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Sev enters the barracks, his face blank, in a way that makes it obvious he’s trying to hide something. Fixer rolls his eyes, and Boss just shrugs. "What’s going on, Sev?" Boss asks and his vod’ika grins. "I found bleach!" He exclaims, showing Boss the flimsi bag he’s holding. "Well, not only bleach, some other things too, but bleach is the most important, you know." He continues and Fixer sighs in exasperation, sparing a glance at two younger clones. "What do you need bleach for, Oh-Seven? I thought Scorch was ordnance and chemicals expert, not you." Fixer comments and Sev beams. "I’m going to bleach Scorch’s hair, of course." He replies, and Boss hears a sharp gasp from Fixer. "Delta-07, have you lost your mind?" Fixer says, voice harsh and Sev rolls his eyes. "It’s safe, I checked. Poured it on the hair of a different commando." He shrugs, and Boss huffs. "If nothing will happen to Scorch, I don’t see why it would hurt." Sev says, shrugging. "Right. Well, I’m not helping you." Fixer says, arms crossed, already turning back to the datapad he’d been reading before Sev burst in with his flimsi bag of chaos. "And when Scorch finds out, I want it explicitly said that I had nothing to do with this."
"Nothing to be talked about yet." Sev says cheerfully, and the bright edge to his voice sounds strange with the raspy, gravelly way he now talks. He’s already digging through the bag, taking out things, bleach, a pair of gloves clearly 'liberated' from the medbay, an old towel, something that looks suspiciously like a strip of foil peeled off ration packaging, gel used by one of Cuy’val Dar - Ka’raya Tranyc, and fixative spray, usually used to maintain armour paint.
"Where is he, anyway?" Sev asks and Boss smiles weakly. "Fixing his blaster in the armoury. Said the trigger’s been too loose." Boss quickly says, and immediately regrets it when Sev’s grin grows, almost as wide as his scar now. "Perfect." Sev says, and bolts out of the room. Boss exchanges a worried glance with Fixer, hoping, really hoping, that Sev is right, and the method he chose is safe.
*****
"Scorch." Sev leans against the armoury doorframe, doing his best impression of someone who is not, in fact, planning anything, and hopefully he isn’t failing miserably. "Boss wants you back in the barracks, now. Something about preparing for barracks inspection." Scorch looks up from the disassembled blaster in his lap, blinking. "Last time I checked, inspection’s not for another two days."
"Early inspection. New thing. Very sudden. I just found out too." Sev says, with the confidence of someone who has clearly not thought this lie through past the first sentence, and being aware all his vode, Sev himself included, are terrible liars.
Scorch squints at him for a long moment, the kind of look that says he knows something is wrong but hasn’t worked out what yet, and then shrugs, setting the blaster parts down carefully. "Fine. But if you make me clean behind your bunk again, I swear I’ll-"
"Not this time." Sev says, definitely too quickly, and Scorch’s eyes narrow further, but he follows anyway, curiosity apparently winning out over suspicion, and Sev snorts quietly.
———
By the time Scorch seems to realise what’s happening, he’s already sitting on an overturned crate with a towel around his shoulders and Sev’s gloved hands dampening his hair, before putting something cold and sharp-smelling onto it.
"Sev." Scorch says, very slowly, very carefully, like a man negotiating with an armed explosive. "What. The kriff. Is that."
"Bleach." Sev says plainly, like this is a perfectly reasonable answer to give a person mid-application of something they didn’t consent to.
"You’re putting bleach in my hair." Scorch states, stunned, shifting in the crate.
"I checked it’s safe first! Poured some on Vin’s arm hair, nothing happened, no burns, no rash, nothing. You know, Vin from Theta. One of Skirata’s Squads." Sev says, sounding far too proud of the way he tested the bleach. "Well. His scalp went a bit orange, but that’s not the point. Besides, I’m using fixative too, so it shouldn’t happen to you. And his hair did turn blonde. Well, blondish."
"That is exactly the point, Sev!" Scorch exclaims, and Sev smacks him in the shoulder when he shifts too much. "Relax, vod’ika, it’ll look great. Trust me. Now, sit still. I’ve got to apply the paint fixative." Sev says, enjoying it far too much, and Scorch, despite every instinct clearly screaming at him to bolt, to run for his life, he stays in place by the same trust that’s kept this squad together through worse than a bad haircut, more times than he
counted.
