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Four young boys huddle around the common room table in their barracks, their faces bronzed by the soft overhead lighting–especially alight for the occasion. 99 spent many credits and twice as many hours securing the gentle amber bulbs, which are complemented by strings of star lights that encircle the room around the tops of the four self-contained bunk beds.
The gentle lighting is soothing for Hunter’s enhanced senses, as well as Crosshair’s superior eyesight. It also helps foster the atmosphere 99 is looking for tonight. In broad strokes, the yellow-orange glow of the room is intended to be relaxing for all involved. Compare it to a lifetime of whites, greys, and blacks in the Kaminoan hallways outside, or the Republic’s reds.
Tonight, none of that matters.
Which is what draws the ire of this squad in the first place, the four of them members of the ‘enhanced’ division of clones under Mistress Nala Se’s direct supervision. 99 took them under his wing for this reason, among many reasons, with how he is spread between the maintenance and support networks for Kamino. It leaves him room to do such things, like purchase star lights, specialised bulbs, accessibility equipment, assorted yarns, knitting needles…
Crosshair interrupts his train of thought with a loud sigh, his chin propped up boredly on his hand to 99’s left. “This is boring,” the young clone complains, though his tone lacks any real bite.
“Cross.”
Hunter reprimands his brother – and future subordinate if the reports about these boys remain accurate – though 99 stops the eldest with a quick motion of his eyes. No, let me , they say.
The matching reprimand, however gentle and silent, makes Hunter shrink somewhat where he sits at 99’s right. So 99 also makes sure to smile encouragingly, all the while, he doesn’t stop his ministrations on the table.
He then looks across the table at Tech, the smallest of this particular batch. Tech has his shoulders to grow into, as well as the huge goggles that hug his freckled face. After all, 99 also designed the light display for Tech to be able to see with or without his corrective lenses, and to pull Tech’s nose out of his datapad. Though in part ways, he also encouraged some research from the inquisitive young cadet. That should help now so Crosshair settles into the events of the evening.
So 99 gives Tech an encouraging nod. The smaller clone has looked up, then with 99’s go-ahead, blushes slightly. He clears his throat, then with a slight wobble to his voice, explains, “These activities are traditional for Life Day, Crosshair. It is important for us to be educated about cultural holidays within the Republic even if we do not celebrate them ourselves.” His eyes flick to the table, where 99 continues to work, to 99 himself, then back to Crosshair. “Participating is the best avenue for us to learn, a tried hypothesis. Is there a manner of Life Day you are confused with? If you remember, it is a foremost Wookie holiday, and–”
“I remember.”
99 pauses here to remind Crosshair to be nice, another thing he communicates solely with his eyes. It has the desired effect. Immediately, in fact, with Crosshair’s face screwing up with annoyance; at who is clear. He sighs, quieter this time, and moves his hand from his chin to the table.
“But,” Crosshair goes on slowly. His enhanced eyes make quite the journey, firstly sweeping over 99, then Hunter, Wrecker–who has sat diligently and starry-eyed this whole time–and finally Tech. “I don’t remember the… significance of this part.” Crosshair’s eyes flick to the table. Satisfied, 99 keeps working. “Do you have it there? On your datapad?”
99’s soft smile–ever present since the idea first struck him–only grows as Tech starts to explain. It speeds up the older clone’s hands. He doesn’t even make any mistakes, even if he only learned the skill recently, working tirelessly to bring it to some semblance of working order so he could involve the enhanced batch first and foremost. Because Life Day only occurs once per year, and given the accelerated training of this particular batch, he fears they won’t have any experiences like this before they are shipped off to the war.
A quiet night. No responsibilities. No training.
Star lights. Knitting needles. Endless balls of yarn.
All that 99 bargained with–the extra shifts, added responsibility, his stipend–is worth the cost when it pays off like this.
Tech’s gently accented voice is a soundtrack to it all, “Life Day historically occurs in Kashyyyk’s winter, even if the forest planet’s temperatures rarely plummet below galactic averages. Many Wookies make the journey to the Tree of Life in insulated clothing, to ward off the weariness of the pilgrimage. Such a tradition continued on to other sapient species, notably those of us without a natural coat, which translated into these thickly-knitted sweaters. They symbolise warmth for our journey, but moreover, warmth established from times of family, joy, and harmony.”
