First, let me be clear: THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE. They've been through some very traumatic expeariences and they both thought they'd lost the other. In Oscar's case, it's helped him get over his old aquardness at showing "unmanly" affection, and possibly made him a little over protective. In Runt's case, it's made him more clingy and uncertain of himself, because he's still coming to terms with the loss of his arms. Again, not a romance, just brotherly affection and releif at being alive.

I apoliagize for the length. I just can't seem to right long chapters. I guess that just means that there will be more of them. I hope you like that.

I do not own Star Wars.

"Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light."

-Jean Giraudoux

Oscar became aware of something brushing against his cheek. Something soft and… fuzzy. Kitten his sleepy mind thought, dredging a picture of a cream colored fluff ball that he'd seen on a data pad. He stroked the kitten. This one had shorter fur than the one in the picture, but it still felt very pleasant. He turned his head and buried his nose in the kitten's fur. It smelled clean and fresh. I wonder what color it is.

"Oscar?"

That was strange. He hadn't thought kittens could talk. At least, the data pad hadn't said anything about it. Well, this kitten had a nice voice, though it sounded a little hoarse. A little squeaky, too. He sniffed it again, then pressed a sleepy kiss into its fur. "Good kitten…"

"I'm not a kitten. Oscar, are you asleep?"

"Shhzz…"

Silence for a bit. Then something poked him. Grunting is surprise, Oscar opened his eyes to see a pair of large brown eyes in a pale, scarred face staring back at him. Runt was awake.

Oh. Oscar's mind seemed to be having trouble catching up. He blinked slowly. "You're not a kitten."

"That's want I said."

They stared at each other a little longer. Then a slow smile pulled the corners of Oscar's mouth up.

"You're awake," he murmured, then pulled the younger clone into his arms and simply held him. Runt pressed his face into Oscar's neck. A sense of peace and serenity settled over the room. Nothing needed to be said, at least not yet.

Runt shifted after a while, took a shaky breath, then spoke. "I'm sorry." His voice was muffled against Oscar's neck.

"For what?" Oscar asked absently, his fingers playing with the short hair at the back of Runt's head.

"For pestering you in the shower. I didn't mean to bother you, I was just worried, you looked so unhappy, and I thought-" Runt was almost babbling, his voice thick with unhappiness.

Oscar grabbed Runt's face between his hands and forced the kid to look at him. "That wasn't your fault," he hissed, then gentled his voice when the younger flinched. "You didn't do anything wrong, do you understand? It was all me. I was scared and frustrated, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have done it. When you got hurt, I was terrified that the last thing I might ever say to you would be something so untrue. I couldn't ask for a better brother."

He searched Runt's eyes before finally saying the simple truth.

"I love you."

There had been a time not long ago when even the idea of saying something like that out loud would have sent Oscar screaming for the hills. But after a month of dread and heartache, such a reaction seemed silly, even childish. As did all the old reasons for putting appropriate distance between himself and the kid, simply to keep face in front of his brothers. Oscar had finally come to understand that those who were truly strong felt no shame in telling the truth. And seeing the way Runt's eyes teared up at the simple, heartfelt statement made him wish he'd said it sooner; that it hadn't taken almost losing the kid before he finally set aside his selfish pride and could admit the truth. This was a high price to pay for his foolishness.

Oscar glanced down at Runt's hands twisted feebly in the bed sheets. He untangled one and gave the cool metal a gentle press. There was a pause as Runt's face scrunched up in concentration. His fingers twitched, then weakly squeezed Oscar's before going slack. He turned his head away in shame.

"How can I do my job now, when I can't eve control my hands?" It was barely a whisper, dull and hopeless.

Oscar's stomach tightened with guilt. Runt had always been deft with his hands. His fingers were small and could move quickly and lightly. He'd always been better at darts than Oscar. Now he'd lost both his arms and could barely move the cybernetic replacements. He'd require months of hard physical therapy before he'd be fit to go back to the front line.

"You'll get your control back. I bet it'll be no time at all before you're beating me at darts again and winning all my dessert passes," he teased lightly.

Runt gave a weak smile in response, but his eyes still looked shadowed.

Oscar's jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. He'd made a promise to himself to take care of Runt, and he'd do it. It was the only way he could think of to make amends, and if that meant looking after the kid until his dying breath, it was something that Oscar would do gladly. No one would stop him from keeping his promise, not even the kid himself.

Brothers all.

Oscar could tell that the young clone was already getting tired. It would be a while before he was at full strength again. Same goes for me, he thought, suppressing a yawn. He shifted them around on the bed into a more comfortable position, Runt's smaller body cradled against his own. Oscar saw no need to go back to his own bed when he could sleep just as well, if not better, here.

Suddenly, the door slid open. Oscar looked up in surprise to see an equally started brother standing on the other side. There were braces on both of his legs, and he was leaning on crutches. He had an ugly, raw looking scar on his face that started on his left cheekbone and cut diagonally across his cheek and lips to end at the point of his chin.

The man's look of surprise changed quickly to one of soured annoyance. Oscar didn't like the way his eyes swept over them, lingering on where Runt's head rested on Oscar's chest, on their entwined fingers, and on the arm Oscar had wrapped around Runt's shoulders.

"Oh, sorry," he said. Oscar thought he detected a sneer in his voice. "I must have gotten the wrong room. Did I… interrupt you?"

Oscar glared at the other man. "Can I help you?" He didn't try to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Oh, no. I'm just passing through. Didn't mean to disturb you. Completely my fault." he turned and hobbled away before Oscar could respond, the door closing behind him.

What's his problem? Oscar glanced down and was surprised to see Runt looking back at him through half-closed eyes. I thought the kid was all ready asleep.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know," Oscar grumbled. "Just some jerk. Ignore him, he's not our problem." Our problem. It felt good to say that.

"Mhhmmm…"

Oscar let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. Jerk. There was something about that clone that just rubbed him all the wrong ways. Well, it doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyways.

He felt himself relax and sink into the first truly peaceful sleep he'd had in over a month.

Any suggestions for names for the scarred clone would be welcome; he's going to show up more later. Please review.

mad'ika