Boss and Fixer arrive partway through, drawn by Scorch’s whining, and stop dead in the doorway. Fixer’s expression is somewhere between horrified and deeply unsurprised. Boss just looks resigned, the particular exhaustion of a squad leader who gave permission for this and is now watching the consequences unfold in real time.
"You’re really doing this, Sev." Fixer says, sighing. "Bleach already on. Bit late to stop now." Sev says, unbothered, working the bleach through the hair with more care than anyone watching would’ve expected from a boy who’d been talking about this an hour ago. Scorch’s hand drifts up toward his hair on reflex, and Sev swats it away. "Don’t touch it, you’ll mess with it." Sev warns, and Scorch whines again. "I didn’t agree to this, I agreed for you to-" Scorch stops, frowning. "Actually, what did I agree to?"
"You didn’t really agree to anything. You followed me here on the strength of an obviously fake reasons." Sev says, entirely too pleased with himself. Scorch groans and drops his head into his hands, which earns him a sharp smack from Sev.
The waiting is, if anything, worse than the application, and despite having all products tested before, Sev can’t help but wonder, maybe he was wrong. Scorch sits with the bleach setting on his hair, towel-draped and increasingly anxious, one hand twitching toward his scalp every few minutes before catching himself, and he clearly tries his best to stop fidgeting. Boss has taken up a post nearby, half-supervising, half just enjoying the show. Fixer refuses to sit down at all, as though physical distance might make it easier for him if something goes badly wrong.
"What if it doesn’t wash out." Scorch says, quieter now, some of the earlier bravado gone. "What if it just…just stays like this forever, or-or something happens during rinsing, I…sometimes water is the c-catalyst f-for chemical reaction, what if…what if it burns m-me, I could go blind. I-" Scorch gulps, his eyes squeezed shut.
"It washes out. It’s hair dye, not paint. And you’ll be just fine, you won’t get any more burns." Sev says, though there’s the faintest note of 'probably' underneath the confidence that nobody quite catches, or everybody catches and chooses not to mention, for Scorch’s sake. Scorch bites his lip, and starts picking at his nails, a nervous habit he developed recently, and Sev clutches his wrist.
"Hey. It’s just hair. Just hair." He says, softer now, dropping the performance for a second, now just a caring brother. "Even if it goes look bad, it’s not…it’s not like before. It’s not permanent. It’s not a scar." He says, stroking the large burn scars covering most of Scorch’s face, and his vod’ika nods, taking a deep breath. Scorch looks at him, something shifting behind his eyes, and nods slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." A beat. "Still not gonna be happy if I look ridiculous, though."
"That’s…fair enough." Sev grins, and the moment passes, easy as it came. When Sev finally rinses the bleach out and runs the towel through Scorch’s hair to dry it, there’s a long pause where nobody says anything, all three brothers just staring.
"Well?" Scorch demands, unable to see for himself. "What does it look like?"
"…Bright."Boss says eventually, trying to sound diplomatic. "Blinding, almost." Fixer adds, with the air of someone who has given up resisting his own amusement. Scorch scrambles for the mirror in the fresher, and goes very very quiet.
His hair has gone a startling, uneven blond, patchy in places, in a few spots, normal black remains, mostly it’s a goldfish blonde, quite light, but not strongly, in other, its bright, really bright, nearly platinum blonde, brighter than anything a clone was ever meant to have on their hair, and for a moment Sev braces for the explosion, tears and rage of his vod’ika. Instead, Scorch grins, wide and delighted, turning his head to catch the light. "I look like a kriffing legend."
"You look like a malfunctioning protocol droid." Fixer says, and Sev snorts. "A legendary malfunctioning protocol droid." Scorch corrects, either unbothered, or just hiding it so well, and Boss finally lets out the laugh he’d clearly been holding back the whole time, his whole body shaking.
Sev watches Scorch admire his own reflection with unrepentant joy, and feels something loosen in his chest that’s been tight since the towel first came out. Not everything with Scorch has to end in fear. Sometimes it’s just this, ridiculous, harmless, and made from love, nothing at all like the explosion that nearly killed Scorch last year, or the bolt brushing Sev’s throat, nothing that’ll hurt or leave scars. Even if it will stay for rather long time, given how much of the paint fixative Sev put on Scorch’s hair.