So around the common room table the four young boys sit, watching 99 work two knitting needles to knit four sweaters. The night only grows more warm as the Kaminoan sun finally sets, leaving the room bathed only in the warm lighting from the light fixtures. What else grows is the pile of knitted yarn, with each member of the enhanced squad picking their desired pattern for 99 to work on. Thus the night finishes with 99 helping each cadet into their chosen design, even if his fingers ache, and his face feels tired from smiling.
“This is so big,” is what Wrecker remarks, as the first chosen recipient of a sweater, and the most excited. He buzzed at 99’s shoulder as the old clone worked, his eyes as wide as saucers, particularly as 99 helped him into the oversized sweater.
“So you can grow into it,” explains 99. “But who knows how big you’ll grow.” He ruffles the big guy’s hair, and is promptly swept off his feet and into a hug–like he weighs nothing. Which to Wrecker, he probably doesn’t.
Hunter is next. The eldest’s fascination has certainly been piqued by the process of creating something from nothing. Hunter adopts the sort of smile where he is trying not to smile, so he can take this new experience in stride and learn from it, however such an attitude fails him. He’s still a young cadet, a child, and tonight, he had fun. As much is obvious as 99 helps Hunter into his sweater, which like Wrecker’s, is too big for him. 99 shows him in the common room mirror, each of his hands resting on Hunter’s shoulders.
“It suits you,” compliments 99.
Hunter stands for a few moments, admiring his reflection. 99 smiles at him back in the mirror. But then he quickly worries as Hunter’s posture wavers, the eldest clone’s eyes moving to watch his brothers at the table.
“And it’s for you, Hunter,” 99 adds, trying to draw his attention again. “Not them. You can have things of your own. Wants. Aspirations. It really does suit you.”
He pretends not to notice Hunter’s eyes start to shine in the gentle light. However, 99 could never deny an opportunity to pull a cadet into a hug when he needed one. He has done similar for hundreds, if not thousands, of young clones in his time.
He also knows when not to offer comfort, which is in Tech’s case when 99 offers him the knitted sweater. Despite the inquisitive young clone giving a perfect dissertation on the history of Life Day, interwoven with an analysis about why 99 is teaching them, Tech still looks at the collection of yarn as just that–a collection of yarn. 99 has to coax it over his head, with a warning about the texture, even if he made sure to use the extra threaded yarn for Tech’s sweater. It still takes Tech a few moments to adjust, where he stands frowning.
“You made these far too large for our measurements,” he notes. He fiddles at his side with his fingers, clearly longing for his datapad to check said measurements. “Did I not forward them to you?”
“You did,” replies 99, chuckling. He adjusts the neckline that Tech still needs to grow into. “Remember what else I said about long term investments?”
“Ah.” Tech’s frown deepens. “But these would still be most impractical when we are grown. Yarn has no defensive capabilities.”
Still chuckling, 99 sends Tech on his way back to the table.
Which just leaves Crosshair. Despite his engagement earlier, with Tech, the youngest member of the squad needs some encouragement up from the table. Then 99 has to practically fight him into the sweater, with Crosshair refusing to uncross his arms. Though even with 99 mentioning Crosshair doesn’t have to wear the sweater, Crosshair also makes no move away from the mirror, so 99 perseveres.
They get there eventually.
Four boys in four very comically large sweaters, a relaxing evening, and the older clone feeling like he has done some good in between preparing these young boys for war. Even if by definition they’re not ‘young’, with Hunter to reach fifteen accelerated years old in the weeks coming. They simply feel the part, with their accelerated training in light of their enhancements, and their isolation from the remainder of the clone cohort.
Ergo, they don’t need to be put to bed, but 99 stays anyway. He dims the lights all of the way down, closes the shutters, and helps Wrecker out of his sweater when he gets stuck. He doesn’t tuck them into bed–they’re far too old for that, and far too mature in their training–but he does make sure the evening rounds out nicely for them before they return to training again tomorrow. It also means he can pull the blankets back up over Crosshair before he leaves, the regulation sheets having slipped off thanks to the massively oversized sweater he is still wearing. He’s got the sleeve in his mouth and there’s a shallow scowl on his face, even in his sleep. The rest of them have settled down likewise, so it’s there 99 bids them goodnight.
