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It was late at night when Senna was finally able to escape the medbay, leaving the last shift to the droids. All she wanted to do was stumble back to her quarters and collapse, but she needed to check on something first.
The door to the barracks of the four 99-designated clones opened quietly, letting a shaft of light into the dark room that quickly disappeared as she stepped down into it. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Senna closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to let go of her tension as the peaceful sound of sleep washed over her. She opened them again to peer into each bunk, quietly observing the children within.
Hunter, just a lump under his blanket, pillow over his head instead of under. Tech, flat on his back amidst a jumble of computer parts, blanket on the floor. His small datapad was still clutched to his chest and he’d forgotten to remove his goggles again. Wrecker was facedown on his pillow, a rumbling snore emanating from it that almost drove a laugh from the doctor. She smothered it and turned to Crosshair’s bunk.
The young clone had his back to her, still, his shape rising and falling with even breaths, but Senna could tell he wasn’t sleeping. She'd been a child too, once, trying to fool her parents. The doctor approached his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Cross?” she whispered. “You okay? Did I wake you?”
For a moment, she thought he must really want her to think he was asleep and was about to rise, but then Crosshair sighed and shifted under her hand.
“No. I was awake.” His voice was soft in the darkness.
“Do you need anything?”
He shook his head against his pillow, prompting Senna to reach up and smooth her hand over his silver hair. “What’s wrong, little one?”
Crosshair gave another small, painful sigh, lingering over his confession. “Nothing. I’m just...I can't sleep."
"Any...particular reason why?"
His voice was even smaller now, like he was admitting something shameful. "I'm...worried."
“Oh.” Senna frowned in dismay. “I’m sorry, dear.” The doctor turned for a moment to look at the other boys’ beds before she returned to their brother, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly. There was certainly a lot in Crosshair's life, in all their lives, to worry over. “Well…when I was your age, and scared about something, my dad would tell me to give him my worries and he’d worry about them for me so I didn’t have to. So… tell me what you’re worried about, and I’ll hold it for you. Alright? Then you can sleep.”
The boy was still for a moment. Senna waited as he thought. “I don’t want you to leave.” His whisper was rough with anxiety.
Exhausted as she was after the difficult day, it took a long second before Senna processed his words. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “I—I’m not going anywhere, dear. You know that. I’ve still got years left of my contract.”
Crosshair shifted uncomfortably, still facing the wall. “I mean after. Once you don’t have to stay anymore.”
Senna breathed out. “Cross, I’m not going to leave you. Even after, okay? That’s not something you have to worry about.” She gave his thin arm a squeeze through the blanket.
His reply was a self-conscious mumble. “You promise?”
“I promise. Come here.”
Crosshair sat up and allowed the doctor to squeeze him again, resting his head on her shoulder as she rubbed his back. It wouldn't be long now before he'd grown too much to be held like this anymore. She didn't like thinking about that. “Sorry, Sen,” he whispered.
“No, I’m sorry that that was something you were afraid of. I love you very much, and wild fathiers couldn’t drag me away, okay? Senna closed her eyes and prayed that it was true. She had no idea what the future held for the young clones, what it would mean to be the Republic’s army once they were grown. She didn’t even know if she would be allowed to stay after her contract with the Kaminoan government was up. A few years ago she'd been desperate to get out, but now... Now she knew she would do anything not to leave her boys. She’d find a way.
Crosshair sighed, tiredness tugging at him now that the doctor had soothed his fears. “Okay.”
Crosshair stared up at the ceiling of his cell-like barracks in the dark. The cramped room held only a hard bed and a footlocker for his gear; the green visor of his helmet, sitting atop it, glinted in the dim glow of an indicator light.
It was too quiet. It was always so damn quiet now. The sniper closed his eyes, thin lips growing thinner as he pressed them in a tight line.
You promised.