"Sergeant Vau’s going to have a stroke." Boss says, still grinning. "Vau’ll deal with it." Sev says, and smiles.
*****
Vau doesn’t say anything at first. He simply stands in the doorway, Lord Mirdalan pacing at his heel, and looks at Scorch’s hair the way he might look at a cracked visor, or a dropped rifle, something broken through carelessness rather than combat. His lips are pulled into thin line, and his eyes are cold.
The strill’s low growl fills the silence, and Scorch’s hands curl into fists at his sides, though he doesn’t move otherwise. None of them do. None of them say anything, Scorch feels like both he and his three brothers are holding their breaths.
"Which one of you." Vau says, finally, voice flat, quiet in a way that’s worse than shouting. Far more menacing, that’s for sure, and Scorch barely suppresses a shiver. "I did, Sergeant." Sev steps forward before anyone else can answer, chin up, though Boss can see the tension in his shoulders. "My idea. My hands. Not Scorch’s fault."
Vau’s gaze moves to him slowly, and lingers, the way it always does, like the predator watching its prey before attacking, staying especially long on the scar at his throat.
"Delta-07." He says, and doesn’t need to say anything else for Sev to understand he’s expected to explain himself, or at least try to.
"It’s…it’s not against regulation, Sir." Sev says carefully, voice measured. "There’s nothing that says we-"
"There doesn’t need to be." Vau cuts him off, voice still even, still quiet, and somehow that’s more frightening than if he’d raised it. It’s always like that. "You are Commandos. Not children playing with chemicals they don’t understand.soldiers. His eyes flick, briefly, deliberately, toward Scorch’s face, where the burn scars cover most of his cheeks and make, creeping on the forehead, it’s still visible beneath the new, ridiculously dyed hair, and nothing in his expression changes, but Scorch feels the room’s temperature drop anyway. "You of all of them should know better than to gamble with what’s already been damaged once. You know what happens when a Commando is below expected level of performance, don’t you?" Scorch’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. He knows. They all know. Decommissioning, either of a single unit, or whole squad. Mird’s growl deepens, low and constant, and Vau doesn’t so much as glance down at the animal, entirely unbothered by it, the way he seems unbothered by most things that would unsettle anyone else in the room.
"Delta-62." Vau says. "You will have this corrected before the next inspection. I don’t care how. That’s an order, Delta-62. And the kaminiise won’t take that so kindly as I, I’m afraid." He turns his attention back to Sev, one final time, considering him. "And you, Delta-07, will spend your next free cycle scrubbing the training room floors. Consider it a lesson in consequences." He leaves without waiting for a response, his strill trailing silently behind him on its six legs, and the door slides shut with a soft hiss that somehow feels louder than anything that was said.
Nobody speaks for a long moment.
"Worth it." Scorch mutters eventually, running a hand through his hair, and despite everything, despite Vau’s cold fury still hanging in the room like smoke, Sev finds himself grinning anyway. Whatever makes his vod’ika happy.
*****
By the time the next inspection is scheduled and approaches, Scorch’s hair is exactly as bright as it was the day Sev bleached it. Scorch did nothing with it, actually.
"You didn’t fix it." Fixer says, staring, the morning of the inspection, like he can’t quite believe what he’s looking at. "I was got busy." Scorch says, entirely unconvincingly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, shrugging. "Busy." Fixer repeats, raisin ting the urge to rub at his eyes tiredly.
"Very busy." Scorch confirms, and doesn’t elaborate further, though the small, stubborn set of his jaw says everything Boss needs to know. He wasn’t busy. He just decided, simple, quiet decision, that the alteration to his appearance won’t be taken from him. Boss doesn’t have the heart to argue him out of it, not when he understands exactly what it is Scorch is actually holding onto. In a sea of identical faces, slight difference is both blessing and a curse.
———
Vau notices within the first thirty seconds of inspection. It was obvious he would, really. They’re helmet-less, and Scorch’s hair shine under the lamps. He stops in front of Scorch, gaze fixed and cold, and the silence that follows stretches long enough that Boss can hear his own pulse in his ears, and he gulps quietly. "Delta-62." Vau says. "I gave you an order."
