Chapter Text
Tipoca City, Kamino; 21 BBY – three weeks after the assassination attempt on Mace Windu
“Boba, to your left!” Dia shouts, diving for cover behind a barricade.
Yellow blaster shots ricochet on the other side, some flying over Dia’s head. Boba, avoiding the blasts, skids to a stop on his knees behind another barricade to the left. He meets Dia’s eyes through their visors.
“I’ll take these ones out,” his voice crackles over the comm in their helmets. “You run ahead to the next line.”
Dia nods, clutching his blaster. “Got it.”
“Alright. Three, two, one!”
In unison, Boba and Dia dart out from behind their barricades. Dia sprints past the approaching B1 droids as Boba shoots burning holes through their metal foreheads, not slowing his pace as the husks collapse to the grid floor around him.
Two turrets flank the citadel, spitting out yellow blaster shots. Dia drops into a roll to dodge the bolts and stops in a crouch behind a barricade just a stone’s throw from the citadel tower. The metal rod at the top of the tower – their goal – blinks with a red light.
Peeking over the barricade, Dia takes a few shots at one of the turrets, and manages to take out the droid manning it.
A moment later, Boba slides in beside him. Dia ducks back down to safety.
“I’ll draw the last turret’s fire,” Dia says. “You go get the rod.”
Boba nods sharply. “On your count.”
They switch places so Dia is closer to the other turret, still spitting bolts.
“I’ll jump out first.” Dia’s eyes are glued to the droid manning the turret. “Wait a second, then run for it.”
“Okay. Don’t get shot,” Boba half-jokes.
Dia winces. He’s not keen to repeat the electrocution he’d suffered the first time they’d tried this test.
“I’ll try.” Hefting his blaster, he leaps to his feet, leaving the shelter of the barricade and aiming for the droid in the turret. “Go!”
Out of the corner of Dia’s eye, he spots a flash of movement as Boba sprints towards the citadel.
Dia darts from barricade to barricade, drawing the turret’s fire. He can barely spare a glance for Boba, until a fortunate shot lands between the droid’s eyes, and the barrage of blaster fire finally dies out.
Holding his breath, Dia looks to the citadel.
Boba leaps up the stairs to the final platform, and grabs the rod. The light switches to green, and Boba hefts it over his head with a shout of victory that echoes through the room and the comms.
“YES!” Dia shouts, pumping his fist. “We did it!”
He runs up to the base of the tower as Boba hops back down. Dia can’t resist a quick hug, slapping Boba’s back in congratulations.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Boba says, tugging off his helmet. His hair is cropped regulation-short – a requirement for their training course on Kamino.
Dia, too, yanks off his helmet with a relieved sigh. His hair has been similarly chopped off, and now his curls are barely long enough to brush his ears, making the scar at the back of his neck all the more noticeable.
“Dyad Squad, report for debrief,” a monotone voice says over the speaker system.
“Not even a congratulations?” Dia mutters with a sardonic grin, stretching out his aching arms.
Boba rolls his eyes. “You know what he’s like.”
“Now, Dyad Squad,” the same voice says, growing annoyed already.
“Hi, 99!” Dia calls with a smile as they pass the cleaner, beginning to drag away one of the droid husks. “Sorry, we can’t stop.”
“Well done, you two.” 99 shoos them away with a fond chuckle. “You’d better hurry!”
Dia and Boba jog out of the room and up the side hallway to the supervising balcony that overlooks the training room. An armoured clone stands with his back to them, gloved hands clasped behind him.
Dia and Boba stand at attention, a stance well-practiced over their weeks on Kamino.
After a long moment, the clone turns around. Scars cross his weather-beaten face, and his beard is tinged with grey. His gaze is sharp and burning, but Dia doesn’t feel the urge to hide away. The first time Dia had failed a training exercise, he’d fearfully expected a strike across his face or his rations halved, but Alpha-17 had just calmly explained what he’d done wrong, and made him run an extra two laps of the training room. For all his bluntness and uncaring attitude, Alpha-17 is an incredible teacher.
“So. You’ve finally completed the test,” Alpha-17 says.
“Yes, Captain,” Dia and Boba respond in unison.
“You worked well as a team,” their mentor acknowledges. “That’s important. You must stand shoulder-to-shoulder with your vode in battle and in every aspect of your existence.” His eyes narrow. “But you two only cooperate with each other.”
Dia winces, remembering how he’d shot down a droid to save Boba from its line of fire, ignoring the cadet in danger behind him; how he’d watched that cadet and others collapse to the ground, electrocuted, and felt only relief that it wasn’t Boba.
