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They’re tiny, smaller than he’s ever seen one before.
Small and too tiny and breakable.
One of Colt’s Rancors is watching the other tiny Little’s, checking in every once in a while with a quick glance.
“They’ve grown a bit already, since the battle.”
Fox blinks down at the little thing, meets his eyes.
He tries to imagine them even smaller and blinks. It’s strange to think about.
He puts it out of his head instead, meets the Little’s eyes. They’re mutations, two different colours, with neither one of them the standard brown.
One of them is a hazel that shades more towards green right now and the other is a lighter blue.
By all logic, the ika’aad should be under heavy watch, with a mark against him and scientists waiting for a slip up big enough to decomm him.
By all logic the ika’aad shouldn’t even be out of his tube yet, too little, not developed enough.
And yet—
The Little gurgles and Fox blinks, looks around at the other Littles and sighs, picks him up and arranges him gently in his arms.
He’s glad he took his armour off before, the plating seems like it would hurt the small little thing.
It’s strange, how helpless the ika’aad is, how small and reliant and trusting.
Fox is not thankful that war came to Kamino even more than it already has, is not happy the Little’s were threatened.
He is glad that these ika’aad will get a chance to grow and be surrounded by vod, won’t need to worry about the longnecks.
The ika’aad fusses and Fox holds him securely, gently, checks to make sure his head is supported and the dozen other little things he was told before being allowed in here.
The Little settles with another gurggle and Fox holds him close, smooths careful fingers over his hair.
His hands seem too big and too rough, he breathes, fights against the rise of drowsiness that is making him far too maudlin.
He huffs, brushes fingers against the Little’s cheek, “You’re gonna be trouble aren’t you?” he asks.
He doesn’t get a response, but he can feel it in his bones, knows it’ll be true.
He huffs, meets those mismatched eyes again and thinks, ‘Hello, I’m glad I had the chance to meet you.’
He doesn’t think about why he wouldn’t have had the chance to meet the Little, curses the longnecks anyways, just for good measure.
“He’s not gonna break you know.” Colt says behind him and Fox rolls his eyes, gives a quick glance around the room and realizes Colt and his Rancor must have traded out for a bit.
He huffs, “Oh fuck off, I know that.”
And he does, he knows he’s being dramatic and weird about this in a way he normally isn’t.
But the ika’aad are all so tiny, and it’s like it’s bringing out every single part of Fox that connects to all of those ‘feeling things a lot’ bits of his brain and he can’t stop it.
He brings his hand up to clutch the tiny little fist and feels something shift a little in his head, pauses at the feeling of revelation it brings, as if something fundamental has changed.
I’ll die for you, he has been saying this entire war, to the Republic, to his men, to the civilians and innocents and senators, people who deserve it and people who don't, to the Jedi.
I’ll die for you, he’s been saying, over and over again, until it was less promise and oath and more fact.
He holds the tiny little fist in his hand and looks at the fragile little thing in his arms, needy and trusting and looking up at Fox with wide eyes.
Fox looks at the Little and thinks, ‘I’d live for every single one of you.’
Colt hums, kicks at Fox’s ankle in a way that won’t disturb the ika’aad, “How’d your checks go?” he asks casually as he picks up one of the others and rocks him gently as he checks that he’s alright, presses a kiss against his head before moving to another.
‘How are you?’ Fox hears, and snorts.
“Fine.” he says to both, ignores the overdramatic roll of Colt’s eyes.
Colt, for all he will claim to be the mature one, is most decidedly not, and it is strikingly clear in times like these.
Colt taps one of them on the nose lightly with a smile creeping onto his face, picks him up and rocks him a bit, presses a kiss to his head.
Fox huffs, “Fucking sap.”
Colt looks at him, looks down at the ika’aad Fox is holding, raises an eyebrow.
Fox doesn’t even blink, he hasn’t slept in so long that he no longer cares.
Colt’s face settles into the neutral face of judgment that Fox is pretty sure he learned from his Jedi, “You look like you never want to let that Little go, I think I rank far lower than you do on the list of emotional saps.”
Fox shrugs, looks at the Littles surrounding them and the way Colt has seemingly laid claim to all of them, “Alright Commander Buir.”
“I’d kill for them,” Colt agrees easily and Fox huffs, can’t even be bothered to reach out and kick him or pinch him for now, chooses to settle on the floor instead, still holding the Little in his arms.
He’s blinking slower now, mismatched eyes slowly disappearing.
Colt stands next to them, holding another Little on his hip. “He’s one of the only easy sleepers,” he tells him and Fox’s lip twitches.
"I noticed." He sighs, leans his head back against the crate.
Colt nudges his foot, "You look like shit."
Fox holds back his snort, hums instead, "Fuck you too."
Colt sighs, “Language.” he says, and already sounds like he knows it’s futile.
Fox looks up at him dead-eyed, “Galactic Standard Basic.”
Colt’s face barely twitches but it is the precise look of, ‘so help me I would strangle you right here and now if it weren’t for the Little you are holding.’ that Fox had been aiming for.
He leans back, shifts the Little a bit so his arm won’t fall asleep and drop him, satisfied.
Colt huffs, “I’ve got the watch idiot, sleep before you look even more like a dead thing reanimated.”
Fox forces his eyes open a crack, glares at Colt, “If that’s an actual thing that happens and is possible because of Force bullshit and you just jinxed us all I will throw you into the ocean with no remorse.”
Colt rolls his eyes, “Oh hush, you big baby.”
Fox hums, runs a calming finger down the ika’aad’s nose and back up again in a soothing gesture, “Fuck you.” He says calmly and with a smile.
Colt rolls his eyes, “If you want to get hypo’d to death by the medics that’s on you, vodika.”
Fox slaps his leg, “Older than you.”
Colt snorts, “Sure.”
Fox gives that the amount of attention that it deserves, which is nothing, and goes back to luring the tiny impossible thing off to sleep.
Colt sets the Little down next to Fox with a blanket and raises an eyebrow.
Fox is half-tempted to stand up and go work on something just to spite him but—
He’s comfortable, and the ika’aad are already drifting off in his arms.
He sighs, arranges the blankets around the three of them and makes sure the two ika’aad aren’t about to fall, accepting his defeat.
He’s so getting Colt back for this one though, the little fuck walks away entirely too smug.