"Y-yes, Sir." Scorch says, and doesn’t offer an excuse, doesn’t flinch, just stands there and takes it, which is somehow worse to watch than if he’d tried to talk his way out. The only sign of his fear is the slight trembling in his voice, but other than that, he looks straight ahead, meeting Vau’s eyes. "And you disobeyed it." It isn’t a question. "Yes, Sir." Scorch replies, and Boss draws in a sharp breath. Vau’s expression doesn’t change, but something in the air does, the particular type of tension Boss has learned, over those few years, to recognise as the moment before something goes badly wrong, before vode get hurt. His hand twitches, almost instinctively, towards Scorch’s shoulder, and Boss doesn’t think, doesn’t weigh consequences, just steps forward and puts himself between them, straightening his spine.
"It was my order that overruled it, Sergeant." Boss says, voice steady despite everything in him screaming to do otherwise, to stop, to be quiet. "As squad leader. I told him to leave it the way it is."
Vau’s attention shifts to him instead, slow and deliberate, and Boss forces himself not to look away from the Sergeant. The black Mandalorian armour still frightens him, even though he should be used to it, after four years. "You overruled a direct order from a training sergeant." Vau says. "Yes, Sir." Boss says quietly, tilting his chin up. "I did."
For a long moment, nobody moves. Lord Mirdalan’s low growl fills the silence, and Boss can feel Scorch trying to step forward beside him, trying to correct the lie, and he presses his arm back, just slightly, just enough to keep him still. At least Scorch complies, staying back obediently, though Sev’s likely holding him back too.
"Very well, Delta-38." Vau says finally, and there’s a hint of approval buried underneath the coldness, the particular respect he reserves for someone willing to take responsibility, even a fabricated one. "Then you, and you alone will answer for it. Report to my quarters after evening meal, Three-Eight."
"Understood, Sir." Boss says, and doesn’t let the dread show on his face, not until Vau has turned and walked out of the barracks, the strill trailing after him. The moment the door slides shut, Scorch rounds on him. "Boss, you didn’t have to…" he begins, but Boss interrupts him. "I know." Boss says simply, refusing to meet Scorch’s eyes.
"But- he’s going to-" Scorch’s voice cracks, and Boss can see the guilt already settling into him, heavy and immediate, something he can’t allow. "I know that too." Boss says, and means it, and doesn’t regret it, not for a second, not even knowing exactly what waits for him after mess. For this reason, he won’t actually eat, just pocket a ration bar for later, once he’s back. He made a mistake of eating before private meeting with Vau once, and never again. It’s only worse then, when he throws up, or can’t stomach the food at all, mostly because of fear. But some things are worth the cost. His vod’ika keeping something that’s his, something small and stupid and entirely his own choice, after everything the Kaminoans have already decided for him, that’s worth it, every time. Even if it’s just bleached hair.
Sev catches his eye from across the room, and doesn’t say anything, but something passes between them anyway, quiet understanding, the same understanding that’s held this squad together through every worse thing than this. And Sev nods, a quiet sign of approval, and care. A sign. I’ll keep him here, take care of him when you’re not here.
Scorch’s hair will stay exactly as bright as the day it was bleached.
*****
Vau’s quarters are exactly as cold and sparse as Boss remembers from the last time, and the last time before that. "You countermanded my order." Vau says, standing with his back to the door, Mirdalan settled in the corner, watching with disinterested patience. "In front of your squad."
"Yes, Sir." Boss says, and keeps his eyes forward, keeps his spine straight, the way he’s learned to when speaking to his superiors.
"Explain yourself." Vau says, and Boss bites his lip. "There’s nothing to explain, Sir. I made the call. It’s mine to answer for." Silence stretches long enough that Boss’s pulse starts counting the seconds for him.
"Well…" Vau finally begins. "While I don’t approve this disobedience, I’ve got to say, that was a show of courage, you know…Boss. Taking the blame for your vod’ike like you did…" he says slowly, and now, the approval is clear on his face. "The aihwa-bait won’t know about it, but still, there has to be a consequence, surely you know that." Vau says, and his voice, while still hard and edging coldness, is a bit regretful now, like he’s battling his thoughts. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. For-for changing your mind about Scorch keeping his hair like that." Boss mutters, and Vau looks at him, sighing.
Next thing Boss is aware of, is that Vau’s holding his arm, tightly, rolling the sleeve of the tunic up, and unsheathing his vibroblade.