“You are part of something bigger than yourselves,” Alpha-17 says sternly. “You are part of the Grand Army of the Republic. And you need to start acting like it.”
“Yes, Captain,” Boba says, his expression stoic.
“Sorry, Captain,” Dia says, dropping his gaze.
“I’d have you run the test again as part of a larger team, but we don’t have the time,” Alpha-17 says with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
Dia frowns. “Does that mean we’re being sent back to Coruscant now?”
Alpha-17 crosses his arms, expression unreadable. “That’s for me and the general to decide.”
Dia glances at Boba, noticing the faint furrow in his brow that means he’s worried.
“Diaro, you have a medical examination this afternoon,” Alpha-17 says. “Go rest before then. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Dia and Boba flick their hands in a salute, then start back down the hallway.
---
“So, what do you think?” Dia asks, rubbing his arms, clad only in the thin cadet uniform, for warmth as he and Boba walk back to their barracks. “Are they sending us to Coruscant?”
Boba scrunches his nose. “You really want to go back there?”
“Our only other option is prison,” Dia reminds him.
In the glass-walled hallways, they pass dozens of patrols – of cadets and of older clones, soon to be shipped out. Back on Coruscant, Boba was the eye-catcher, the prodigal son returned. Here on Kamino, Dia is the subject of the stares. The only non-clones are the Kaminoans, General Shaak Ti, and the Cuy’val Dar – Mandalorian trainers. Unfortunately, Dia can’t even pass as a mutated clone, and so those who haven’t heard about him often do double-takes or stare at him suspiciously.
Not that the news of Boba’s return hasn’t spread like wildfire. But he’s harder to pick out from the swarms of red- and blue-shirted clone children – the only give-away is that he’s almost constantly with Dia. Clones and Cuy’val Dar alike accost both of them in the hallways, to gawk and question them.
With all that, the pair tend to take quieter hallways between their lesson rooms and barracks.
“Ah, kriff,” Boba mutters, stopping in his tracks.
Dia scans the hallway and spots them – three Mandalorians, brightly-painted helmets tucked under their arms as they chat and gesture wildly.
“Cover for me,” Boba mutters, diving to join a group of clone cadets passing in the opposite direction.
“No! Boba!” Dia whisper-shouts, panicking. “Get back here!”
“Hey, adiik!”
Too late. Dia turns back around, plastering a grin to his face as the three Mandalorians approach him. Each one wears weathered beskar armour, much like the set that Boba’s father owned, painted in a multitude of colours.
“You’re that verd’ika, right?” one of the Mandalorians, with a jagged cut across their nose, asks Dia. “Always trailing around Boba?”
Dia has picked up a few Mandalorian words and phrases during his time on Kamino. He’s pretty sure verd’ika means something like “little soldier”. Accurate, he supposes.
“That’s me,” he confirms, hoping someone will show up to call the Mandalorians away.
“Where is Boba?” another Mandalorian asks, stepping forward. They tower over Dia, bulkier than a mountain.
“Uhm… he’s, uh, training.” Dia nods, his continued grin starting to hurt his cheeks. “Yep. Super busy right now.”
The Mandalorian frowns, and the third slaps their shoulder with a scolding glare. “Back off, you’re scaring the adiik.”
“If that’s all, then I really have to be going.” Dia gives a small wave and darts past the Mandalorians before they can stop him. “Bye!”
Boba rejoins him a few minutes later. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. They really want to talk to you,” Dia tells him lightly. “Don’t you think you should hear them out?”
“They’re just gonna be sad. They’ll talk about buir, and memories, and all sorts of osik.” Boba scowls. “I don’t want any of that.”
“Alright. But no matter what the captain and general decide, we don’t have much time left on Kamino,” Dia reminds him.
“I know.” Boba casts a glance around the deserted hallway, then grabs Dia’s hand. “Come with me.”
Dia follows after Boba down a side hallway, up a ramp and down another, then through a passageway. Boba never falters in his steps, and finally they reach a doorway in a secluded hallway. Dia’s certain they shouldn’t be here, but Boba’s focus is singular – whatever this place is, it must be important.
Boba presses a button beside the door, and it hisses open. Without hesitating, Boba steps inside. Dia follows on his heels, and nearly runs into his friend as the latter freezes in his tracks.
“No,” Boba whispers, eyes wide.
The room is an office of sorts, with a neatly-organized shelves lining the walls and a desk holding only a stack of datapads. A few doors lead off to different rooms. Fluorescent lights, as painful as those all throughout Tipoca City, flicker on as they step further into the room.
