Chapter Text
It was so late into the night shift that early morning had been creeping inexorably towards them for hours. The halls were abandoned, empty and echoing, lighting dimmed for the sleep cycle. Most brothers were tucked into their bunks, those who weren’t were serving on night-duty; manning the important systems, collecting intelligence, and performing the maintenance and administrative work that was vital to the continuation of an army the size of the GAR. It was quiet. Though activity never ceased completely, this late into the evening the ship took on different rhythms from its normal frenetic buzz of activity. A hum of sleepy peace hung in the hallways. It was a rare enough occurrence that even the most restless of sleepers were resting tonight, snug in their bunks.
Sigma and Agar should be there too. Their first duty shift on the Negotiator started in too few short hours, and they were both exhausted from the integration drills they had been running for days. They should be safely in their new bunk, with their new squad, on this new ship. But the strangeness of it all had disturbed Sigma to the point he couldn’t sleep, and Agar had come with him to wander the ship; at his shoulder as he had been since they were decanted.
On a calm night on Kamino the second moon would just be setting, turning the air to rippling silver as the light filtered through the ever present clouds and glanced off the continuous rain. A turn of patrol duty in that kind of weather was as pleasant as it got, for Sigma. The fierce power of Kamino’s weather gentled for a moment, its ferocity concealed but not removed, ready to be whipped up into a frenzy of lightning and thunder and howling winds at a moment’s notice. Agar was less sanguine about the wet in general, but he enjoyed the night-cold air and the silken shadows cast by moonlight. On Kamino, the rain provided a constant blanketing white noise, a steady drumming that could be heard even inside the facility. Here on the Negotiator, driven from their bunk by the press of unfamiliar bodies around them, the air was still and nearly silent. The quiet hum of electronics was barely perceptible, and a poor substitute.
On the Acceptance, they would have been surrounded by familiar scents and sounds in their bunk. The faint smoke from Higgs’ constant stream of contraband deathsticks lingering in the air. The slight whistle in Tock’s breathing as he slept, souvenir of a few too many broken noses. The quiet murmur of Tick and Boom curled around each other, lost to passion and comfort, or simply talking together, discussing everything from books to what they would do after the war. Agar pressed against Sigma on bunks shoved together, safe in the knowledge that their squad would never betray them.
But that was all gone now, scattered in a trillion pieces by droids, and stupid orders, and a complete indifference to the lives of brothers. Of friends he had known his whole short life. Tick's eyes had been like ice, when he’d wished them calm waters ahead, and Sigma knew he wouldn’t survive his next engagement. Not with Tock and Boom gone forever.
Sigma still had one of Higgs’ deathsticks in his gear, tucked in there just before their last mission, with a teasing admonition to give it a try. As if Agar wouldn’t have taken his head off for it, ranting at both of them about lung capacity and introducing toxic chemicals into your bodies.
Maybe he should give it a try. At least Agar was still here to scold him for it.
Alive and warm and *here.* Not cold, dead and gone from him forever.
Sigma tucked his face against the side of Agar’s neck, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his body. He pressed him harder against the wall, deeper into the shadows of the little nook they had found, far into the troop section of the Negotiator where only brothers ever came. Pressing against him with his full weight, hands braced on his hips, reveling in the feeling of his brother, even though they still wore nearly all their armor. They had abandoned their helmets to the side, gauntlets attached to their belts, but nothing else, not here. Not in so open a space. Agar took his weight with a playful grunt of protest, but pulled him even closer, arms circling his waist.
In just a moment he would pull away, let Agar lead them somewhere more private. Probably back to their bunks. Their new squad were still brothers, even if they were new and strange. If you couldn’t trust brothers not to turn on you, who could you trust? Just…in a moment. He’d needed a moment of privacy, of contact, of connection, here on this strange ship, surrounded by strange brothers. Familiar, but still not *their* brothers.
Their brothers were all dead and discarded in the cold black of space.
He shuddered and drew a deep breath, pulling away just enough to look at Agar’s concerned face. He tried to smile reassuringly, tipping his head to press his cheek into the palm Agar raised to his face. Gentle fingers, medic’s fingers, lover’s fingers, traced over the line of Aurebesh that ran parallel to the three scars slashed across his face.
Survive.
A declaration and a prayer, from the stupid shiny he had been.
The word traced from just above his left eye to the corner of his jaw, following the craggy line of his cheekbone. The tattoo took the track the fourth, longer claw of the creature would have taken, had Agar's lucky shot not partially declawed it earlier in the battle. That was the only reason Sigma still had both his eyes, and likely his life.
