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Alpha-54 finds him in the training room, curled up beside the lockers. CC-6403 could hear the Alpha sigh as he walks closer, and he resists the urge to snap at him to go away. His heart yearns for the company, but his mind urges him towards isolation. He can’t be humiliated if he’s alone. His head rests on his arms, facing the wall and out of the corner of his eye the man he considers his Buir squats down in front of him, waiting patiently. Sooner or later, he’ll have to talk. Unluckily for his Buir, CC-6403 wishes he would never have to speak again; after all, it’s his mouth that got him into this situation.
The young cadet doesn’t dare to turn his eyes towards Alpha-54, mortification flaming his cheeks. The mark on his cheek deters him from wanting the Alpha to see the truth scrawled across, never to be forgotten. He wonders how long it would take for his Buir to leave before he can sneak back to his room.
Never must be the answer because Alpha speaks up, breaking the silence between them. “You didn’t come down for dinner, CC-6403.” CC-6403 hates the gentle voice his Buir uses, as though he is about to break at any second.
His eyes narrow. “I’m not hungry,” he states, hiding his cheek further in his arms, smudging more ink and blood into his clothes. Alpha-54 reaches a hand out, brushing his hair back against his forehead. The curls are starting to lengthen past regulation and the cadet knows that even if he doesn’t want it, he’ll be getting a haircut that night. His Buir’s hand scrapes gently at his scalp, and CC-6403 can’t help but relax at the motion. He closes his eyes, holding back tears from today’s catastrophe.
“What happened?” As always, Alpha-54 is too observant, catching onto the fact that something is wrong. Because something always is with him, he cruelly thinks. CC-6403 wishes for once he can just drop it. He doesn’t need his Buir getting in the middle of things. It’ll just make things worse. He shakes his head quickly, not letting up on his position and hopes desperately for the conversation to drop. “Ad’ika, please,” 54 pleads.
Tears leak out of the child’s eyes, unable to hold in the shame that fills his body. How embarrassing! He cracks not even ten seconds after his Buir speaks. CC-6403 squeezes his eyes, hoping to stop the flow of tears running down his cheeks to no success. With great reluctance, he lifts his face from his knees, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his uniform. The face of his Buir greets him as he stares straight ahead towards the wall, not bothering to meet his eyes. 54 grabs his chin to get a close look at the new tattoo that dawns his cheek. “Who did this?” CC-6403 doesn’t answer. His Alpha shakes him, eyes never straying from the mark, and the cadet is forced to look into 54’s eyes. His voice is hard with his request. “Ad’ika, who did this?”
The embarrassment is too much and CC-6403 can’t help but drop the poor guise he was holding, crying out in anguish. “They keep calling me Mistey.” The stupid name shortened from the word permanently tattooed on his face. Mistake. The coloring fades in and out between the letters, the size uneven across his skin. It is obviously clear that the tattoo was given by an inexperienced hand. His breathes hitches as he tries to hold his wails, sniffing the snot that tries to run out his nose back in. He inevitably fails when Alpha-54’s traces the damning word with his fingers. The sobs overtake his body, lungs tightening at each gasp. “It’s not my name. That’s not my name!” He stares tearily at his Buir. His Buir whose jaw is tightened at the sight, whose fingers squeeze uncomfortable under his chin, whose eyes holds fury as though he is staring at a Kaminoan himself. “I don’t want to be called that,” he whispers, as though it was a crime to deny a name for himself.
Alpha-54 lowers to his knees to wrap the ad in his arms, pulling him close against his chest. He reassures the cadet quietly, “You won’t. I promise you, that’s not your name.” CC-6403 hides his face in his Buir’s neck, barely four years old, and lets go of the emotions he’s been holding in since he was let up from the small hands that held him against the floor to damage his skin to their liking. His fists clutch at Alpha-54’s uniform, silently trying to stifle his sobbing and failing. 54 can only close his eyes and gently rock the ad as sounds of grief echo in the room. CC-6403’s cheek stains his Buir’s clothing just as it did his own, with blood and ink. The tattoo pulls taunt against the top of his cheek to the edge of his mouth. Slight burning echos under his skin, not as painful as it was an hour ago but still stinging from the open wound.
There was no way to hide this from the Kaminoans and it seems that both Alpha-54 and CC-6403 knew it. CC-6403 cries harder at the thought, knowing that tonight might be his last day. After all, the Kaminoans will never let him continue on with such a blasphemy mark ruining their product.
Alpha-54 holds his cadet closer and discreetly comms his twin the situation and his suspicions of the culprits. He pulls the cadet up, lifting him as he stands. CC-6403 clings tightly to his Buir and Alpha-54 knows without seeing that the ad has tucked his right cheek away from sight. He closes his eyes in frustration and squeezes the cadet close. He won’t let the Kaminoans take his ad; he already is defective enough with the blond hair. The mark will set him further away from the Command Batch.
“Let’s go see Seventeen, Thorn,” he murmurs, turning to the doors. “He’ll know what to do.”
CC-6403 hums confusedly, words leaving his vocabulary. “Thorn?” the cadet mumbles sleepily.
Alpha-54 chuckles. “Yes.” He presses his lips to the child’s temple in a rare show of affection. “It’s the name I wanted to share with you at dinner. Do you like it?” He is greeted with silence for several minutes. 54 starts to believe the cadet fell asleep when he hears a small whisper.
“I’m not a mistake?” Alpha-54’s heart breaks at the question. Rage quickly surges in to mingle with his sorrow and 54 has to breathe in deeply before he can answer. No use snapping at the cadet when it’s not his fault.
“Never,” 54 insists, hoping the cadet will believe him. “There is nothing you can do that will ever make that true. Nothing.” He walks out, purposely walking back to the Alpha barracks instead of where the ad’s batch is. If his suspicions are correct, Thorn will never go back to that room. Not when his harassers are the very vod who are supposed to protect his back. He is almost there when he feels a small nod against his neck, barely noticeable, followed closely by a small whisper.
“Thorn.” The cadet hums happily, slumping further in his Buir’s arms. “I like it.”
54 smiles, squeezing the ad in acknowledgment. “Go to sleep, Thorn. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
Thorn knocks out in less than a minute.