They sat next to each other, side-by-side, as if they were actual brothers who cared for each other.

According to Ridge, they weren't brothers. He'd said so multiple times.

That, however, did not prevent Marik from trying his best when Ridge wanted to bear his emotions to him. Marik didn't look at him—not much, anyway—but focused his gaze on his feet, the same way Ridge did.

"What was his name?" his voice was soft, and the darkness of the barracks seemed to swallow up more of it. His elbows were braced on his knees, ankles nearly crossed.

Ridge sat in almost the same position, hunched over and somber, except he held a pillow to his chest as if it were a life line. He seemed to be building up the words, searching for the courage to open his mouth and speak. His jaw worked for the next few moments.

"His name was Dal," he said finally. He took a breath, in, out.

"Dal…" Marik said softly to himself. He almost recognized the name—he must have, because he knew many people within the 686th. He may have run into him at some point.

Ridge swallowed. "He…he was my friend." He picked at nonexistent lint on the pillow.

"He still is your friend, Ridge," Marik corrected softly. "Just because he's gone doesn't mean he isn't still with you."

Ridge seemed to flinch, just a bit, before slowly nodding in agreement. "Okay."

Silence.

"He…he was actually a lot like you." Ridge's mouth was nearly smothered by the pillow, his voice so low that Marik had to strain his ears to hear.

"Me?" He was more disbelieving than curious. If Dal and he were so alike, why did Ridge go out of his way to make Marik feel like trash?

Marik shook his head, immediately banishing the thought. Now was not the time to guilt Ridge for his feelings.

"He was like you, just…quieter," Ridge said after a moment for silence. "Positive and upbeat, but more sober." He snorted, a harsh and hard sound. He smiled fondly at whatever memory floated through his head.

Marik wasn't sure how he felt about that. He folded his hands, waiting for Ridge to continue.

Ridge's smile faded. "To be honest, he was my first brother." He was gripping the pillow tighter now, much tighter.

"First?" Marik didn't enjoy the feelings of discomfort and out-of-place anger he was getting in his gut. Jealousy wasn't something he was use to.

Ridge nodded. "I transferred into another squad when I was…two." He spoke slowly, as if afraid that the words would come back and bite him. Obviously, bad memories were associated with the phrases.

"Two?" Biologically four. He had been young.

Ridge took another breath. "They…didn't accept me." It was pain that made him curl up around his pillow.

Marik felt his blood run cold. Didn't accept him? He was two; what could have possibly happened in such a short time that would make children turn on each other?

"Didn't accept you?" It was difficult for him to keep the emotion out of his voice. "What do you mean they didn't accept you?"

"They didn't accept me," Ridge said simply. "I was new, small, and they didn't like me—to them, I was just a sorry replacement for a brother they lost in training." His forefinger traced light circles on the pillow's grey cloth.

He said it as if it made sense.

Marik could only shake his head. "That's not how brothers work, Ridge." It was nowhere near how they were supposed to work. Brothers loved each other and cared for each other—they didn't ostracize the ones they didn't know. It made Marik's stomach curl.

He scowled. "I know."

Silence again.

"Once we left Kamino, I immediately requested a squad transfer. They weren't upset that I left." He shrugged almost nonchalantly. "I wish I'd chosen a different squad instead of just going for the first one they gave me…"

Red flags shot up in Marik's head. "Why? What was wrong with them?"

A myriad of negative emotions displayed themselves on his face, from hurt, to anger, to shame and embarrassment. Finally, he settled on cold neutrality. "They were nice at first…" Ridge straightened up a bit, still holding the pillow.

Marik silently prompted him on.

"Then…it just went back to the teasing and hitting. They—they always said that since we were friends—brothers," he spat out the word, scowling, "that it was okay. And I believed them." His face twisted in anger before just as quickly relaxing into defeat and sadness.

"How long were you with them?" Marik asked softly. His mind had barely moved past the "hitting". How hard had it been? Was that why he always moved away when someone got too close?

"Right up until I joined Crusade Squad," he answered, avoiding Marik's eyes. "I didn't realize how much I hated them until I joined you guys. I was so sure they'd be less mean the longer I stayed with them, until they—" He suddenly cut himself off, staring at the floor in near panic as if it would swallow him whole. His breathing hitched in his throat.

"Ridge? What's wrong? What'd they do to you?" Marik's muscles tensed in anger and hatred for men he'd never even met.

He suddenly snapped himself out of it. "Nothing. They didn't do anything." That was as bold-faced a lie as suns were hot.

Marik took the hint not to press further. He changed the subject. "You hated all of them?"

Ridge pursed his lips, staring at the floor as if pleading with it for help. "No, not all of them. There…was one named Dal."

Dal. Marik had heard the name before. This wasn't the first time Ridge was mentioning him. "Your first and only brother," Marik said, finishing the painful statement for him.

But that couldn't have been true, could it? Marik saw how he acted around Cord; it was obvious they were closer, close than either of them would have otherwise shown around other clones.

It hurt that they refused everyone but the other's company. It really did.

Ridge nodded, folding his lips in. He changed positions to lean back against the bunk post, now cross-legged and facing Marik. He almost resembled a child that needed comforting; he was still clutching the pillow.

Marik mirrored his position so they were facing each other.

Despite what Ridge said about Marik, he would always be there for someone he considered a brother, regardless of Ridge's thoughts on the matter. Ridge's comments stung, yes, but they wouldn't deter him from listening to Ridge open up when he desperately needed to.

"He—" Ridge swallowed around the rock forming in his throat. "He was actually nice to me. He stood up for me and…and I didn't even know what it was like to have a friend before then." His shoulders hunched, hands gripping his biceps till his finger tips turned white.

Marik was aware of the shininess of Ridge's eyes in the darkness. His heart broke, and he could feel the pieces crashing inside him.

"I-I miss him." And the tears came, small in number but heavy. The tiny sob was loud in the noiseless barracks. Ridge's hands relaxed, falling to his forearms and staying there.

Marik leaned forward, wiping off one of the tears from Ridge's face with his hand. "Ridge, you know he still loves you, and you still love him. Dal is still with you."

Ridge sniffed, a small and pitiful noise. "I know, but…"

Marik gripped his bare hands, entwining their fingers together and holding them firm. "Ridge, I know what it's like to lose a brother. My…my whole squad didn't make it off Kamino. I was the only one."

Ridge raised his eyes toward Marik, sorrowful and desolate. "I'm sorry."

Marik shook his head. "Don't be. I still love them, even though they're gone. Sometimes thinking about them hurts, but then I remember all the good times we had together."

Ridge's mouth was almost completely smothered by the pillow. His voice came out low and muffled. "I didn't have any good times with my squads," he said bitterly.

Marik squeezed his hands again, amazed he'd been able to hold them for this long. "But you had good times with Dal, otherwise you wouldn't miss him the way you do." He felt increased pressure on his fingers for a short moment before Ridge's hands relaxed again. Gently, he swept his thumb across his knuckles.

He'd squeezed back—Marik took that as a sign.

"Missing him hurts," Ridge said. "But…"

"But?" He had to lean forward, Ridge's voice was so low.

"I…I think I'll be able to get used to it. It'll hurt less in the future." Ridge looked at Marik, a question on his face. Am I right? it said.

Marik nodded. "It will, trust me." There was plenty of warning when he shifted forward, extending his arms. Ridge had every chance to back away.

He didn't fight off the hug, instead accepted it and even wrapped his own arms around Marik's torso.

Like brothers, Marik couldn't help but think. "Feel better, Ridge."

He hiccupped. "Thank you."