He’d gotten that on their very first mission, a theoretically quiet scouting mission on a planet of minor importance. Sigma couldn’t even remember what it was called. They had been resting at the end of a long day, many of their stupid shiny selves at least half out of armor, when a representative of the local wildlife unexpectedly took exception to their presence. The huge, scaly thing had attacked them, slashing at them with massive claws. They fired on it, but it took the damage unconcerned, coming and coming and coming. A third of their squad had been down when Sigma had gotten a grenade in its mouth. Its death spasms raked its claws across his face, and down his arm, opening veins like a vibroblade. Agar had been on him with pressure packs and bacta gel before the creature had stopped twitching, stopping the rather excessive bleeding long enough to get him to medical. Just one of the many times Agar had saved his life and his sanity.
Sigma smiled at the memory of the blisteringly thorough cussing out he’d gotten, woozy in the medical bay, about recklessness and heroics, and what the kriff had he been thinking? Sigma had pulled him down into a kiss, sloppy and light, giggling, loopy with pain meds and relief. They had been lucky it was only brothers in the medical bay, who simply smiled indulgently and turned away — or whistled until Agar flipped them off and threatened to make their next round of planetary vaccinations unpleasant.
He’d gotten the tattoo the day he was released from the medical bay, determination fiery in his eyes. He hadn’t understood the sad look in the older brother’s eyes when he had done the inking.
He did now.
No one was going to survive this, not in the end.
But for now? For as long as it lasted, he could cling to the good things in his life. The few things, as they were chipped away.
His duty to the Republic, and the knowledge that what they were fighting to preserve was good. Was worth fighting for, worth defending.
(Even if they had never really seen it, were never truly going to be a part of it.)
His squad; friends and brothers, the constants in his life since memory began.
(Everyone they had ever known, save a few back on Kamino, were gone. Dead in a blaze of uncaring canon fire, and frozen breathless void.)
Their familiar ship with her quirks. Leaper squad’s favorite Larty. All the tiny nicknacks Kill-Count had brought back from every planet they set their boots on.
(Atoms drifting abandoned in space.)
But Agar was still here.
Sigma pressed forward into the hand on his cheek to nuzzle at his love’s ear. Agar shivered slightly at the wash of warm breath and raised both hands to slide fingers through Sigma’s short dark hair. One hand came to a rest cupping the back of his skull, and one went to work kneading his neck.
Those hands held life, and death. Healer hands, killer hands, and they cradled his heart in their palms. The medic’s fingers tightened in his hair, in the tight muscles of his neck as Sigma continued to simply breathe against the side of his partner’s face, rubbing their cheeks together in a soft press. Feathering light kisses across a cheekbone and over his eyelids. Soft skin fluttered closed at the attention, before Sigma moved to kiss the tip of his nose, and the soft smile his batch mate wore. He brushed their lips together, feeling the curve of his amusement and affection. Again. Again, before giving in to what they both wanted, and kissing him deep and slow.
Not chaste, far from chaste, but no great passion or lust in this moment. That wasn’t what they needed right now, either of them. Sigma could feel the warmth bloom low in his belly at the contact, but it was a mellow warmth, quiet and easy, falling in line with the quiet peace of this ship, something so different from the constant tension on the Acceptance. This kiss was affection and love. A reminder that they were still together, that something in their lives was safe, and stable, and untouchable by the chaos that surrounded them every day.
"Well, well, what do we have here?” The silky voice came from behind them, shattering the peace of the moment. It took the same amount of time for Sigma to realize that the voice didn’t belong to a brother as it did for panic to swamp him, hair trigger battle reflexes sparking along his nerves and sending him swinging around to see High General Kenobi standing behind him.
They broke apart, terror swamping them like the huge waves of a Kaminoan storm, because this is the very worst thing that could have happened to them in this moment.
Jedi don’t allow attachments.
They knew that. The Kaminoans knew that, and worked it into their training, ingrained it in as deep as they did loyalty to the Republic. They’re not supposed to fraternize at all, and those that did were so very very careful not to get caught by non-vode, because on Kamino getting caught meant --
Meant an end to everything.
They were practically shaking in their boots, because, no, no , but they were also still holding hands, desperate comfort, as they both tried to protect each other from the Jedi's view. Sigma won through sheer determination despite Agar's heavier build because he had the most distinctive, memorable modifications.
If the Jedi was going to report one of them for Reconditioning it was going to be him.
Obi-Wan was left blinking at them from the emotional whiplash of the pleasant, intimate emotions they had been saturating the force with shatter into stark terror. That was quickly being stuffed down under protectiveness and a swell in the low-level resignation that permeated all of the clones.
He frowned at them, blinking to try to focus with his exhausted eyes rather than equally tired force senses, closing his teeth around the dry quip encouraging the troopers to find somewhere more private for their activities.