Boss doesn’t watch. He’s learned, over the years, that watching makes it worse, so he keeps his eyes on the far wall instead, on a scuff mark near the floor, and lets his mind go somewhere else entirely, the barracks and his vode waiting for his return, Scorch’s ridiculous hair catching the light, Sev’s quiet nod from across the room. Anywhere but here.
There’s a sting, sharp and clean, and then heat spreading in its wake. He doesn’t flinch. He had worse, and some distant, clinical part of him is almost grateful it’s only this, quick, precise, over before his mind has fully caught up to what’s happening. There are certainly worse things that can happen for disobedience.
"There." Vau says, releasing his arm from the vice-like grip. His voice is even again, though there’s a slight hint, an edge of soothing gentleness. "That’s the consequence. Nothing more." Boss doesn’t look down right away. He breathes, slow and careful, the way he’s taught himself to, and only once his pulse has settled somewhat does he let his eyes drop to his own arm, steadily dripping blood on the floor. He had worse, anyway. Instead, he locks his eyes with Vau, who, as Boss realises, is now wrapping a bacta patch around the long, wide cut. "Now, Boss. Did you actually go to the mess before coming here?" Vau asks and Boss flinches, for the first time, both because of the question, and the sting of bacta. "No, Sir. I didn’t." He admits, and Sergeant opens the cabinet, taking out a ration bat and throwing it to him. "Eat, and go to your brothers. And…don’t have a kaminii look at your arm, go to Fixer if it’s too much." Vau says, as Boss nears the door.
*****
It’s dark by the time Boss slips back into the barracks, moving quiet enough that he probably thinks nobody’s still awake, that no one is watching and waiting for him.
He’s wrong, actually, Sev thinks, watching him from under the blanket. None of them is asleep, they’re used to it, at pretending to sleep, adjusting their breathing so everyone who’d accidentally enter, would be fooled.
Scorch is the first to give up the act, bolting upright in his bunk the moment Boss’s silhouette passes, eyeing him carefully.
"You’re back." He says, voice quiet and full of relief. "Told you I would be. Just…didn’t know how long." Boss says, and there’s an attempt at lightness in it that doesn’t quite land, and Boss culprit he’s his forearm, it looks subconscious. Fixer’s already up too, propped up on one elbow. "Took you long enough. Go to sleep, will you?" He says, not unkindly, just something to fill the silence while he waits for whatever Boss is actually going to say. He should says something, tell them what exactly happened.
"Wasn’t exactly my choice how long it took, you know." Boss says, and immediately seems to regret the honesty when Scorch flinches.
Sev stirs too, blinking against the dark, but he’s alert fast, the way he always is now, after the accident. "What did he do, Boss?" He asks, voice low, careful. He don’t really want to know, but he has to.
Boss sits on the edge of his own bunk, clutching his left arm, it looks subconscious, and Sev narrows his eyes. "Doesn’t matter. I-I came back." Boss mutters, shifting.
"It matters to us, ori’vod." Scorch says, quieter now, guilt still sitting heavy in his voice, and he gulps quietly. "It’s over. That’s what matters." Boss says, and rolls his left sleeve up slightly, more admission than explanation, the bacta patch visible even in the low light, wrapped neat and clinical around his forearm. Vau’s work, precise even in causing pain. Especially when causing pain. "Does…does it hurt?" Scorch asks quietly, his eyes radiating guilt. "Not much." Boss says, his eyes flicking to the side.
"Liar." Fixer says, flat, not even trying to sound gentle about stating it. Boss huffs something that’s almost a laugh, and winces slightly. "Fine. A-a little."
"You didn’t have to take it for me, ori’vod. I didn’t ask for it." Scorch says, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. "I know. I wanted to, Scorch." Boss says. "That’s different, vod’ika, you know that. Let me have that much." Scorch doesn’t answer right away, chewing on it, and finally nods, small and reluctant, eyes still wet and wide.
"Now, get some sleep, all of you." Boss says, though he makes no move to lie down himself yet, stepping into leader’s role again. "You first.” Sev says, shifting over on his own bunk, wordless offer clearer than any words would be, and Boss hesitates only a second before crossing the small distance and letting himself be pulled into the space at Sev’s side, curling on the mattress. "Go to sleep, Sev’ika." He murmurs again, though he’s the one who closes his eyes first, and drifts to sleep.