It’s only a scattered few days after that in which he gets to spend any more significant time with the enhanced clones. Some weeks, he only spies them in the corridors between training sessions, or from behind the windows of Nala Se’s office.
Sometimes he squeezes in an hour or two in their rec time, in which Wrecker always makes sure to retrieve his sweater and show 99 how it almost fits him now.
Some weeks 99 doesn’t see them at all.
He makes time after he gets the news about Domino Squad on the Rishi Moon.
He worries for them in the Battle of Kam–
…
…
…
I’m a soldier, like you!
…
…
…
This is what I was bred for.
…
…
…
“Hunter, what are these?”
Omega’s voice jars Hunter from his memories, his hand having paused over the faded 99 on his shoulder pauldron. The paint container remains open to his left on the bench, the brush paused in his right hand. He had to really go digging in the Marauder’s stores to find their armour’s base colour in the first place. Then even after spending hours searching for it, he’s not even sure he wants to paint over it.
Thankfully, a welcome distraction has presented itself in the form of Omega.
Hunter, with a small sigh, puts down the pauldron and the brush alike, turning around to face Omega and give her his attention. He sent her digging around in the overhead storage for the paints, her small height coming into definite use. Maker knows what else she’s found now. She even found things Tech didn’t know they had, which of course, Tech then deemed everything was useful and they could dispose of nothing .
An argument for later. Hunter is too busy arguing with himself right now, both about their armour and months on the run–
He freezes when he sees what Omega is holding.
A bag.
The bag.
Noticing his stupor, Omega gingerly puts her treasure down. She looks towards the designated ‘waste’ pile, which has Hunter quickly shake himself out of said stupor. He has to clear his throat before he can respond to her.
“No, um, keep that one. It’s… It’s some keepsakes.”
She asks again, her mouth open in curiousity, “What are they?”
Hunter’s mouth dries. The shoulder pauldron suddenly feels that much more weighted, and he feels that much more guilty about the proposition to strip their armour. With a sigh, and with consideration to how different their lives look now–including the girl sitting on the floor in front of him–he resolves himself to say softly, “Open it. Have a look, it’s okay. Just be careful. Put them away when you’re done.”
Her eyes light up gleefully.
Hunter turns back to the desk. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, turns back. Another moment of consideration means he extracts himself from the chair to sit on the floor with her. In time for her to pull out the first keepsake–a neatly folded and packed yarn sweater.
“It’s a…” Omega squints at it, brushing some dust off the protective flimsi it’s wrapped in. “A coat?”
“Heh.” Hunter leans forward, gesturing for the ‘coat’. Omega gives it to him, then pulls out another three more. “They’re called sweaters, kid,” he tells her. “Did you ever learn about Life Day celebrations on Kamino?”
“Like… a birthday?”
“Sort of.” He begins carefully unwrapping the sweater she gave him, his chest fluttering as he realises it’s his sweater. “It’s a Wookie holiday. There’s a traditional pilgrimage they take for the holiday, to the Tree of Life, which is a long journey. So they need warm clothes.” He thumbs a knot in the pattern carefully. “Which is a sweater, like this. They became a tradition. It matches the holiday traditions of family, joy and harmony.”
Hunter’s mind flies to various moments in his life which describe the traditions. He is surprised how quickly he remembers, given how long it’s been since he remembered about these sweaters being onboard the Marauder. How the yarn feels under his hands, and to his senses. The faint smells on the fabric. Gentle orange and yellow lights.
Simpler times.
“Whoa,” gasps Omega. She has pulled one of the sweaters out of its protective flimsi as well, and of course, it’s Crosshair’s. The yarn is stretched and discoloured on the right sleeve. It still smells like him. “These are cool. ”
Hunter chuckles, “Yeah. They are. But c’mon, let’s put ‘em away. Did you find those power converters Tech was talking about yet?”
Omega looks scandalised at his question, clearly having forgotten about what she was looking for amongst her treasure hunting. She puts the sweaters down–carefully-and goes back to searching. Hunter, still smiling, reaches over to collect them again, fold them, and then put them away.
A decision for later.
Right now, he has armour to finish painting while in the throes of their new lives. Without the Republic, without Crosshair. And without 99.