This was not the embarrassed reaction of lovers caught in a public space. Obi-Wan had run across more than one ill-advised tryst, mostly randy Padawans in the grip of hormones projecting wildly into the Force. Those encounters usually resulted in a stern lecture on propriety and a trip to the medical ward for a talk about sexuality from the head medic that would hopefully scare them off sex for long enough that they learned better control of themselves and their emotions. The most memorable had been a late night assignation between two Mon Calamarian Padawans in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Obi-Wan had sent those two particularly mortified Padawans straight to Bant. He didn’t know what she had done to them, but they had paled every time they had run into him for the next month.
There was something else happening here.
Obi-Wan unconsciously tapped his fingers against his lightsaber, noticing when that made the trooper in front widen his stance enough to completely cover his partner's vulnerable areas.
A threat response.
Protective.
He didn't recognize the trooper in front, and he couldn't get a good look at the one behind. He did try to learn as many of his troopers names as possible, but it was a large army, even his small segment of it, and he hadn't met them all yet.
But that wasn't a reason for this response. He'd expected embarrassed scrambling, awkward salutes, and possibly blushing as he sent them on their way. The troopers seemed to have developed strict notions of propriety in public spaces, since he’d never caught so much as a kiss before. No matter what he observed in their interactions and Force impressions, they seemed to keep it to the bunks.
He was honestly hoping some of their discretion would rub off on Anakin.
That still left him suspicious of what was happening here that caused so violent a reaction to his presence. Surely this was not just embarrassment for not holding to that apparent privacy? If not for the protective emotions he could feel he would worry that this was not a truly consensual encounter, but that did not fit. He’d been almost swamped by positive emotions coming off both of them.
He tried to keep his voice as non-threatening as possible when he asked, "What is your name, trooper?”
Blast it all, why would that question make the fear flare higher?
"CT-56718, General sir!”
"Not your designation, trooper.”
"...Sigma, sir.”
"Sigma. And does your friend have a name?”
For a second, Obi-wan thought he wasn't going to be answered, but the other clone stepped out into full view, face blank.
"Agar, sir. CT-56719.”
"Batchmates?"
"Yes, sir.”
"And what exactly is going on here, Agar?" He asked the one who had been pressed against the wall. His initial impression was that everyone was completely happy to be where they were, no matter how relatively inappropriate the location, but there was something seriously wrong with their reactions.
There was a burst of stifled, mildly hysterical hilarity from Agar, but the blast of desperate hostility from Sigma captured Obi-Wan's attention.
"What, they don't teach Jedi about sex?" Sigma snarled, and ignored the elbow Agar tried to dig between his armor plates. Damn him, no one was that ignorant, and he wasn't going to let this fucking Jedi taunt them in addition to sending them back for Reconditioning. Coldness was settling into his bones, his veins. He went into every battle knowing one of them might die. Knowing they had been incredibly lucky to be assigned together into the 212th when the bulk of the 567th had been destroyed and the survivors splintered throughout the GAR. He accepted that, knew it, snatched every moment of happiness he could to spite the eventuality that they would die, or be separated.
But to be sent to Reconditioning instead? To know that if he even survived it he would never ever be assigned with Sigma again and even if he did they might not even recognize each other? That, he had never wanted to face.
He'd been so stupid. He just wanted to kiss Agar so badly, just steal this moment, deep in the troop areas where no one but brothers ever came. Only one had come, and now everything was over. Anger boiled over.
“You wouldn’t understand, Jedi. No attachments, no love, no emotions!”
"Sigma, shut your kriffing face!" Agar hissed, watching the General's frown deepen.
Damn, damn, Sigma's temper and sharp tongue were ruining even the slightest possibility they could convince the General that this had been an aberration, that they weren't fraternizing, that they had just, kriff, he didn't know, been talking? Really closely. Or hell, hope that the Jedi really was as oblivious as their last General had seemed in regards towards all things physical.
Obi-Wan was startled by the anger in the accusation. The swirl of anger and fear and despair was a caustic burn on his tired mind and overstretched Force senses. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, true, but rarely from the clones. Perhaps he had been spoiled, working so often with Anakin's 501st, with Ghost, and the squad Cody had tasked most often with babysitting him. They all knew that the Jedi still felt, for all their control. It was hard not to, working in close proximity to Anakin.
This anger though…
His Commander was occasionally annoyingly overprotective. He would not have let this kind of resentment against the Jedi fester in his command. Not after Slick. That was why Obi-Wan's babysitting squad was a constantly shifting thing, to let the most clones possible get a chance to work closely with their General and actually see the Jedi in action.
(Or at least that's what Cody had told him.
