draining it dry. He swallows the bitter taste that shouldn't be there. "We're soldiers to the Republic, sir- or the Galactic Empire, if that's what it's called now. We aren't soldiers to die for the clone next to us."

"I completely agree," Tarkin nods, barely having taken a sip of his own drink. He clears his throat- kriffing lightweight- and sits forward in his chair, "I wonder, Crosshair, were you willing to neutralize the rebel threat on Onderon?"

"Of course, I was," he snorts- because that's ridiculous to assume he wasn't ready. "I told the Sergeant to give me the word twice, and I protested the group when they voted against it."

"Interesting." Tarkin puts his glass down, and already Crosshair can feel his mind getting hazier- his palms getting sweaty from whatever he drank. The Governor must have a reason for doing this, so he doesn't panic. "Are orders only followed in your squad if everyone agrees?"

"No, sir," Crosshair shakes his head, stress building in his chest as he realises what he's being accused of. "I tried to shoot the Padawan on Kaller. I only left Onderon with the others because I-"

Tarkin raises his thin eyebrows when Crosshair's voice fails him, "Because what, trooper?"

"B-Because," it's getting harder to think- every thought coming to his head more sluggish than the last. His vision blurs ever so slightly, and he swears he can feel a hand on his thigh.

"Because, deep down, you're still disobedient like the others." He can feel Tarkin's breath on his face- rapidly cooling the sweat lining his forehead. "I need you to prove it to me, soldier. Show me you're loyal enough to fight for the Empire."

Crosshair swallows harshly, "Yes, sir."