“What is this place, Boba?” Dia asks quietly, frowning.
Boba opens his mouth, but only a strangled sound comes out. “It… no. No, they can’t have…”
“Boba.” Dia takes his hand, trying to ground him. “Where are we?”
“It’s… my old home.” Boba’s breathing quickens. “Me and buir, we used to live here. And they just… stripped everything away.”
“Oh, stars,” Dia whispers. The room is almost glowing white, sanitized and without a hint of life or character.
“All of our stuff, it’s- it’s gone,” Boba whispers.
The door hisses open again, revealing a Kaminoan scientist. They blink large eyes in surprise as they see Dia and Boba.
“You are not authorized to be here,” they say slowly, reaching for the comm on their belt.
Dia scrambles for an explanation. “We were just – “
“What did you do to this room?” Boba demands furiously. “Where is all the stuff that was here?”
“This room was repurposed after the previous occupant’s demise,” the Kaminoan explains. “There was no need for any of the items to be kept.”
A snarl wrenches its way out of Boba’s mouth, and he steps forward threateningly.
“You are Alpha,” the Kaminoan realizes, their large eyes widening. “The unaltered clone.”
“I’m not a – !”
“We’re leaving now,” Dia says firmly, grabbing Boba’s arm and hauling him from the room before he can strangle the Kaminoan.
Boba lets himself be marched away, but Dia can almost hear his teeth grinding, and his glare is fierce enough to melt durasteel.
Dia manages to find a door out to a balcony overlooking the ocean, and brings Boba outside. The wind tugs at their clothes and the ocean roils around them. Aiwahs screech as they dive through the waves. Wrenching his arm away from Dia, Boba stomps over to the railing.
Raindrops patter softly from the overcast sky onto the balcony and Dia’s face. He sighs quietly, wishing he knew how to help his friend with his grief, but all he can do is walk over to stand beside Boba, leaning his arms on the railing. Boba says nothing, doesn’t even glance his way.
“It’s okay to cry,” Dia says.
“I’m not crying.” Water drips down Boba’s face, and his shoulders tremble.
“Ah.” Dia nods. “Just raindrops.”
Boba leans against Dia’s shoulder, and moisture soaks into the fabric of Dia’s shirt. He doesn’t mind, rubbing a gentle hand over Boba’s back. Gradually, Boba relaxes, but he stays with his head leaning on Dia’s shoulder. Out here with no one watching, Dia muses, maybe Boba doesn’t care so much about seeming vulnerable.
The door behind them hisses open, and both spin around, startled. Two clones – their grey armour marking them as part of the Kamino Security Force – step out onto the balcony. One takes off their helmet, revealing a sympathetic expression.
“Boba,” they greet him. “We heard you were in Jango’s old quarters.”
Boba’s eyes narrow, but before he can say anything, the other clone steps forward. “There’s something we need to show you.”
The clones are Ammy and Catch, and they bring Dia and Boba with them back through the hallways, all the way to Dia and Boba’s private quarters, near the cadets’ barracks. The tiny room, with barely enough room for the bunkbed, is as they left it – neat and organized, as required – except for a small crate on the floor.
“What’s that?” Boba asks, frowning.
Ammy places a gentle hand on Boba’s shoulder and gestures towards the crate. “Go look inside.”
Hesitantly, Boba kneels beside the crate and pries open the lid. He peers inside, then goes rigid, his eyes widening.
“Boba?” Dia exclaims, starting forward. “Are you okay?” He sees the crate is carefully packed with photographs, small ship models, and an assortment of household items.
“Y-you saved all of this?” Boba whispers, lifting his teary gaze to Ammy and Catch.
“We couldn’t salvage everything,” Catch says, rubbing the back of their neck, “but…”
Boba shakes his head, lifting a photograph delicately out of the crate. “It’s enough. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Ammy smiles sadly. “We’ll leave you to it.”
Dia follows after Ammy and Catch, pausing to look back at his friend, relieved he has some closure. Boba’s eyes are glued to the photograph of a young boy and his father, embracing and smiling in the rare sunlight.
---
“So, general?” Dia leans forward with an eager grin, swinging his heels against the side of the examination table he’s perched on. “Are we heading back to Coruscant?”
Shaak Ti smiles serenely, her hands folded into her trailing beige sleeves. “I have not yet discussed it with Captain Alpha-17.”
Dia likes Shaak Ti. Her presence is calming, and she’s kinder to Dia than anyone else on Kamino – she doesn’t treat him like an outsider or a curiousity.