He still suspected it also served double duty as punishment for those who had pissed him off. Obi-Wan also suspected it amused Cody to watch shinies try to keep up with a Jedi for the first time, on missions they weren’t expecting heavy resistance.
Just like it amused Cody to get one up on his General. Cody had actually pitched the squad to him as a way for troopers to get exposure to the Jedi. Obi-Wan had thought it was a grand idea and only realized later, at the next battle, that he had essentially signed off on his own babysitters.)
These were no shinies, though; battle scarred faces, battle scarred hearts, even though the 212th paint on their armor looked fresh. They had recently gotten a mixed bag of transfers that had Cody growling about the maintenance of standardization of training throughout the GAR, sending pointed messages -- and scheduling enough practice drills to bring them all up to speed that even Ghost and Torrent were looking a little ragged, though in high spirits at getting to show off what made them the best units in the Third System Army. And Rex and Cody both looking fresh as Alderaanian poppies though the whole thing, both pretending they weren’t enjoying showing off with lower stakes than normal.
So maybe... "You have just transferred into the 212th?" He probed again, ignoring the accusations.
Agar stepped on Sigma's foot when the fool opened his mouth. Lying wouldn't help them. The general had their designations, now. That was all he would need to put in the orders, and to find out anything about them he wanted.
"Yes, sir. From the 576th.”
Ahhh. Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a just second, letting that grief seep into the Force. That had been a debacle. He had argued against giving Master Pencha a Battalion. She was a brilliant strategist, but a miserable tactician. The Council hadn't listened, so he had made sure she had a good, solid Commander to back her up. Captain List had served with Cody for most of the war. He was steady but clever, had luck in spades with his on the spot tactics, and Cody had seconded Obi-Wan’s suggestion of him for promotion to Commander for the Battalion.
Unfortunately, Master Pencha had spent too long working alone, without a Padawan or even a fellow knight. She had forgotten how to listen to anyone but herself and it had gotten her fleet slaughtered needlessly and pointlessly. The planet they were supposed to be protecting was in Separatist hands now, and List was in Cody’s personal Remembrances.
When Obi-Wan had tried quietly to apologize, in the depth of the night after they got the news less than a week after List’s promotion, his Commander had cut him off with a harsh wave, and a hoarse “He did his duty,” that made Obi-Wan near breathless with impotent, furious despair. Not at his Commander, but at this war , and the circumstances that led to all of these good men never knowing anything but war.
These two had good reasons to dislike Jedi. They had probably lost everyone they ever knew. Their batchmates, squadmates, friends. Either to the battle itself, or to the disbursement of the bare shattered remnants of the 576th to the rest of the GAR.
He let his sadness leak into his voice.
"You have my sincerest condolences on the loss of your brothers.”
Agar swallowed, looking away from blue eyes that seemed so sincere. Maybe, just maybe, the Jedi would be willing to overlook this in the face of that? It burned to feel like he was using the deaths of his brothers for selfish gain, but he didn't want to lose Sigma, didn't want to lose who he was.
Sigma fought the grief and bitterness that tried to close his throat. Lies, lies. Jedi didn't care about them.
"Don't say that!" He snapped. "Us clones are nothing to you Jedi! Just fodder, barely better than droids! You say you're sorry, but that's not gonna stop you from sending us off to Reconditioning, is it?!"
He was practically screaming at the end, and the Jedi's eyes were wide. Probably never expected a clone to stand up to him.
Sigma's hands clenched into fists.
He didn't even know what he intended to do, never got the chance to find out, because Agar grabbed him, spun him, and shoved his face into the warm skin and soft fabric at his neck.
Sigma hitched in a breath, taking in the scent of his love, the faint hint of bacta permanently embedded in his skin from many shifts in the infirmary. Not even caring that his back was to the threat, to the General. He’d rather he killed him now for insolence than send him to Reconditioning. At least he’d die as himself. He just sagged against Agar, bringing his hands up to fists against Agar's back, his brother's arms cinching him against white armor, one around his waist, one against the back of his head.
Would this be the last time he got to hold him?
"Please don't send us to Reconditioning, General!" Agar was willing to throw much more than his pride away for Sigma. For the chance to see him. Even every so often. "We won't, we won't do this again, sir, I swear!"
Sigma stiffened like he was going to protest, so Agar shoved his lover's face more firmly against him. "We'll get reassigned to different squads, different duty shifts, just. Please .”
Agar had believed, once, that Jedi were kind, that they fought for justice. He didn't have a lot of faith left. Not in anything but Sigma. But please. Please. Let there be at least a little kindness in the galaxy.
"Reconditioning?" The General asked, his voice mild. There was a glitter in his eyes that Agar didn't know how to define.
It terrified him right down to the bones, with the knowledge that their fate rested in a Jedi’s hands.
That never ended well for clones.