“He said we did well,” Dia tells her, wincing as the Kaminoan doctor, Nala Se, plunges a needle into Dia’s arm. “And we both did almost perfectly in our Republic history courses.”
Shaak Ti hums in agreement. “Your engineering training also went quite well.”
“Open your mouth,” Nala Se instructs, and swabs something over Dia’s tongue.
“Why do I need another medical exam anyway?” Dia asks, leaning around Nala Se to frown at Shaak Ti.
“You are not a perfectly-engineered specimen like the clones,” Nala Se tells him coolly. “In fact, your health is substandard. My report, general.” Ignoring Dia’s glare, Nala Se hands a datapad to Shaak Ti.
The Jedi general flicks through the report appraisingly. “Diaro’s readings have improved greatly since his last exam,” she remarks. “The effects of his early-childhood malnutrition have reversed completely, and his chronic pain is no longer a limit to his physical capabilities.”
Nala Se narrows her eyes at Dia. “Still, he is not healthy enough to properly serve the Republic.”
Shaak Ti looks up. “You believe him unfit to assist the Coruscant Guard?”
Nala Se scoffs. “A normal Human can hardly compare to the superiority of a clone. I advise you resettle him on the nearest planet. He will only drag Boba down.”
Her words sting like a whip, but Dia is undaunted.
“No,” he says firmly, surprising the doctor and the general. “I’m staying with Boba.”
Nala Se stares down her flat nose at Dia in disbelief. Dia tilts his chin up and fixes the doctor with a fiery glare.
“I won’t leave his side,” he insists. “We’re a team. General, you know we work better together. Shoulder to shoulder, like the captain says.”
Shaak Ti nods thoughtfully. “True – your individual scores have continuously been inferior. I will consider it,” she promises with a gentle smile that fades as she meets Nala Se’s gaze coolly. “I will also discuss your medical clearance with the doctor. You’re dismissed, Dia.”
Dia hops down from the examination table, making a face at Nala Se from behind Shaak Ti’s back as he skips from the room.
---
Taking a deep breath, Boba wipes away the last of his tears, then presses the lid back down onto the crate in front of him. He pushes it under the lower bunk, which might as well be the only bunk for how little Dia uses the top bunk. They both sleep easier curled next to each other, and Dia finds everywhere too cold after years on scorching Tatooine.
Already under the bunk is Dia’s stash of rations nicked from the canteen. Boba thinks that habit stems from going hungry as a slave, but Dia grows ashamed whenever Boba tries to talk to him about it, and Boba’s never been much good at talking.
Boba stands, running a hand over his short hair. It doesn’t bug him so much, but Dia had sobbed as the Kaminoans had taken shears to his head and his soft curls dropped to the ground. Boba notices how he still reaches absent-mindedly for his ponytail sometimes, only for his face to fall when his fingers drift over empty air. Hopefully the uniform restrictions are less intense on Coruscant.
“Tsk.” Boba clicks his tongue in annoyance.
Dia is so intent on returning to work with the Coruscant Guard that Boba’s begun to go along with it, even if prison is definitely preferable to being surrounded by clones for five whole kriffing years. Dia understands – or tries to – Boba’s discomfort around the clones. Likewise, Boba understands how Dia would suffer in prison. Maybe it’s lucky the decision’s out of either of their hands.
Dia should be at his medical exam now, Boba thinks, walking to the door. I’ll catch him on his way back.
Stepping outside, he closes the door behind him and starts down the hallway. He gets no farther than a few steps before he hears chattering voices approaching from the training rooms.
Kriff, the cadets. With a groan, Boba turns on his heel, and collides into someone.
“Oof!” the other person exclaims, stumbling backwards. “Oh, sorry!”
Boba starts to wave them off, but freezes mid-motion. The child standing before him is a clone – there is no doubt about that. With blond hair, a rare enough mutation, but more shocking is that she’s a girl. It’s happened before, Boba has heard, but normally those clones are destroyed before they’re decanted.
The clone reaches towards Boba anxiously. “Are you hurt? I wasn’t paying attention, sorry.” She seems to think better of reaching out and quickly tucks her arms behind her back.
Slowly, Boba shakes his head. Another abnormality of this clone shocks him: she’s not wearing the usual cadet uniform. Her clothes are finer, tailored, and a pendant hangs over her forehead.
“You’re… you’re Alpha, aren’t you?” she asks, brown eyes wide.
Boba narrows his eyes. Only the Kaminoans insist on calling him that. “My name is Boba.”
“Oh, right. It’s just that I’m…” The girl smiles nervously. “I’m Omega.”